“Security footage,” Thorpe said, and Rachel was sure he must have seen the horrified shock on her face. “I have several hours of it, gathered over the past weeks.”
Rachel sucked in a choked breath, dropping her eyes from the image of her pinching her own nipples, shirt unbuttoned to display her lace bra. Thorpe made a sharp sound. “Do please keep watching, Miss Morris. This will all be pertinent to our discussion.”
Face burning with humiliation, eyes burred with tears, Rachel looked up again. She had never had any idea there were so many cameras in her workspace; the screen above her showed three simultaneous views, edited seamlessly from one night to another, and though there was no sound, her expression made sound unnecessary. She could almost hear herself panting as she pressed her hips up into her furiously moving hand, the wet sounds of her fingers probing deep, her ragged cry of climax.