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    Revisiting the passion made her clit start to twitch and she aimed the pulsing water there for a guaranteed quick release. She got off with lightening speed most of the time when she used the shower wand. She found it better than a vibrator as she could really control the pressure and the warmth of the water added a nice glow. Tonight, though, she was fighting herself. Unwilling to fantasize with Nick as her fuck partner had Mae engaged in the ultimately futile attempt to block out all faces and just imagine a disembodied cock. It wasn't working. Nick's face, Nick's chest, Nick's mouth, Nick's voice--all kept intruding--until she had no choice but to accept that he, and he alone, was going to be the author of her sweet orgasm tonight.
    She surrendered and her mind's eye watched him bury his mouth in her pussy and suck her clit until it spasmed. Bingo. Orgasm number one.
    She played her mind-movie as she rode him hard, impaling her hole with his rod and felt the fire of male desire singe her. Bingo. Orgasm number two.
    She let the action heat up as she pictured the head of his cock sliding up and down the crack of her ass teasing her puckered hole as he pumped his hot spunk out onto her cheeks. Bingo. Orgasm number three.
    Spent, she could take this very effective fantasy no further. She felt unsettled and embarrassed at the flight of her imagination. That her mind wandered so willingly where she desperately wished it wouldn't spoke to some primal flaw in her psyche. She wrapped her robe around her and fell across her bed face down. She wanted to cry, but tears only teased her tired eyes and refused to fall.
    Fitful sleep finally came to her around midnight. She tossed and turned and woke a dozen times anxious and uneasy from unremembered dreams she was sure starred Nick Seville. At six she could fight it no longer and resigned to face her day with as much stoicism as she could muster. She plaited her coffee-colored hair into a thick braid that she twisted into a chignon at the base of her neck and observed her reflection in the mirror. Her brilliant blue eyes didn't seem as tired as she felt. Her pale skin was as creamy and smooth as it had ever been. Satisfied that she did not, in fact, have "I'm lusting after the boss" tattooed on her forehead, Mae donned her chef's jacket. Her hands did shake ever so slightly as she pushed the black studs through the double-breasted coat, but she steadied herself by the time she'd put them all in.
    The kitchen was humming when she reached it. She grabbed a cup of coffee and one of the Elys's excellent Danish and slipped into her little corner that served as a quasi-office space. Here she could check the minimal paperwork she was normally responsible for and spend precious minutes planning out the day's tasks. Breakfast service was hectic but rarely held any crisis or surprise. Guests in the dining room ate from the buffet which had an omelet station and a waffle station. Room service was the biggest demand at the breakfast service, but the cooks easily handled the rush.
    An hour until the meeting. I can do this. I 'll focus on how grateful I am that Nick's here to take back the god-awful duties that were dropped in my lap . Mae tried to rationalize her way into a positive attitude. The deception still stung, but it was really not the worst thing the man could have done. Restaurant kitchens are notorious for sexual liaisons of all stripes. The atmosphere of food and fire just lends itself to thoughts of a sensual nature. Usually it was a chef doing a waitress, but other combinations were certainly not unheard of. Amongst her staff the affairs tended to be the high drama variety what with the abundance of gay Filipinos employed by the Elysium. Years back, Mae herself had had a wonderfully torrid little fling with a wine purveyor who was a relentless flirt. Great sex and the bennies were even better. I didn't drink a bottle of cheap wine for months! Too bad he turned out to be an utter