Hitched: Volume Two

by Kendall Ryan

  Apparently not enough to man up and tell her about the contract. My stomach tightens.

  Olivia sets her mug on the glass table in front of us and crosses her legs. She’s in a sexy figure-hugging white dress with a tailored black blazer over the top. A chunky turquoise necklace is the only bright pop of color in her outfit, but it’s exactly enough. The woman knows how to present herself. Remembering my thoughts from the meeting earlier, I wonder how much time she spends every morning, finding the perfect balance between feeling feminine and being taken seriously as a professional.

  “I, um . . .” She pauses, looking down at her red-lacquered fingernails.

  “Tell me.” I lean closer.

  “Last night was . . .” She trails off again, wringing her hands in her lap. “It was like a bucket list thing. Something to check off my list—no-strings sex with Noah Tate. I thought it’d be fun, and I psyched myself up to just do it.”

  “And now that we’ve done it?” My heart starts to pound.

  She takes a deep breath.

  “Look at me, Olivia.” I need to see into her eyes, need to see if she regrets it like I fear she does

  She looks up, and the haunting depth in her gaze almost guts me. “Once wasn’t nearly enough,” she breathes.

  In one heartbeat, I’ve pulled her into my arms, smashing her chest against mine. Her tongue darts out to tease her lower lip just before my mouth crashes against hers.

  I need her out of this dress and bent over my desk as soon as fucking possible. Without breaking our kiss, I tug off her blazer and find the zipper at the back of her dress, drawing it down the graceful slope of her spine. Once she’s stripped down to just her nude lace bra and thong and her black stiletto heels, I spin her so she’s facing my desk.

  Placing each of her palms on the desk, I say, “Hold on, baby.” Then I drop to my knees behind her and caress her round ass, giving it a playful swat.

  She lets out a sharp yelp, more startled than in pain.

  “Shh,” I tell her, smoothing my hand over the pink stinging spot. “Can you stay nice and quiet for me?”

  Olivia nods, her gaze darting over to the door to my office. The very unlocked door where someone can come in at any moment.

  I rub her pussy through the damp fabric of her thong and she lifts her ass, rocking her hips against my hand.

  “So eager. Promise you can stay quiet?”

  She nods again.

  I lift the edge of her panties and push one finger into her snug channel. So deliciously tight and hot. I enjoy the view of watching my finger sink in, deeper and deeper, one knuckle disappearing after another, then slowly slide out again. She’s already breathing hard, and her inner walls grip me with every move.

  Getting married has made me realize something. I don’t want an endless parade of one-night stands anymore. I want . . . intimacy. Domesticity. Someone to cook for and cuddle with, someone to share in my triumphs and keep my bed warm at night. I want a wife. I want Olivia.

  But once again, a shadow falls over my thoughts. I’m still hiding the truth from her. I don’t know how she’ll react, how to explain things in a way that protects both her feelings and the company. And as long as I’m deceiving her, I can never have the true connection I’m craving. The secret of the heir clause will be a wall between us. Invisible to her, insurmountable to me.

  I give myself a mental shake. Olivia is panting and rocking her hips in time with my motion, desperate for more. What the fuck is wrong with me? Olivia’s naked ass and pussy are right in my face and I can’t pay attention.

  Focus, dumbass, I scream at myself. Your wife needs you. What kind of man would leave her hanging?

  I withdraw my fingers—oh fuck, her little whimper of disappointment zings straight to my dick—press on her back until she lies flat on the desk with her ass raised, and plant my lips right over her clit. Just one hard suck pulls a wild cry from her lips. With a chuckle, I lean back on my heels.

  “Sorry,” she whispers. “Please don’t stop. I’ll behave.”

  I grin and dive in for more. Planting both hands on her ass cheeks, I part her wet lips with my thumbs so I can reach the spots that make her bite her lip as she fights to stay quiet.

