Bathroom Stall

Emily pushed into the women’s restroom and didn’t stop until she was in the farthest stall. She turned the lock with a quiet click, let her bag fall to the floor, and finally exhaled.

Her knees felt weak. Her skin was flushed, her chest still tingling from cold air and friction and exposure. The binder clip held the blazer closed, but not well—any movement shifted the fabric enough to remind her she was still bare underneath. Her nipples throbbed softly, still stiff from the rubbing and the strain.

She slumped down onto the closed toilet lid and pressed both palms over her face.

Her heart wouldn’t slow down.

What the hell just happened?

One moment she was signing forms, trying to stay professional, and the next—pop, and her entire chest was on display in front of the most inappropriately lecherous man in the office. She should’ve screamed. Should’ve run out. Should’ve cried.

But she didn’t.

She bluffed. She stared him down. She gave him orders.

And he obeyed.

Her hands fell away from her face, fingers trembling slightly. She looked down at her chest, at the way the blazer pulled just slightly open at the top of the clip—just enough for a sliver of flushed skin to peek out.

It should’ve humiliated her.

But instead…

Her thighs pressed together.

There was heat building there, low and stubborn. Not just from the physical touch—though that had left her nipples aching and raw—but from the power. The way Martin had stared. How silent he’d gone. How she’d made him lose control.

Nobody looked at her like that anymore.

Not Jason. Not since Chloe was born.

Jason barely looked at her at all.

Emily’s breath shuddered out of her. Her hand drifted down, fingertips sliding across her thigh, then between.

She paused.

Her whole body felt alive. Sensitive. Not just from nursing—though the hormones were still there, the milk still threatening just beneath the surface—but from being seen.

Wanted.

Feared.

She bit her lip and eased her back against the stall wall, legs parting just enough, the blazer riding up along her hips.

Alone, hidden in the farthest stall, blazer clipped tight over her bare chest, nipples throbbing under wool, thighs hot with tension she hadn’t admitted to feeling until now—

Emily let her hand slip lower.