by Liv Lane
“Well deserved,” Andrew says. “On all accounts. Did you have a chance to set up the room yet?”
I shake my head. “I was going to come in early tomorrow,” I reply. Although I hate doing anything last minute, and I would much rather take the time to check the layout of the room without feeling rushed.
Also, it’s not like I have anything more pressing to do. Doreen’s biker romance is still on the table taunting me, and I can’t bring myself to pick it up even to move it somewhere else. I just shuffle things around it like it might magically disappear.
Doreen will be over to collect it and to give me the next installment soon. Maybe it’s time I explained to her that it’s really not my thing?
Only, the story is kind of addictive and compelling, and if thoughts of Matt hadn’t overridden it, I’m sure I’d be diving straight back in.
“Don’t feel obliged to work overtime. I know you’ve been putting in long days,” Andrew says, and I realize to my embarrassment that I’ve been thinking about a biker romance instead of paying attention. “But if you want to, you can check it out now. It’s empty, and you can take as much time as you need.”
“Thank you!” I smile brightly. If only Matt and the damn book had never entered my life, I would be on cloud nine right now. I thought I could play the adult game, but I can see that it was a mistake. “I’d love to set everything up now.”
“Do you know where it is? Want me to show you how the equipment works?”
He’s so thoughtful offering to help, but his working hours put me to shame. “No, I’m good. I like the thought of—you know—taking my time,” I add. “And yes, I know where it is. It’s—ah—next to Matt’s office.” Why does mentioning his name bring blood rushing to my cheeks? I wonder if Andrew suspects what happened between myself and our company CEO. Andrew doesn’t seem the sort to gossip. Although my leaving with Matt wasn’t a secret, the picture throws it into a whole new light. I’m amazed no one is more suspicious, given my terrible acting skills.
Maybe I’m making more of the picture than I should?
Betty has called me every night this week. She even threatened to come over despite her theater being in the middle of a production. She thinks I should talk to Matt—her exact words were, “Confront the asshole!”
“Rex and Kelly are here if you need anything,” Andrew says, but his eyes have narrowed on me in an unnerving way that makes me feel like a microbe under a scope. Maybe he’s thinking about…having tacos for dinner and is hoping he can wrap the conversation up. “Don’t take Susan’s words to heart. He’s not that much of a tyrant, and you wouldn’t be disturbing him. But if it makes you feel better, I know he left at lunchtime for an off-site meeting and he won’t be back.”
Relief sweeps through me. “Great!” I say, and realize that was a little too enthusiastic when Andrew chuckles. Wishing me a good night, he heads for the elevator.
Gathering my laptop, I head to the boardroom.
It’s surprisingly quiet on the floor when I exit the elevator. The legal team is based here, and I only notice a couple of heads bent over computers as I take a right toward Matt’s office. A quick glance at my watch, and I realize how late it is! No wonder I’m alone.
I know Andrew said Matt was out, but I breathe a little easier seeing it’s dark in his office.
Lights blink on as I enter the boardroom, and the door clicks softly shut behind me. There’s a glass wall facing the corridor, but it has one of those between the glass blinds, which have been closed for privacy. Another door on the right-hand wall, must lead directly to Matt’s office.
I know Andrew gave me permission, but I feel like an interloper sneaking around in here. It’s bigger than I expected, and the table has a dozen seats, high-backed, and comfy looking. The window directly opposite the corridor offers city views, and in the distance, I can see the river.
Placing my laptop on the shiny table, I take a slow perusal. There are several interactive screens, and you can set them up to display different information via a central hub.
I sit in a chair—like I’m testing it out—and spin myself around.
I’ve been with a client for most of the afternoon, and it’s late by the time I return to the office. I share my floor with the legal team, but it’s quiet when I exit the elevator.
