Chapter 25: Purdey’s Choice

The weekend sun blazed down on Purdey as she reclined by the pool, ice cubes clinking in her third gin and tonic. Her daughters splashed and laughed in the water, carefree in a way she hadn’t been for weeks.

“Mum, watch this!” Olivia called, executing a wobbly handstand underwater.

Purdey clapped, her smile genuine despite her distracted mind. Her thoughts kept circling back to Ravi’s club proposal and what it meant—working with John again after everything. The offer dangled before her like a glittering prize, so different from her current firm’s pragmatic projects with their endless budget constraints and client compromises. And worlds away from her discreet OnlyFans venture that had begun as financial necessity but had evolved into something unexpectedly liberating.

The memory of those ten strangers in the private room last night made her cross her legs involuntarily. Their hands, mouths, bodies—all focused on her pleasure while she’d been blindfolded. Anonymous encounters that had liberated something in her.

And then there was John on the plane. His familiar touch after so many years. The bathroom had been cramped, but they’d managed. His whispered words still echoed: “I never stopped wanting you.”

Purdey took another long sip, ice pressed against her lips. The alcohol wasn’t dulling her thoughts as she’d hoped.

“Mum, we’re hungry!” Lila called, climbing out of the pool, water streaming down her small frame.

“Sandwiches are in the fridge,” Purdey replied. “Go dry off first.”

As the girls disappeared inside, Purdey closed her eyes. Working with John again would be complicated. But Ravi’s offer was too good professionally. The exclusive club would be the kind of showcase project architects dreamed about—no budget constraints, pure creative freedom. It could elevate her career beyond the steady but uninspiring work at her firm, and perhaps even make her digital persona unnecessary, despite how the anonymous adoration sometimes filled voids her professional life couldn’t.

The sun grew too intense. Purdey gathered her drink and phone, moving to the sunroom where ceiling fans created a pleasant breeze. The house was quiet now—the girls eating upstairs while watching cartoons.

She stretched out on the daybed, skin still warm from the sun. John’s text from earlier appeared when she checked her phone: “Looking forward to your decision. The team needs your vision.”

Her fingers brushed against the thin fabric of her bikini bottom, almost unconsciously. The thought of juggling both projects—Gin’s firm and John’s proposal—was professionally risky. But something about the danger appealed to her.

Purdey slipped her hand beneath the cool silk fabric, finding herself already wet. She closed her eyes, surrendering to the warmth spreading through her core as images flickered behind her eyelids: John behind his imposing mahogany desk, Ravi’s knowing smile with those perfect white teeth, phantom hands of strangers caressing her feverish skin.

Her fingers circled slowly at first, teasing herself in the quiet stillness of the room, then with increasing urgency. Her breathing changed, becoming shallow and quick, the sound of it loud in her ears. The scent of her arousal mingled with the faint jasmine from her bedside candle. In her mind, John was watching her, his voice low and commanding as he directed her pleasure just as he had years ago in the church office, the memory of polished wooden pews and stained glass windows adding a forbidden thrill.

When she came, it was with a soft gasp that seemed to echo in the silent room, her body arching slightly off the daybed, the soft cushions yielding beneath her tensed muscles. The decision crystallized in that moment of perfect clarity: she would take both opportunities. Risk everything. See where it led. The taste of possibility was metallic on her tongue.

Her phone buzzed against the nightstand, screen illuminating the darkened corner with harsh blue light. A text from Gin: “Early meeting Monday, 8 AM. Big news.”

Monday morning arrived with unusual clarity, golden sunlight streaming through half-drawn blinds. Purdey woke before her alarm, the digital numbers glowing 6:15. She dressed with care in a charcoal pencil skirt that whispered against her thighs and a silk blouse that felt cool against her skin, arriving at the office by 7:30—a personal record. Her heels clicked against the polished marble floor, the sound echoing in the empty lobby. Nadine had dropped Olivia and Lila off at Ian’s last night as they began their two-week stay, so she didn’t have to worry about them this morning.

The building was quiet, a humming fluorescent stillness, most staff not due for another hour. Purdey made coffee in the break room, inhaling the rich aroma as dark liquid splashed into her favourite ceramic mug, savouring the silence and mentally preparing for her conversation with Gin about taking on Ravi’s personal project alongside her current workload. The bitter taste of the coffee grounded her, steeling her nerves.

A sound shattered the morning calm—a sharp cry from down the hallway, cutting through the stillness like a knife. Purdey froze, coffee mug halfway to her lips, the warm porcelain hovering inches from her mouth. Another cry followed, unmistakably female, the sound bouncing off the sterile white walls and raising goosebumps along her arms.

It came from the discreet room originally designed for nursing mothers.

Curiosity tugged at her senses like an invisible thread. She glided down the corridor with the stealth of a shadow, each footstep carefully placed on the worn carpet. At the oaken wooden door, she paused, her fingers wrapping around the brass knob. With the gentlest pressure, the knob yielded to her touch, the door opened without a sound just enough to create a sliver of space. She held it there, perfectly still, and leaned forward to peer through the narrow opening. The mug of coffee cooled, forgotten in her grip, as her attention focused entirely on what lay beyond the threshold.

Gin balanced precariously on the nursing chair, one leg stretched to the floor, her stiletto heels still adorning her feet. The pencil skirt bunched around her waist revealed her exposed lower half. Behind her stood a figure wearing what appeared to be a black silk mask concealing the upper portion of his face.

His fingers dug into Gin’s hips as he drove into her, each powerful thrust causing the nursing chair to creak rhythmically. Gin’s head tilted backward, her typically collected expression now dissolved into raw ecstasy.

“Harder,” Gin demanded, her breathless voice barely audible through the door. “I need to cum before the staff arrive.”

The masked figure obeyed, accelerating his movements. Something in his posture, the set of his shoulders, triggered recognition in Purdey.

“You always were impatient,” he murmured, his distinctive voice instantly recognizable.

Purdey nearly gasped. John.

She should retreat. This moment wasn’t meant for her eyes—a private encounter she had no right to witness. Yet she remained immobilized, watching her superior and her former paramour entangled together. Light glinted off Gin’s skin, highlighting beads of perspiration along her nape and spine. His hands travelled from her hips up to her shoulders, before one slid around to claim her breast through the delicate silk of her blouse.

Gin’s head dropped forward at his touch, her auburn hair falling across her face. “You’re the only one who knows exactly how to touch me,” she breathed, her voice so quiet Purdey barely caught the words.

John leaned forward, pressing his chest against Gin’s back. His lips found her neck, teeth grazing against her skin. “And you’re still so responsive,” he murmured, loud enough for Purdey to hear. “So wet for me. Every time.”

Their movements suggested years of familiarity—not a first-time encounter but something practiced, comfortable. John knew exactly where to touch, how to angle his body. His hands moved with absolute confidence over Gin’s curves.

“Ten years and you still fit me perfectly,” John said, his voice rough with exertion.

“Shut up and make me come,” Gin replied, her professional composure completely abandoned.

John’s hand disappeared between Gin’s legs, and her reaction was immediate—a shudder ran through her body, her fingers clutching the edge of the desk until her knuckles whitened.

Purdey stood transfixed. Heat bloomed between her own legs, an unwelcome but undeniable response to the scene before her. Without conscious thought, her free hand pressed against her own center through her skirt. The pressure sent a jolt of pleasure through her body, making her bite her lip to stay silent.