Just For Now (A Flirting With Trouble Novel)

by Annie Kelly

  Preferably immediately.

  “Rainey.”

  Owen whispers my name, nothing more, and then his lips crush mine beneath his again. He sinks down, letting our bodies meet, letting one hand coast down over my side and between my legs. He’s wasting no time now and I don’t want him to. He hovers his hand just above my quivering, quaking sex and I almost groan with desire.

  “You want this?” he murmurs against my mouth.

  “Yes,” I whisper. He pulls back to meet my gaze.

  “Say it.”

  I blink at him. “Say what?”

  He traces a lazy circle around my belly button with the tip of one finger.

  “Say what you want me to do. In detail. Tell me a story, like I did at the restaurant.”

  “A story?”

  At first, I’m thrown. Nervous, even. Who the hell am I to tell Owen my great expectations for our torrid sex romp in my empty apartment? I barely passed my college English classes, and, had Cyn not been my roommate, I definitely wouldn’t have.

  But Owen pins me with his smoldering stare and sexy half smile. And the way he looks at me makes me want to talk. It makes me want to tell him every dirty thing I’ve imagined him doing to me.

  “Tell me what you think about when we’re alone in a room at work together,” he whispers, capturing my earlobe between his teeth. “Because I know I can’t be the only one who imagines bending you over my desk and sliding your panties off.”

  All the breath comes whooshing out of me in a sudden and insistent pull of lust. I swallow.

  “I think about that, too,” I admit softly.

  “Think about what?”

  “Think about you bending me over your desk and fucking me really hard from behind, fucking me so hard that the drawers rattle in protest.”

  I’m not even sure where those words come from, but I can hear Owen suck in a startled breath of his own.

  “Go on,” he murmurs. I lick my lips, suddenly energized by the premise of telling him all of my sexy thoughts.

  “First, we’d wait until everyone was gone,” I say slowly. “Then, I’ll pull you into my office and lock the door behind me.”

  I glance up and over his shoulder as though someone could be watching, then scoot a little closer. He rewards me with the gentlest, briefest caress between my legs. My entire pussy clenches on the mere thought of his cock filling me up. Keeping me feeling full and satisfied in a way I haven’t felt in so long.

  “Once I’m sure we’re alone,” I continue, licking my lips, “I’ll begin removing my clothes.”

  “What will you be wearing?” Owen asks—his voice husky.

  I consider the question.

  “How about a super-short skirt with five-inch heels? Maybe a nearly see-through blouse with a lacey black bra underneath?”

  “I approve,” he murmurs. His breath caresses my skin when he speaks, and I shiver.

  “First,” I whisper, coasting my fingers down his bare shoulder to his right bicep, “I’d unbutton my shirt while straddling your lap.”

  “Mmm. I love that idea.”

  Owen moves his hands to my hair and angles my head as he kisses me, his tongue sliding deep in my mouth. He’s got the timing down and the mere way he devours me—it’s like I’m the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted.

  “More,” he says quietly.

  “More what?”

  “More story—what happens next?”

  I smile and pull back so I can meet his gaze.

  “Next,” I say, “I pull my skirt up higher on my thighs and you realize I’m not wearing any panties.”

  “Fuck.”

  Owen closes his eyes, almost as though he’s in pain.

  “And that’s when I slide one hand down and start playing with myself.”

  As he stares down at me, I give him a wicked smile as I move my palm down my side, letting it sweep over my breast as it travels down between my legs. Owen groans loudly.

  “Yeah, baby, I’m done—that’s it.”

  “What’s it?” I ask innocently.

  But before I can take another breath, before I can give him another coquettish smile, he’s pushed himself up and is hovering above me.

  “All I need, right this second, is to get my mouth on you—all over any part of you that I can possibly taste.”

  I have to force myself not to whimper as he begins to descend, scaling down my body and pressing lush kisses against my belly, my hip. When he reaches my right thigh, I moan, which must spur Owen on. He surges up, firmly—hell, almost roughly—pulling my legs apart and revealing me—all of me—to his gaze.