Joe, a young paralegal, is slipping his coat on as I pass. He’s the only person on the floor, even Susan’s desk is neat and empty. She’s on Auntie duties tonight, and she’s heading over to Kat’s with Dillon. Thomas has been sleeping poorly, so their visit will give my sister a break. Kat runs an online business from home…which she’s also fiercely independent about managing by herself. Our parents live on the west coast, and mom is ready to get on a plane, which my sister doesn’t want since the two of them clash.
It’s been an odd week, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t regret my sister’s call Friday night for many reasons. After Coffeegate, the new hire with the cherry lipstick and a propensity for spilling things has constantly been on my mind. I only got a little taste, and I definitely want more. My schedule has been insane all week, and every single meeting I’ve booked, she’s had the audacity to decline. I sense an uphill battle ahead.
The lights are on in the boardroom as I enter my office. Andrew’s team is presenting to the senior leadership team tomorrow, so I expect it’s to do with that.
The door leading from my office to the boardroom is open a crack, and through it, I see a chair spinning around.
I bite back a chuckle. It’s been a shitty week, yet the abandonment with which this individual is playing soothes all the drama away. I can still remember a time before when boardrooms were mystical places where important stuff went on. For a moment, I’m taken back, and I reflect on what I’ve done. It’s easy to become caught up in the now, to forget the challenges of the journey. I’ve worked hard to achieve what I have.
I should take more time to sit in boardroom chairs and spin myself around. Now I’m curious as to who it is, and I ease the door open.
Damn.
Emma’s blatant avoidance has been a source of frustration, and a level of crazy grips me now I have her in my sights.
She’s too sweet and has an irritating level of misplaced judgment. She has me labeled as an asshole, so I might as well embrace the part.
I want to corrupt her, do wicked things to those cherry lips.
So that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
It’s premeditated on my part as I shrug out of my jacket and toss it on the nearest chair. I lose the tie next and roll up my sleeves. For the first time in days, I’ve got the opening I’ve been waiting for. She’s attracted to me. I’ve had my tongue inside her, felt her pussy crush my fingers as she came for me.
I’m not boasting when I say I know she wasn’t faking.
But I’m pissed about her labeling me a cheating man-whore and not having the decency to accept my damn meeting request so I can explain.
So, I’m going to set things straight.
And after? After, she’s either going to slap my face or be fucked within an inch of her life.
The door begins to open mid-spin, but I’ve built up momentum, and I can’t stop it in time.
Someone stops it for me, and a short, sharp squeal escapes my lips. “You’ve been avoiding me,” a too-familiar voice says.
God that voice, it should be accompanied by a disclaimer warning the female population of danger ahead.
And he’s right, I have been avoiding him. If I had my way, we would never breathe the same air again. I’m so angry with him, with myself, and with my current reaction to him.
I crane my neck, trying to see. “Eyes forward,” he growls. The urge to get up and storm out is strong…interactive screen set-up be damned. But getting up isn’t an option because he’s standing right behind my chair, which is now trapped against the table.
My mind plays catch up, noting the stern edge to his tone. His reaction doesn’t fit the situation. H
e sounds…angry? Suddenly, I’m not sure of myself. Refusing the meeting invites wasn’t professional of me. He’s the company CEO, and I need to get over this and behave like an adult.
“I ought to spank your judgmental ass,” he mutters.
That seems an extreme reaction to a meeting decline. I’m no expert on disciplinary action, but surely I get a verbal warning first?
“But you owe me, and it’s time for you to pay.” My chair is spun back around, and I’m face to face with Matt. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
He’s wearing dark suit pants and a white shirt, clean-shaven today, revealing the stark, beautiful lines of his perfect face. A tic thumps in his jaw, and his eyes blaze down at me.
“I’m sorry I declined the meetings. I was swamped…with the presentation.” Yeah, that sounds super lame. I’m confident there isn’t a right reason to decline a meeting invite from the CEO other than suffering a mortal injury.
I declined his invite a total of seventeen times.
I presumed he might ignore me when we next met, or that he would act like it had never happened. He’s doing neither of those things, and his anger leaks out. He might be trying to temper it, but it’s like noon light around a poorly fitted blackout curtain.
