My CEO's Blackmail Tape - Chapter 21: Chapter 21
You are reading My CEO's Blackmail Tape, Chapter 21: Chapter 21. Read more chapters of My CEO's Blackmail Tape.
The Ritz-Carlton towered over me as I stumbled out of the cab, my head spinning. I glared up at the inky sky, bitterness twisting in my gut like a coiled snake.
While fumbling with my wallet, I spotted another taxi pulling up. Out stepped a knockout—early twenties, magazine-cover gorgeous. The kind of woman who made you check your reflection in any available surface.
"Nathan, it's Victoria," she announced into her phone, strutting toward the entrance on mile-long legs. "I'm at the hotel now."
My stomach dropped. Victoria? Wasn't she the woman from Nathan's office? He'd specifically booked tonight with me. Was this some sick threesome fantasy like in those disgusting videos he'd sent?
The sheer nerve of it made my skin prickle. If he wasn't embarrassed, I sure as hell was!
Whatever Nathan said clearly pissed her off. Her collagen-plump lips formed a perfect pout. "You've practically moved into this hotel—of course I'd swing by! What? You got some skank up there now? Don't bullshit me!"
She stamped her Louboutin. "Newsflash—I'm your girlfriend! Don't move. I'm coming up!"
Ice water flooded my veins. Thank God I hadn't gone upstairs yet. Getting caught mid-hook-up would've been social media suicide.
But this didn't add up. Wasn't Isabella Winston his official arm candy? Since when did this Victoria enter the picture?
As Victoria stormed inside, my phone buzzed. Nathan's name flashed like a warning light.
"Evelyn, wherever you are, turn the fuck around and go home! Something came up—rain check."
The panic in his voice was delicious. Little Miss Victoria had him shaking in his wingtips.
"Fine."
That one word carried more relief than I'd expected. I practically floated to my next cab, humming show tunes. Victoria's surprise visit had saved me from disaster.
Back home, I curled into my couch as my TV murmured some late-night movie. The scene? Two people going at it like rabbits—all tangled limbs and sloppy, wine-drunk kisses.
Tamer than Nathan's porn collection, sure, but the moody lighting and breathy moans lit a fire in my core. The wine I'd hoped would calm me only poured gasoline on the flames.
Heat crawled up my neck as my fingers traced my collarbone. Imagining rough hands exploring my body, I choked back a whimper. My thighs pressed together—an insistent, unfamiliar ache.
I'd never wanted a man's touch this badly—any man except Nathan. Just someone to pin me down, wreck me, satisfy this relentless hunger.
Half-crazed, I scrolled through my contacts. Was I really considering a random hookup? One drunken mistake with Nathan had reduced me to this—a panting mess, no better than a cat in heat.
Onscreen, the actors' gasps and rhythmic thrusts pushed me closer to the edge. Then—three sharp raps at my door.
Every hair stood on end. What if it was a man? In this state, I'd probably jump him like a starving animal.
The knocking continued. Whoever was out there knew I was home.
The question burned through my fog of desire: Who the hell was at my door at this hour?
While fumbling with my wallet, I spotted another taxi pulling up. Out stepped a knockout—early twenties, magazine-cover gorgeous. The kind of woman who made you check your reflection in any available surface.
"Nathan, it's Victoria," she announced into her phone, strutting toward the entrance on mile-long legs. "I'm at the hotel now."
My stomach dropped. Victoria? Wasn't she the woman from Nathan's office? He'd specifically booked tonight with me. Was this some sick threesome fantasy like in those disgusting videos he'd sent?
The sheer nerve of it made my skin prickle. If he wasn't embarrassed, I sure as hell was!
Whatever Nathan said clearly pissed her off. Her collagen-plump lips formed a perfect pout. "You've practically moved into this hotel—of course I'd swing by! What? You got some skank up there now? Don't bullshit me!"
She stamped her Louboutin. "Newsflash—I'm your girlfriend! Don't move. I'm coming up!"
Ice water flooded my veins. Thank God I hadn't gone upstairs yet. Getting caught mid-hook-up would've been social media suicide.
But this didn't add up. Wasn't Isabella Winston his official arm candy? Since when did this Victoria enter the picture?
As Victoria stormed inside, my phone buzzed. Nathan's name flashed like a warning light.
"Evelyn, wherever you are, turn the fuck around and go home! Something came up—rain check."
The panic in his voice was delicious. Little Miss Victoria had him shaking in his wingtips.
"Fine."
That one word carried more relief than I'd expected. I practically floated to my next cab, humming show tunes. Victoria's surprise visit had saved me from disaster.
Back home, I curled into my couch as my TV murmured some late-night movie. The scene? Two people going at it like rabbits—all tangled limbs and sloppy, wine-drunk kisses.
Tamer than Nathan's porn collection, sure, but the moody lighting and breathy moans lit a fire in my core. The wine I'd hoped would calm me only poured gasoline on the flames.
Heat crawled up my neck as my fingers traced my collarbone. Imagining rough hands exploring my body, I choked back a whimper. My thighs pressed together—an insistent, unfamiliar ache.
I'd never wanted a man's touch this badly—any man except Nathan. Just someone to pin me down, wreck me, satisfy this relentless hunger.
Half-crazed, I scrolled through my contacts. Was I really considering a random hookup? One drunken mistake with Nathan had reduced me to this—a panting mess, no better than a cat in heat.
Onscreen, the actors' gasps and rhythmic thrusts pushed me closer to the edge. Then—three sharp raps at my door.
Every hair stood on end. What if it was a man? In this state, I'd probably jump him like a starving animal.
The knocking continued. Whoever was out there knew I was home.
The question burned through my fog of desire: Who the hell was at my door at this hour?
End of My CEO's Blackmail Tape Chapter 21. Continue reading Chapter 22 or return to My CEO's Blackmail Tape book page.