  “Fuck, Rainey—you’re so damn wet.”

  He dives right in with his lips and tongue, focusing dead center on my clit. I can feel my eyes rolling back in my head, my lids fluttering.

  Owen’s tongue flicks out, curling around my clit before pulling it into the warmth of his mouth. He surrounds my wetness with the warmth and wetness of his own mouth. I reach down and grab his hair, yanking the strands hard. I try not to crush his face between my thighs by holding them rigid. Everything he does feels miraculous. His eyes meet mine as his tongue enters me, and I almost pass the fuck out, it feels so damn good.

  “Yes—oh my God! Owen!”

  I know my sexy dialogue is limited at best. Hell, it’s not even insightful or original. It’s essentially grunting. But my brain is totally fried from having anything feel this good.

  Owen lifts up and replaces his tongue with a finger, then two. He grins at me as he moves back to my clit, sucking hard until it presses against his teeth.

  “Please. Please fuck me,” I say. I can’t help it. I have to ask for what I want. It may not be ladylike, but it sure as fuck makes me feel like a woman.

  Seconds later, Owen lifts up and crawls back above me. I wrap my legs around him, pressing my center up against his stiffening cock. He ducks down to take a nipple in his mouth and I keen out a sound that couldn’t be less human.

  “Fuck, I love your tits.”

  He licks and sucks as though worshiping my flesh. As he tastes my body, Owen moves his hand back down into my wetness. I gasp as he slides two, then three fingers into my pussy and I bite down hard on my bottom lip. He then retreats slightly and I grind down onto them. My mouth is open now and I’m practically panting.

  “You sure you want this?” he asks, still licking my nipples. I nod vigorously, no longer able to speak.

  Owen latches onto my nipple again and suckles it, both gentle and firm at the same time. His tongue flicks against the hardened peak, while, below, his fingers are still pumping inside me relentlessly.

  “You want more?” he asks, looking up at me.

  I’m shuddering and nodding at the same time and he grins as he reaches down with one hand to slide a condom on his long, hard cock that is as large as any I’ve ever seen. I lick my lips and he groans.

  “I can’t wait to feel your mouth on my cock—but I want your pussy first.”

  And with that, he slides into me, pulls back slightly, then slams forward. I keen out a sound I’ve never heard out of my own mouth.

  “You like that?” He grins as I nod and tilt my pelvis up.

  “God. Yes. Fuck me.”

  Owen growls. He levers himself up over me, grips the back of the couch in one hand, and slows his pace, dragging his cock through my wetness, then deep into my pussy.

  “Oh my God,” I moan.

  “That good, huh?” Owen shoots me a grin as he speeds his pace. He begins pounding into me and I’m practically shrieking his name as the orgasm takes me over. Moments later, he crests that same peak and falls over the other side. We’re both panting and grinning at each other.

  “God, I fucking love you,” he murmurs against my skin.

  I heave in a shaky breath.

&
nbsp; Shit. I can’t say that back yet. I can’t. Not because I don’t feel it—but because I do.

  Instead, I pretend not to have heard him. I cling on to his damp skin and bury my face in his neck, hoping that love hasn’t found me where I least expected it.

  But I can’t help the smile spreading over my lips. It feels like I’ve won something tangible and real.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ping.

  I peer at the window. What time is it anyway?

  I roll over and grab my phone from the bedside table. It pings again. Through my bleary focus, I zero in on the words.

  It’s Owen. Despite the early hour, despite my avoidance of all things romance and his murmured, postcoital declaration of love, I’m still thrilled to see his text.

  Good morning, I didn’t want to wake you. I’m at HQ this morning—can we have

  dinner again tonight?

