Questionable Morals and Breached Contracts

Chapter 19: Millie

WHAT
THE
ACTUAL
FUCK
HAS
JUST
HAPPENED

I sprint back into the bathroom and run my hands under the cool water splashing my face in the hopes that I am awoken from the dream of where I fucked my bosses best friend in a cleaning cupboard at a 2 Michelin star restaurant.
I send Becs a barrage of messages, repeating the phrase 'SHIT BUCKETS' seven times, intending to provoke a reaction and initiate a conversation about my rather outrageous actions. However, to my annoyance, she hasn't even read a single bloody one. The situation is now compounded by my frantic thoughts, wondering what on earth she could possibly be engaged in that has prevented her from responding to a message marked with our code words for absolute emergencies. As anxiety creeps in, the unsettling notion dawns upon me that she might be in with Reg. So discussing my impulsive actions with her in the presence of Reg would undoubtedly mean airing my laundry in the most public and undesirable way possible, especially considering everything I say would inevitably get back to Daniel.

What the fuck have I done and WHY did it feel so good and so wrong?

I find myself standing in the bathroom, my breath caught in my chest. Composing myself becomes an imperative task before I can even fathom returning to the table. Fortunately, the women's restroom provides a sanctuary equipped with all the amenities necessary to rejuvenate and present myself in a more poised manner. Makeup, perfume, deodorant, you name it. After five minutes of dedicated effort, I stand before the mirror, satisfied with the transformation that has taken place. No longer a disheveled mess, with lipstick up my face and mascara tears under my eyes from taking all of Daniel in my mouth. I head back to the table where Daniel has already taken his place. His eyes follow me intently, tracing my figure with a suggestive smirk playing on his lips. A subtle lick of his lips as I approach my chair. Rhys stands upon my arrival, pulling out my chair with a gracious nod. Thanking him, I take my seat and promptly indulge in the new glass of champagne that awaits me.

"You alright, Millie? Thought we lost you," John inquires, concern etched on his face. Before I can respond, Daniel interjects smoothly, "I saw Millie by the bathrooms talking to one of her friends," accompanied by a casual sip of his drink, punctuated by a wink in my direction.

"Yes, sorry, John... hadn't seen" *shit think of a name* "Jackie in a while, just having a quick catch-up," I explain with a smile, waving to the server to signal my desire for another glass of champagne.

"Seems like you really enjoyed... your conversation, Millie," Daniel remarks with yet another mischievous smirk, his lips barely parting as he takes a leisurely sip of his whiskey. As if scripted, his right hand finds its way to my thigh under the table, and I jolt in surprise at the warmth of his touch. "Yyyeessss, I loved it," I manage to chuckle, attempting to keep things light as I grab his hand and firmly shove it off my leg. Much to my annoyance, his hand slides back into its previous place moments later, defying my attempt to maintain personal space. The server approaches with a glass of champagne and the bottle. Rhys, ever the commander of the evening, waves at the server, "Leave the bottle, please, mate," his arm casually placed at the back of my chair again, a subtle reminder of his presence.

Feeling incredibly flustered and overwhelmed by the past 25 minutes, I struggle to focus on anything else other than Daniel's persistent touch. Each time he speaks, his thumb gently rubs across my thigh, sending shivers down my spine and causing my breathing to subtly quicken. The remaining four courses unfold with an array of flavors, each dish is posher than the next. The choice between Pigeon and Rabbit proves difficult, and I observe what everyone else chooses. Unfortunately, Rabbit emerges as the common favorite, and I choose the same. The black truffle proves to be a dreamy indulgence, a flavor I could imagine savoring by the bucket load. Dessert becomes a more straightforward decision as I opt for the double chocolate soufflé with a side of Madagascan vanilla ice cream.
As we engage in discussions about the contract, Daniel's hand remains a persistent presence on my skin. Seeking a subtle connection beneath the table, I place my left hand under the table and rest it on top of his. We play a covert game of thumb wars, our legs intertwining as we draw each other closer. A side-eyed glance from Daniel is accompanied by a snigger, and I find myself torn between looking away and succumbing to the magnetic pull that locks our eyes together.
The situation feels undeniably wrong, a chaotic collision of conflicting emotions, and yet, in some inexplicable way, it feels undeniably right. Questions swirl in my mind – how could this possibly work? Our last encounter was marked by rudeness, and today, I seemingly sucked and fucked his dick in the cleaning cupboard. What am I doing?