It's heaven. Who knew Dustin—safe, sensible, intellectual Dustin—hadthisin him?
Molten lava builds in my core, and my muscles begin to tense up. I'm close.Veryclose. Dustin is, too, based on the way his thrusts become more erratic and feral. Bolts of pleasure race down my spine. I can't control the sounds coming out of my mouth. Nothing matters in this moment but me and Dustin.
"Are you ready for me, baby?" he asks through gritted teeth.
"Yes, fuck yes, give it all to me—"
"Oh, my god! What is—Brooke? Mr. Sanders?"
I whip my head around to find Nora staring at us, mouth agape, eyes bugging out of her head. I can't stop the orgasm from crashing through my body and frying every synapse in my mind. I can't stop the moan from spilling from my lips. I can't stop the shiver that comes from feeling Dustin's hot cum flooding my pussy. I can't stop. He can't stop.
The head of Human Resources watches in horror. The blood drains from my face and collects somewhere near the Mariana Trench, I'm sure. Dustin sucks in a terrified gasp as he wrenches his cock free and dives for his pants.
I'm frozen.
I'm frozen in what is possibly the worst position: bent over the sink, my dress hiked up above my waist, angled slightly towards the doorway. The doorway thatNorais standing in. The doorway that leads to the rest of the company.
"I thought the door was locked," Dustin whispers in a panic.
"I… I…." I can't talk. I can't make words come out of my mouth, only disjointed sounds. My pulse races in my ears. My fight-or-flight reflex is telling me to sprint away, get away, get out, but we're on a goddamn boat.
There's nowhere to go. There's no way to spin this. My flesh feels too cold and too hot at the same time. Fear and dread grip my guts like an iron vice.
Dustin's hand finds mine, and he gently pulls me up from my bent-over-and-fuckable position. I look over at him, and he gives me a tight smile. My mouth is suddenly as dry as the Sahara. Am I dying? Can someone die of mortification? Is this what it feels like?
"Donotmove," Nora hisses and slams the door shut.
"Oh my god, what's happening? What's she gonna do? Holy fuck, Dustin, what's she going todo?"I shove my hands straight down at my sides, gripping the skirt of my dress like it might save me.
He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. Panic flashes across his face, and it makesmeeven more scared. Before I can ask anything else or beg for god to strike me down where I stand, Nora shoves open the door again. She's got two cruise employees in tow. They're rather bored-looking men. Is this kind of thing normal for them?
"Please follow us," one of the men asks, tossing a thumb over his shoulder.
"Where are we going? What are you going to do to us? What's happening?" I babble on and on. Dustin lays a comforting hand on my shoulder as we follow Nora and the men.
Nora whirls around and narrows her eyes at us. "Remove your hand, Mr. Sanders. You're going to the brig. Both of you."
"This boat has a brig?" Dustin mumbles under his breath.
"Yeah, it's usually where we put the folks who get a little too drunk. Open bar and all that," the other man replies.
Oh, my god, we're going to boat jail.
My heart threatens to beat a hole into my chest. The brig is… weird. It's small rooms with benches attached to the wall, not unlike drunk tank jail cells on TV. The boat employees—shipmates?—generously supplied me with a trash can and asked me to please aim any vomit there. I guess I did look pretty pale. And sweaty. Come to think of it, I am fairly nauseous.
I slump down to the floor and try to hang my head between my knees. This is bad. This isreallybad. Nora separated us. She's having what sounds like a very heated discussion with Dustin, and my anxiety kicks into overdrive as I wait for my turn.
"… abuse of power! You're a director!" Nora shrieks down the hall. I can't hear what Dustin says in response, if anything. "DoNOTspeak to her!"
Icy dread clenches my guts. My heart sinks to the bottom of my heels. Don't speak to me? Why? What?
A door slams down the hall, and Nora's heels click against the metal floor. The door to my room (cell?) swings open. Nora stares down at me with heaving breaths and a red face. Her signature slicked-back bun has come undone, and tendrils of her auburn hair hang around her face.
"Brooke. You are not to have any contact with that man until you are given approval. There will be a full internal investigation. You are officially on leave." She lets out an angry huff. "Do not return to work until we tell you to. Do not sign into any company devices. Do not access any company accounts. Did you take your laptop home for the weekend?"
"… yes," I manage to squeak out.
"An IT employee will pick it up from you. Is your home address on file up-to-date?"
