by Megan Hart
Something grew between them.
Something thick with anticipation. Her heart thudded faster. In her fist the phone had become heavy as a brick. Her nipples had gone tight and hard as she stared him down. Her breath caught, watching him give in to her.
Without another word, Jamison turned to his food and picked up the fork. He stabbed a bite of eggs and chewed them slowly. Silent. Caite set the phone between them on the bar, where he could easily reach it if he wanted to, and again Caite wondered if he’d take it. She would’ve, if it had been hers. But Jamison only ate, using the thickly buttered toast to push the eggs onto his fork.
“It’s good,” he said in a low voice. “Thanks. I was really hungry.”
“I know you were. You didn’t eat much at dinner, and if you don’t eat every few hours, you get really cranky.”
He paused with the fork halfway to his mouth, then set it down. “How...?”
“Look, just because you’ve barely given me a glance for months doesn’t mean I don’t pay attention to what goes on in the office.” Caite nibbled her toast for a second, then washed it down with sweet orange juice. “The yelling starts right around eleven-thirty and tapers off after lunch until about three. Here. You need to have some of this—it’s excellent.”
She held up a scone and dripped the clotted cream all over it. But when she tried to hand it to him, Jamison shook his head. Caite waved it closer, tempting, but he wouldn’t be tempted.
“I don’t eat that sort of thing.”
“You should,” she told him, not putting it down. “Every once in a while, you need a little something sweet. Everyone does.”
There it was again. That rising heat. That anticipation, the tension between them. Caite looked into Jamison’s eyes and didn’t let her gaze waver, didn’t put down the scone. She waited.
“No, thanks.”
She put the scone on the plate and licked a few drops of cream from her fingertips, watching the way his eyes followed the motion of her tongue. Her stomach tumbled. He was her boss. This was dangerous territory. But there was no denying that something was going on here. She glanced at the phone he hadn’t reached for. More heat filled her, this time centering between her thighs.
Stupid, she told herself as she leaned over the bar to tug a silk scarf from a tangle of similar accessories she’d left on the dining room sideboard. This was stupid and dangerous, and she could lose her job.... She held the scarf aloft.
“You need to learn to let go sometimes, Jamison.”
He eyed her warily. “You seem to think so.”
It was the perfect time for him to get up and leave. Closing in on 3:00 a.m., stomach full, no reason for him to stay. But he didn’t move.
Caite drew the silk between her fingers, enjoying the smooth fabric on her skin. “Close your eyes.”
Chapter Four
Caite waited for him to scoff. Or sneer. But he didn’t. Jamison closed his eyes, and was that the slightest tremble of his lips she saw? The tiniest hitch of his breath?
Her hands shook a little when she tied the scarf around his eyes and smoothed it onto his cheeks. It was an imperfect blindfold; if he tried hard enough, surely he’d be able to see. But Jamison didn’t move. Standing between his legs, Caite didn’t move, either.
“Open your mouth,” she breathed, certain this time he’d have to deny her. He’d have to.
But he didn’t. Jamison’s lips parted, the hint of his tongue making her want to lean in close and taste him. She didn’t, of course. Kiss her boss? Craziness, even if, dear God, he smelled so good this close that it made her knees a little weak.
Caite took a fingerful of cream from on top of the scones and let it touch the center of his lower lip. “Taste it.”
His tongue crept out. A shiver ran through her. His breath sighed out. She traced his lower lip again with the cream, this time adding a little more.
“Again.”
This time his breath shuddered out of him, and Caite put a hand on his shoulder to keep herself from having to sit. They stayed very close, neither moving. Below the blindfold, Jamison’s mouth looked even more lush and inviting.
“When you can’t see,” she said in a low voice, “it’s so much easier to give up. Isn’t it?”
His hands skimmed up the sides of her thighs to settle on her hips. She didn’t imagine the way his head tilted or his fingers tightened, pulling her a little closer. The heat that had been simmering between them became white-hot.