  I lick and suck until she’s a trembling, writhing mess. I don’t let up, mercilessly eating her pussy from behind. My fingers dig into her hips as I press my face harder into her. I need to be deeper. I need to be as close to Olivia as I can get, drowning in her taste and smell and hot, slick feel, and still it’s not enough.

  She comes with a stifled moan, her chest heaving on my desk. I kiss her ass, her thighs, the back of her knees as she shudders, then rise to my feet.

  Instead of thanking me, or making some dry remark like I’ve come to expect from her, Olivia immediately begins opening the front of my pants. Hell yeah. My belt hits the floor and she shoves my pants and boxers down to my knees.

  She takes my cock in her hands and starts pumping while kissing my throat. She’s so damn sweet, so eager, it’s almost too much. I lift her by the hips and sit her on my desk. She’s still wearing her thong, but that’s no problem.

  As she continues to stroke me, I step between her thighs and lift the elastic edge of her panties, pulling them all the way to the side so she’s exposed to me.

  “Ready for more?” I ask, parting her delicately with my thumbs.

  A whimper is the only affirmation I get.

  I step closer and rub the head of my cock against her clit. Olivia gasps and looks down between us.

  “You’re so sexy,” I say, rubbing myself along her heat, coating myself in her wetness.

  She watches my eyes the entire time. It’s a thrill that she can’t keep her gaze off mine, but there’s something about it that scares me too. Like she’s going to see exactly how I feel about her, discover that my feelings for her run much deeper than fake husband and wife. Maybe this is what it means to love someone. It’s scary and uncertain, and you’re always terrified of fucking it up. But for me, it’s not a question of if I fuck it up. It’s when.

  Focus, Noah.

  I align the head of my cock and press forward the tiniest bit. Just the tip of me has entered her and I stop, realizing we’re without a condom. I swallow.

  Does Olivia realize it too? Is she okay with this, or did she just not notice? Staying perfectly still, I thumb her clit again. She moans my name.

  “Shh, baby.” I pet her hair back from her face and kiss her lips.

  There’s something captivating about this moment. Broad daylight pouring through the window, halogen lights burning overhead. I can see every part of her. It’s intimate and illicit, and that’s a huge turn-on.

  I try to keep from thrusting; I don’t want her to cry out and blow our cover. The frosted glass doors don’t block much sound. I’m sure my secretary already heard Olivia when she came.

  I follow Olivia’s gaze to where it’s held captive—the spot where my body joins with hers. Just the flared head of my cock is buried, a thick vein pulsing along the shaft. I stroke her clit again and feel her inner muscles clamp down on me. Pleasure zips down my spine and I’m way too close to coming already.

  “Don’t fucking squeeze me like that,” I growl.

  “Shit.”

  Olivia climbs down off the desk. For a second, I think that she’s heard someone—that one of our colleagues, or worse, her father, is about to open the door. But when she doesn’t make a move to cover herself, I know that’s not it.

  “What?” I ask.

  “No condom. We can’t.”

  Fuck.

  No, scratch that—double fuck.

  “Well, this situation . . .” I glance down at my raging erection. “Needs to be taken care of. How can I be expected to work the rest of the day like this?”

  She purses her lips. I almost expect her to tell me to suck it up and deal with it. It’s what the old Olivia would have done. But this beautiful, sexual creature before me isn’t the old Olivia.

  �
�And how do you propose I take care of it, Mr. Tate?”

  I love that she’s playing right into my fantasy of office sex, complete with calling me by my proper name.

  “I could send you on a scavenger hunt for condoms, but that might take too long. Or . . .” I tap my chin thoughtfully.

  “Or?”

  “I could bend you over my desk and fuck that beautiful ass of yours, or watch you wrap those pretty little lips around my cock and swallow every drop I give you.”

  Needless to say, the idea of either excites me to no end.

  She looks shy for a moment, just a moment, and I’m dying to know what she’s thinking. Then her confidence comes rushing back. “I’m not having the first time we do . . . that in your office.”

  “‘That’ being back door?” I ask.

  She gives me a swift nod.

  Interesting. She’s not saying never; she’s just saying not right now.