“That’s it? That’s your takeaway from this, that you’re in trouble because you declined a meeting?”
I’m confident there is no good answer to this. Susan called him a tyrant in a playful way, but I can see that side of him now. I imagine him directing his wrath upon someone in a business context, and it’s not a pretty image. I’m literally quaking in my seat…and feeling guilty, which doesn’t make a bit of sense.
His hands plant on the chair arms, strong fingers gripping tight enough to make the seat creak. “On second thought, don’t talk. I don’t need to hear anything you have to say.”
He leans in, and my heart races because I know he’s going to kiss me. I want him to kiss me so badly it’s like I’m a recovering candy addict who’s gotten trapped in their favorite shop.
I should slap him for his presumptuousness, or kick him in the balls. I’ve never kicked or slapped anyone in my life, though, and his lips crash over mine while I’m still caught in a loop.
My hands lift, to push him away, or finally slap him, but some kind of cross-wiring happens, and I grip his shirt instead, screwing the material under my fierce grip.
The seat is behind me, Matt’s in front. He’s crowding over me, and it’s destroying all my thoughts. In my heart, I can’t believe he would be doing this if there was someone else in his life. I’m rationalizing this, trying to find an excuse because I’m too far gone.
Then his head lifts, and he’s staring at me, a hard stare filled with emotions I can’t easily quantify.
“Ask me the fucking question,” he growls. “Then we can move on to the part where you take your punishment like a good girl.”
My stomach tumbles over. His brusque tone, the threat—every aspect of that statement is throwing up red flags.
I’m no longer sure I want to ask the question, the burning question that’s been haunting me every hour of every day since I bumped into him outside the ice cream shop. Suddenly I’m sure that I’ve made a grave error of judgment. That when I learn the answer, I’m going to be sorry, and that I might beg him to punish me, as abhorrent as that sounds.
“Who is she?” My voice is a whisper, it’s as much as I can manage.
“My sister,” he says, and he doesn’t sound angry anymore, he simply sounds tired.
Running fingers through his hair, he steps back as if to distance himself from me.
I’ve screwed up, I can’t assimilate how much I have screwed up, and the sickness in my heart is worse than any physical pain.
“I like women. I’ve known plenty, and I not going to lie about it, nor am I going to apologize,” he says. “But I’d like to think if I was married and a father that I would fight to keep that until there was absolutely no more fight to have. Only then, when we have accepted this and parted ways, would I consider fucking someone else. And if I did, I’d be sure to tell them I had kids, and they were my first priority.”
My head is spinning. I felt sick before, but now I’m cold and desolate. Every word that leaves his lips seems to stamp his disapproval home.
“My sister’s ex is an asshole. Not at first; at first, he was a regular guy who liked to party hard. Then he partied too hard, and the drink and drugs did not enlighten him. It was the happiest day of my life when she finally said she’d had enough.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. The words are inadequate, but they need to be offered regardless.
“It’s too late,” he says, and I swear a part of me dies.
As quickly as he turned away, he’s turning back and his big hand encloses my face, pinching my chin between his fingers. Our heated gazes lock, and I’m a prisoner of that look. His touch isn’t hurting, but it’s firm and determined. “Open your pretty fucking mouth.”
My heart beats wildly in my chest, and it’s too late when his lips lower over mine again. At the first swipe of his tongue across my lips, I open on a groan. It’s an angry kiss, and there’s so much freaking emotion that I swear I can taste it. He ravages my mouth with his tongue like I imagine he will my body—deep and possessive.
The kiss is my undoing. I’ve never been kissed like this before. It’s rough, searing, teeth nipping at my bottom lip. I groan again, a breathy sound that smacks of capitulation. Somehow my hands are in his silky hair, and I’m pulling him closer, and now I’m the one driving the kiss. Every cell in my body is awake—I feel like I’ve been dreaming my whole life.