Fuck this—she was going to kiss him.
His phone bleated, then buzzed against the wooden breakfast bar. Jamison’s grip loosened. He pushed back from her a little, tugging at the blindfold to grab his phone. He didn’t look at her as he thumbed the screen and typed in his password.
He looked at the text message, then at her. The cream had vanished from his mouth, which was good since nothing about his expression looked anything close to sweet. “Your girl Nellie just got herself arrested.”
* * *
It was actually a bonus, as far as these things went. For the company. A chance to prove that Wolfe and Baron could put a positive spin on negative situations meant that something bad had to happen first. So it wasn’t that Jamison was pissed that Caite’s new clients had gotten themselves into trouble.
It wasn’t that at all.
No, it was the memory of the way her fingertip had drifted over his lower lip. The taste of her mingled with the sweet clotted cream. It was knowing, deep in his gut, that her mouth would be as delicious. Her pussy even sweeter. It was thinking about how sleek the silk had been against his face, the darkness against his closed eyes. The press of his rock-hard cock inside his trousers.
All of that had put him in the worst of moods, along with the lack of sleep and having to work on a Saturday. When the call came in, Caite had calmly begun handling it in a way that had impressed him, though he wasn’t willing to tell her so. Not yet. He’d been expecting to take over a bulk of work when Elise had the baby, but now with her on extended leave, having Caite take over her clients would relieve him of a lot of work and stress...and perversely, he wasn’t willing to let that all go. He’d worked too hard to build Wolfe and Baron not to cling to it. Not even if Caite Fox had her head on straight and seemed to know what she was doing. With everything.
Again his cock throbbed as he thought of how she’d taken his phone. The way she’d known so much about him already, anticipating what he’d need or want. The simple act of making him food when he hadn’t had to tell her he was hungry. Her quiet commands. Jamison closed his eyes, swallowing hard against the remembered touch of her fingertips to his lips.
“Open your mouth,” she’d said, and he had, immediately. Without hesitation, responding to her steady confidence. The impression that she expected him to do as she said without question had been like putting a match to gasoline for him. She’d said it as if she owned him, and he’d let her.
That was the worst part.
“Shit,” he muttered, scrubbing at his eyes. Not enough sleep and not enough coffee.
From the couch across from him, Caite stirred, and Jamison quieted. Watching her. They’d spent the past few hours putting the spin on the Nellie situation. They hadn’t had to post her bail or pick her up—her management team did that. But he and Caite had done their share of Connexing, tweeting and posting links to positive updates about the incident, along with putting out official statements. Would it work? Time would tell, but instead of a flood of angry social media chatter about the fact Nellie had punched a girl in the face, they’d managed to at least twist the story to suggest it had been in self-defense. The other girl had tossed a drink in her face, called her names. Something like that. Jamison was too tired to care.
“Morning,” Caite said. She stretched like a cat, one limb at a time, and pushed her honey-blond hair back from her fac
e. She leaned forward to rub her hands on her knees. “Time is it?”
“Just past eight.”
“God. I wanted to sleep until at least nine today.” She eyed him. “Did you sleep at all?”
“Some.”
“In that chair?” She pointed.
Jamison nodded. Caite got up and crossed to him on bare feet. At some point during the night or early morning, as it were, she’d changed into soft pajama pants and a T-shirt. He’d declined her offer of a pair of sweats but had conceded to loosening his tie. Now she stood in front of him, and before he could stop her, she put a fingertip beneath his chin and tilted it upward.
“You didn’t sleep.” She leaned close to look into his eyes. “You’re going to be a mess.”
“I’ll sleep when I go home.”
“Are you going home?” She hadn’t moved away. Hadn’t taken her fingers from beneath his chin.
His throat closed. Heart began to thud harder. He blinked, unable to look away from her.
“Jamison,” Caite said slowly. “We did a good job, huh? Got things back on track, right?”