  I rub a hand over my face, including my ear-to-ear grin that I can’t seem to stop sporting, then hop out of bed. He chose not to stay the night, but I know he stayed until I fell asleep, which was wonderful. His skin, his body—everything about him had been a miracle. Especially the fact that he didn’t pressure me to say anything back. He just lay there and loved me on his own. It was glorious.

  I can’t help but smile all through my shower, my blow-dry, my breakfast. The tight black tank top under my zip-up BYC hoodie allows me to flash a little more skin and cleavage if I so choose. By the time I reach BYC, I feel like I could tackle anything.

  However, the last thing I expect to walk into is complete and utter mayhem.

  “What the hell is going on?” I ask out loud. Not a single person stops to address me. I just stare at them.

  There are a half dozen people rushing around—Jenn and Derrick are talking to a few men in suits who I don’t recognize, and Shannon is at the front desk on the phone. I turn and peer at the people I’ve never seen in my life. In fact, they look like they are more than just employees. Blinking, I grab Jenn’s sleeve and tug her to the side.

  “What in the world is going on?” I hiss at her. She’s holding several files and her hands look as though they’re shaking.

  “Something happened—some kind of funding issue,” she whispers, glancing at the closest man to us, who is tall and wearing a dark grey suit.

  “Apparently there’s thousands of dollars missing out of the BYC account—I’m not sure about all the details, but we’re supposed to be going through all of the documents on our desks and turning them in. It’s been total chaos in here for the last hour.”

  I move aside to let Jenn pass, then lean back against the doorjamb.

  A funding issue. Money from the BYC account. What the fuck could possibly have happened?

  I slip past the front desk and start walking toward my office. When I get there, though, there’s already two men, both wearing suits, standing at the door on either side.

  “Excuse me,” I say to the taller of the two men, “that’s my office. I need to enter it.”

  “One moment, miss.”

  He leans inside and murmurs something very low, very faint, before standing up a little straighter and nodding.

  “Right now this room has been sealed off,” he says. “But Mr. Kensington has asked to see you in Mr. Marshall’s office while you wait.”

  I blink up at the guard, confused. Still, his closed-off expression tells me that I’m without any options. Instead, I spin on my heel and head for Owen’s office.

  I’m only there for a few minutes—pacing back and forth—when Mr. Kensington walks into the room.

  “Sit down, Rainey,” he barks at me.

  I open my mouth, then close it. He’s pissed. Clearly pissed. And pissed at me. So I keep my mouth shut and sink down on a sleek chair to my left.

  “I understand that you have access to the county account for BYC. Is that true?” he asks.

  I blink at him, nodding. “I do—I’ve had it for the last few months. Remy gave it to me before he left . . . for his other position.”

  Mr. Kensington narrows his eyes.

  “And have you made purchases on that card?”

  I frown. “Well, yeah, of course. I always purchase the catering stuff from Costco. And any office supplies. Stuff like that.”

  “Uh-huh . . . anything else?”

  I shrug. “Not that I can think of.”

  “No cash advances? Purchases at department stores or restaurants?”

  “No—nothing like that,” I say, brows furrowed.

  He walks closer, then stops a few feet away from me. I meet his gaze, wishing I could read his mind.

  “So you’d understand why we’d be alarmed by thousands of dollars charged to the BYC-designated credit card, correct? Especially since you have an unapproved copy of the card?”

  I lick my lips rapidly, then nod. “Maybe it isn’t a typical thing for assistant managers to have a credit card, but I did inform Owen—er, Mr. Marshall about it.”

  Mr. Kensington moves from where he’s standing to the desk and picks up the laptop computer, then walks back to me. He stands to my left side, then sets the computer in front of me on a small end table. It’s a bank statement—a statement that shows a rapid decrease.

  “There’s almost twenty thousand dollars in unapproved charges and cash advances, Rainey. We’ve connected all of the charges to two cards—one belonged to Remy House. The other one was yet unidentified. Now, you’ve admitted, it was a card you used.”

  “I mean . . . I suppose . . .”