His hand palms my throat, shoving me hard against the seat as he takes the control back, and squeezing enough to send a rush of heat through my body. My breasts feel heavy and constricted under my blouse. Breathing is a challenge because I’m panting that hard.
I’m wet. I’d be embarrassed about this if I had the bandwidth, but acknowledgment is as far as I can go.
Just as I’m convinced I’m about to combust, his head lifts and his heated gaze holds mine.
“I’m going to fuck you,” he says, and my stomach performs a summersault that drives more heat between my legs.
The hand on my throat slides down slowly while I’m still lost in his hooded gaze, dipping into the collar of my wrap-around top.
“Don’t move,” he growls, like there’s a chance I would when I’m sure I would die if he stopped.
His warm hand dips inside my shirt, forcing it open until it gapes, and his palm encloses my breast. There’s nothing tentative in his touch, it’s bold, determined, and purposeful—he’s going to take what he wants.
His thumb brushing back and forth over my engorged nipple is feather-soft, his heated look, hard.
“Ask me to fuck you,” he demands, head lowering close to my ear as he traps the sensitized nipple between his finger and thumb and rolls.
I don’t answer. I’m feverish, and my legs press together to try and ease the gathering ache.
“Ask me to fuck you, right now, or I’m going to stop.”
He means it, I can sense it. If I don’t answer, this will stop, and he will turn his back on me.
If he stops, I might die.
I’m destroyed, and having him inside me, will destroy me a little more.
I’m damned, I realize. I am already damned.
“Please fuck me,” I whisper.
I’m out of the chair, spun around, and pressed facedown over the shiny board table. My skirt is thrust up to bunch around my waist, and my panties tugged down. My fidgeting earns me a sharp smack on my ass. “Keep still,” he says.
My breath catches as gentle fingers skim over my hips, but as they move to cup me intimately, the air begins to burn my lungs, and it saws in an out erratically. “Please, please, please.”
His fingers play, sliding through slick folds, teasing me with the lightest touches that defy his earlier anger.
&nb
sp; “Fuck, you’re tight. I’m going to ruin this pussy.”
I hear the chink of his belt and his zipper, followed by a faint crackle of a condom wrapper. Anticipation courses through me as something thicker replaces his fingers. He penetrates me—a slow, relentless impalement. His cock is thick and long, and it doesn’t seem to have an end and growing panic battles with pleasure.
“Keep still,” he growls, fist enclosing my hair and holding my face against the table, while he takes me past comfort and into a twisted deliverance.
And there he stops. I’m pinned completely, inside and out. My pussy flutters wildly around him, squeezing like it might force that monster out.
He groans, and his fingers tighten. His weight shifts as he slides out, and every over-sensitized nerve in my body rushes to life.
He slams back in, and there is nothing slow or gentle this time.
My fingers clench into fists, and guttural cries of pleasure escape my lips as he begins to hammer into me.
My mind goes into free-fall as my body climbs. My breath comes out ragged and choppy. Matt is literally fucking the air out of my lungs. The slippery surface does not help, and it’s only his brutal hold that keeps me in place.
“Driving. Me. Fucking. Nuts.” He coordinates each word with a savage thrust, but I’m so close to falling over the blissful cliff that I couldn’t care less what he’s complaining about.
I have nothing to compare this with, I’m out of my comfort zone and rushing toward an unknown destination.
Releasing my hair, he takes my hips in both his hands. I’m like a rag-doll, dangling, sliding, and slamming against the table. He’s taking me roughly, and I know my body will be covered in bruises, but I don’t care. My pussy is so open and used, and the wet slapping noises every time he drives deep triggers an erotic avalanche.
I think I scream, but his hand closes over my mouth, smothering it, and I come so hard I forget who I am.
Instead, I feel, consumed by the rapturous pleasure that goes on and on in waves.
I sense him rising toward his climax, the rush of adrenaline, and the way his cock feels thicker as he slams in and out.