  My little Snowflake has melted into a puddle for me. Gone is the chilly, no-nonsense woman who I wanted so badly to rustle up. Now she’s the woman of my dreams, tough when she needs to be, but soft and eager when we’re alone.

  Without another word, Olivia drops down to her knees before me and takes me in her hand. Then her mouth is on me and her head is bobbing in time with her hand, and holy fuck, my wife gives good head.

  After only a minute, I’m panting and my abs are tight, my orgasm close.

  “Olivia.” I grunt, cupping her cheeks in my hands while she continues bobbing up and down. “I’m going to come.”

  I warn her to give her a chance to pull away, figuring I’m going to blow my load on the stack of memos on my desk. But her mouth doesn’t move, except to swallow me deeper with a sultry moan.

  Fuck. I come hard, with blood thundering in my ears, and Olivia swallows every drop.

  “Holy hell, princess.” I help her to her feet, then tuck myself back inside my pants. “That was incredible.”

  She gives me a sly grin. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, Mr. Tate.”

  After a long kiss good-bye, Olivia leaves and I sit down at my desk with a lovesick grin on my lips.

  But the peaceful atmosphere is not to last. With a tap on the doorframe, Fred enters.

  “Hey, Noah, do you have a minute?”

  Reluctantly I nod. Fuck. I hope he doesn’t notice that it smells like pussy in here. His daughter’s pussy.

  “Come on in, Fred. What can I do for you?”

  “Do you mind if I close the door?” he asks.

  I nod. “Of course not.” So far his visit is eerily similar to Olivia’s, but if he thinks I’m eating his ass on my desk, he’s dead fucking wrong.

  Once the office door is closed, Fred lowers himself into the armchair in front of my desk. “How are things going?” he asks, his lips pursed and his tone filled with skepticism.

  “Fine?” I reply, confused. What the fuck is he getting at?

  “I actually came to talk to you about something sensitive. Specifically, is Olivia pregnant yet?”

  “Um . . .” I swallow and my gaze darts away from his.

  “Because Peter’s little tantrum in the meeting this morning was only the beginning, I fear.”

  “What do you mean?” If any of these asshats try to undermine Olivia, if any of them try to come at her in any way, so help me God . . .

  Fred shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “The board agreed to ninety days.”

  “Yes, and?” I tap my fingers impatiently on the desk. We still have plenty of time, by my watch.

  “And more than a month has passed without much in the way of results. They’re growing restless. They’re still entertaining offers to dissolve us, son.”

  The look in his eyes isn’t just uncertainty. It’s sheer panic. I let out a heavy sigh.

  “And there’s something else,” he continues. “My health . . .”

  “What is it, Fred?” I lean forward in my chair, placing my elbows on the desk.

  “Well, I was diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer earlier this year, as you know. But I’ve received word from my oncologist that it hasn’t responded to treatment as well as we’d hoped.”

  “Does Olivia know?”

  He shakes his head. “Not yet. I hope to try one more treatment before I tell her. And she’s got so much on her plate right now.”

  I nod. I’m not unfamiliar with what it’s like to watch a parent die. “I’m going to take care of her, Fred.”

  He smiles at me sadly. “I know you will.” Then he rises from his seat and wanders to the door.

  I don’t like the slump of his shoulders, the tired defeat in his posture. “Fred, hang in there, buddy. We’ve got this.” I force some hopeful optimism into my voice.

  He faces me and nods. “Let’s just get a pregnancy test scheduled soon. We need some good news around here.”

  My mouth goes dry, and I swear I can feel the blood drain from my face. “Soon,” I choke out.

  “With you two now married, the numbers looking up, and a baby hopefully on the way, the board won’t have a leg to stand on. You’ll win this fight.”

  Fred leaves, closing the door behind him. Which is good, because I don’t know how I can face anyone right now.

  Olivia still doesn’t know. The company is still in trouble. Everything is riding on this. But if I come clean to Olivia, tell her that the real reason we got married was to produce an heir, I have good cause to believe she’ll walk away forever. And if I don’t knock her up, we’ll lose our company to a rival firm. It’s either lose Olivia . . . or lose Tate & Cane Enterprises.