  I trail off as Mr. Kensington shakes his head, then closes the laptop.

  “We’re going to need to remove you from your position while we investigate,” Mr. Kensington says quietly. “I’m not sure if the city will be pressing charges or if the police will be getting involved. However, I have to say that I’m truly disappointed in your actions.”

  I bristle. His condescension is beyond loathsome. More than that, though, I’m baffled.

  “Mr. Kensington,” I say, trying to stay calm, “I never purchased anything on that card that wasn’t for BYC.”

  He raises a brow. “Were all of your purchases approved prior to being made?”

  I cock my head. “I can’t honestly answer that at the moment—I’d need to look through my records.”

  “What about the two thousand dollars you spent on the card last month?”

  Shit. I forgot about that.

  “That was an unusual purchase,” I say slowly. “It was to begin the efforts for Safe Spaces. Since then, we’ve received a large donation. The money can certainly be returned.”

  “That’s not the point. The point is that the purchase was unauthorized. It was a selfish choice on your part.”

  I grit my teeth, sitting straight up in my chair. “I’m not entirely sure I appreciate what you’re saying. You are right—I should have gone through the proper channels. However, the purchases were specifically for the youth members here at BYC. I didn’t purchase anything for myself in the process.”

  Mr. Kensington walks back behind Owen’s desk and sits down, tenting his fingers in an almost thoughtful position.

  “Look, Rainey, I’m not going to beat around the bush here. You need to leave the premises. You shouldn’t come back here unless someone calls and asks you to.”

  “Why?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

  “Because,” he says, “if authorities are involved, you’ll need to be interviewed. You might be called in to go over things here, or you might be contacted separately to be interviewed at the station. Either way, staying clear of BYC while we do our investigation is wise.”

  For a long moment, I stare at my boss. I can’t believe that, after all of the work I’ve put in here, he could dick me over so thoroughly. Like I wasn’t worth anything. Like I wasn’t capable.

  Without another wo
rd, I stand and walk toward to door. Then I think better of it and turn back around.

  “What about Remy? Are you talking to him? He’ll tell you that I never used that card for anything I wasn’t supposed to.”

  Mr. Kensington clears his throat.

  “We will be speaking to everyone who could have been involved, Rainey.”

  I sniff. “What about Owen? Did he know about all of this happening?”

  He eyes me. “We notified him early this morning. Now, please exit the building quietly and without alarming the rest of the staff.”

  I want to punch him in the fucking face. Instead, I turn on my heel and hurry back toward my office.

  As I head back, I pull out my phone. When I get to my now-vacant office, my heart seizes up as I stare down at the screen.

  Owen: Rainey—I need to talk to you.

  Owen: Shit, Rainey, I just got here to the city offices and there’s something we need to talk about.

  Owen: I just called you. Pick up.

  Owen: Look, don’t panic. I know you didn’t do this. Just call me.

  I look around my office, now free of any uniformed men, and blink back my furious tears. Without another thought in my head, I start throwing everything I can into a box near the door. I manage to choke back a sob as I hurry through the main office and out to my car.

  I don’t check any mirrors as I roar out of the parking lot. My phone rings, but I don’t even look at the screen. I’m sure it’s Owen, but I can’t bear to talk to him. At this moment, all I can do is run away. Run far and run fast, without looking back.

  ***

  Usually, I get on the treadmill at BYC, but obviously that’s not something I can do today. Or, hell, ever again as far as I know. I decide to go to the fitness center at my apartment complex, and, once I start to run, I feel like I can breathe again. I mean, sure, it’s sweaty, labored breathing. But, still, I’m able to relax a bit as I fall into a stride that makes me feel far more like myself. When I’m running is the only time I’m ever really alone—racing with nothing but my body to answer to.

  I’m settling into my rhythm. This is the time when I’m most relaxed, which is sort of ironic, since every part of me is taking action. Still, I feel at home in this moment. And it always passes me by way too fast.