“Yes. It seems so.”
“You should go to sleep.” Still, neither of them moved. She studied him. “You could’ve left. But you didn’t.”
“I wanted to make sure we got this under control.”
“Because you don’t trust me?” she asked.
He had to admit it was true. Caite didn’t seem offended. She smiled faintly.
“Because you like to be in control,” she whispered. “All the time.”
“I... Yeah,” he said, and it was the truth but felt like a lie.
“I told you, you should learn to let go a little.”
This close, her eyes were wide and dark but not brown the way he’d thought. He caught glints of gold and green. She had the faintest lines in the corners, too. She spent a lot of time smiling, then.
“I don’t like—” he began.
Her hand slid from under his chin to the back of his head, where her fingers gripped his hair, tipping his face up. She wasn’t hurting him, but he let out a low groan he stifled at once. She didn’t laugh or even smile. If she had, he’d have been out of there before she could say a word.
“Shhh,” she whispered. “Shhh.”
Jamison quieted. Every muscle had gone tense, but when Caite fitted herself onto his lap, tiny tremors began to ripple through him. She cupped his face in her hands. He could not look away.
“Don’t you want,” she said, “to give up a little control? Just a little?”
He hadn’t wanted anything so much, ever, but dammit if that didn’t piss him off even more. “Get off me.”
But when she tried, his hands on her hips kept her still. They stared at each other. A breath in. A breath out. Never looking away from each other’s eyes.
“You should get off,” he whispered.
“Oh, I’d love to,” Caite said. “I’d like to get off very much.”
His cock surged at the innuendo. His fingers gripped her smooth, warm skin just above the waistband of her pajamas. The feeling of it made him want to get on his knees in front of her. To open her thighs and use his mouth on her. To hear her cry out his name as she came.
Jamison didn’t move.
Caite rocked her hips the tiniest amount, pressing herself against the bulge in his pants. Her eyes never left his. “When’s the last time you fucked a woman, not your hand?”
He said nothing.
“When,” she said, rocking a little harder, “is the last time you came?”
It had been just over a week, but he kept his mouth closed tight. He could stand, tumbling her off his lap, but something stopped him. The look in her eyes? The sound of her voice. The way her hands felt on his face as she kept him still, forcing him to look into her eyes.
“I’m going to kiss you,” Caite said softly but firmly. “Are you going to let me?”
Jamison meant to say “No,” but what came out was nothing but a sigh. She tilted her head. Her lips brushed his, but she didn’t kiss him. Not yet. She let her breath caress him, teasing. The weight of her on his lap was so slight it was like holding air, and yet the pressure of her body on his erection was enough to make him grunt in frustration when she rocked on him again.
His mouth opened, seeking hers, but she held him still.
“No,” she said. “I told you, I’m going to kiss you.”
He waited, heart pounding so hard he swore he could hear the thunder of it outside his chest. He counted the seconds, the breaths, the pulse of blood in his engorged prick. He thought he would tell her to get the fuck off his lap. He thought he’d turn his head to keep his mouth from hers, but in the end all he did was wait for Caite to kiss him.
She did.
And he was lost.
* * *
Caite slanted her mouth to Jamison’s, the press of her lips light at first but quickly getting harder as soon as he opened for her. The soft sigh of his moan against her lips sent a shiver through her, but what really got her going was the way he totally succumbed to her. She’d noticed it a few times already, his reactions to the way she took command. Every time she’d thought he would balk or outright refuse her, he had not, and he wasn’t now. It set her on fire.
“You work hard,” she told him now, every word brushing her mouth on his. “But you have to learn to let a few things go.”
His fingers tightened on her hips, digging just hard enough to promise pain if he kept going. He didn’t. Caite wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed.
“If you want something done right, you have to make sure you do it yourself,” Jamison breathed.
“Okay. Boss.”
“I told you not to call me that.”