  I lean forward to bury my face in my hands. Christ.

  What am I going to do?

  Chapter Twelve

  Olivia

  The next week passes in a blur of long hours and stolen moments. On workdays, Noah and I bust our asses at the office, the perfect models of diligent leadership. But we flirt and kiss every chance we get, and we jealously guard our nights together. For the first time in a long time, Tate & Cane isn’t the only center of my life—something else has joined it.

  At a familiar knock on my open office door, I look up from my computer.

  Noah leans against the doorjamb. “Hey there, Snowflake. You hungry?”

  “Is that a pickup line, or are you talking about actual, literal hunger?” I reply with one raised eyebrow. If he asks me whether I want a nice big sausage, I swear to God . . .

  “I’ll take whatever I can get.” Noah chuckles. “But no, I was just wondering if you wanted to grab lunch soon. I wanted to ask your professional opinion on a couple things.”

  I consider. On one hand, I’m kind of in the middle of something. On the other, I’m also getting hungry. I check my clock. Sure enough, it’s lunchtime. And we’ll be talking about business while we eat . . .

  Why not? Deciding that this report can wait another hour, I roll my chair back and get up. “I can go right now if you’re ready. I actually have some stuff I wanted to ask you about too.”

  We take the elevator down to the lobby. The weather is nice, so we decide to walk to a small but classy sushi bar about a block from the office. All the way there, we keep finding reasons to touch each other—hands brushing together, hips “accidentally” bumping, playful shoulder nudges, quick affectionate squeezes around the waist.

  The hostess seats us at a cozy table for two, tucked away from the window.

  Once we have our drinks, I prompt Noah, “So you wanted to ask me something?”

  He waves his hand. “You go first.”

  “Well,” I begin, settling back in my chair, “I’m worried about this year’s retreat.” Normally, we hold a tropical company retreat every winter, and we always invite the executives of our most valuable clients. It’s all part of maintaining Tate & Cane’s image of personalized, luxury service. “I just don’t think we can afford it right now. Even if we can, it’ll make things awfully tight . . .”

  I expect Noah to object. Or at least make an innuendo about “t
ight things.” Events like this are always huge networking opportunities. And if we deviate from our usual routine, clients might get suspicious about our finances. The last thing we need is a repeat of last month’s Red Dog Optics panic.

  But Noah surprises me when he replies, “Then let’s cancel this year. Our employees will understand, and we can find some other way to butter up our clients.”

  I blink, iced tea paused halfway to my mouth. “That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking. You read my mind.”

  By now I’ve seen his mischievous smirk a million times, but it still sends a subtle tingle down my spine when he purrs, “I hope there’s other, more fun things on your mind too.”

  While I can’t help returning his smile, I try to stand firm and stay focused. “Back to our clients—what ‘other ways’ did you have in mind?”

  Thinking, Noah rubs his stubbled chin. “We could invite the execs to a private gala. One day, one night. Even if we pay for their airfare and hotel, it’ll be less expensive than sending over a hundred people to Jamaica. We can say something like ‘we decided to host a more intimate event this year’ so we don’t have to admit the real reason.”

  “Won’t they see right through that?” In this kind of context, everyone knows that intimate is just a code word for small.

  Noah shrugs. “What else can we do? If you say we can’t afford a retreat this year, then I believe you.”

  I’m embarrassed to feel a little flutter at his words. He trusts my professional judgment without question. It was such a simple, innocent statement but it carries so much weight, so much faith.

  “And we have to place the same kind of trust in them to see us for what we really are,” Noah continues. “You never know . . . if we really want to transform Tate & Cane, honesty might turn out to be our greatest strength. A smart client would appreciate our frugality and efficiency.” He winks at me. “And don’t worry, I’ll still show them a great time, budget or no budget. They won’t miss the Caribbean one bit when I’m through with them.”