Caite laughed, then paused, waiting for the subtle feeling of his body straining toward hers. When she felt it, that tension, the flex and release of his muscles and the soft caress of his breath on her mouth, she brushed his lips with hers again. She wanted to take his mouth and plunder it, fuck into it with her tongue while she pulled his hair so tight he couldn’t move...except he could move—that was the thrill of it. He could toss her off his lap. Push her away. She couldn’t control him, not physically, unless he let her, and oh, shit, he was letting her.
“You don’t hover over Elise.”
Jamison licked his lips, touching hers with his tongue. “You’re not Elise.”
She’d have been pissed off if she weren’t so turned on. She held his face a little tighter, tipping it up. “Thank God for that, or else you wouldn’t be rock hard right now.”
He did try to pull away then, but not with enough force to make her let him go. Caite ground herself against him a little harder. She meant it to tease him, but it felt so good that she shuddered. It had been months since her last relationship ended, and she hadn’t had so much as a one-nighter since then. Touching him, tasting him, all she could think about was feeling him inside her.
“You taste so good,” she whispered into his mouth. “Open. Let me taste you more.”
Surely this time he’d refuse her. Put her off his lap, stalk out the door. Hell, maybe he’d fire her for good measure. But no, Jamison’s mouth opened and he gave her his tongue. His cock, thick and hard and, oh, shit, yes, throbbing, pushed against her clit. She wore only a thin pair of flannel pj bottoms and no panties, and every movement rubbed her bare pussy against the soft fabric.
“That feels so good,” she murmured, rocking her hips.
His hands tightened again. He kissed her harder, and she let him. Their teeth clashed. Tongues battled. His hands slid down to cup her ass, pushing her against him harder. Faster. Together they rocked so hard the chair creaked.
Her orgasm coiled tight and tighter, building. She was going to come from this—not fro
m just the consistent, delicious pressure of her clit against him but from everything else. The way he’d given in to her. The way he shuddered now.
“Oh,” she said, surprised. “Yes. Right there. Like that.”
Pleasure filled her like a river rushing through a canyon. She shook with it, her hands still cupping his face. Her mouth on his. The copper taste of blood forced her eyes open—she’d nipped his lower lip. Jamison didn’t seem to care, his own eyes closed, cock still hard and pushing against her. When she quieted, sighing his name, he opened his eyes.
Something nameless twisted between them.
Caite swallowed, licking her lips of the last taste of him. She drew in a breath, blinking to clear her head. With someone else she’d be reaching between them to unzip him, to get her hands on him. Maybe her mouth. But...
“No,” she said in a low voice. Then, louder, as she got off his lap, “No, I don’t think so. I think you should go now.”
Chapter Five
“Hold my calls,” Jamison said to Bobby without so much as a “Good morning” to warm him up. Bobby didn’t look surprised, at least not until Jamison added, “and hold all of Ms. Fox’s calls, too.”
“But...she’s—” Bobby began.
Jamison silenced him with a stare. He didn’t give a good goddamn what Caite was doing. In about ten minutes she was going to be doing whatever he wanted her to do.
He’d left her apartment when she told him to, his prick so hard it ached. It had stayed that way on and off for most of the weekend. He’d edged himself in the shower and at bedtime, then again when he woke up on Sunday, teasing himself almost to completion over and over until he’d had only to lie back and remember Caite’s mouth on his in order to come without even touching himself. The climax had been fierce enough to leave him blinded for a few seconds, faint stars swirling in his vision.
It hadn’t helped.
He’d woken this morning with another raging hard-on and the lingering taste of her teasing him. He’d spent the morning drive thinking of all the ways he was going to deal with what had happened, everything ranging from simply firing her to bending her over his desk and taking her from behind. Now, striding down the hall toward her office, he thought he’d fist his hands in her hair and make her get on her knees. Shit, he thought as he pushed open her door without even knocking, he should give her a severance and be done.