Filth

by Dakota Gray

  So Sheila, Fade and I collided a few weeks back. She had looked fuckably delicious with her blonde curls free, and a black dress painted on. My neck had been tilted back that night, but she's not just part of the Sec, she's the boss's legal secretary.

  Fucking her isn't just reckless, it's downright career suicide for a man like me. I don't have time for anything but a booty call. She has fuck-me-love-me written all over her.

  I managed to put her off that night. She's been finding reasons to come down from the fourth floor to the second to flirt with me. All I can figure is that she's suffering from a sudden thirst and I'm her drink of choice.

  She's going to die from dehydration.

  So very cautious, I ask Kennedy, “Wanna elaborate?”

  She squints up at me. “If I were a guy, I'd keep my dick to myself.”

  That's vague at best. I cup her chin and force her to look me in the eye. “Why?”

  Kennedy blinks as her nostrils flare. “You already fucked her, didn't you?”

  She doesn't get to ask me who I sleep with, and that means the end of exchange for me. “Is that all you needed for me to sign?” My voice is gruff again. It's not an act and it's not all anger either.

  Her tongue feathers over her bottom lip. “Yes,” she breathes.

  I drop my hand though I'm tempted to slip my thumb into her mouth to see what she does. I'm always tempted to see what she might do if I push her boundaries when she looks at me and her eyes are the shade of burnt honey.

  “Well...I'm heading out. Tell Gwen to call me if there's an emergency.”

  “You're leaving?” She sounds like I just asked her to strip naked. “Early?”

  “Is that a problem for you, too?”

  She sighs. “You're so pissy today. You're usually fun to argue with.”

  “Am I?” I snap and prove her point.

  “Preston's been in meetings all day.” Her voice and gaze is soft. “Tomorrow, too, from what I've heard. That's why he hasn't called you.”

  She doesn't wait for a thanks. She leaves those words as her parting shot. I'd be a liar if I say I didn't watch her strut away.

  I do and then have to mutter to my dick, “Down boy.”

  That kind of works. The fact she knew why I'm gritting my teeth and starting arguments where I could...That's why I want to devour her, push her boundaries.

  What does she see when she looks at me? If I can taste that, take it in and look at those facts with a cold, assessing gaze...

  But I've done my best to not slip into my predator skin and pursue Kennedy to get the answers. Whatever she saw in me years ago made her run. It's also made her come back time and again. That's not ego or wishful thinking. If Kennedy wanted nothing to do with me, I would have never seen her again. We wouldn't occasionally hold debates outside my office.

  And because of that wispy knowledge she's running from me, I have rare moments of...chivalry? Humanity? I don't know. I decide to be the good guy and not chase her.

  Every now and again those instincts to crouch low, pick up her scent and do my own version of the wild hunt gut punch me, mock me, call me stupid and overall treat me like a humiliation whore.

  Thankfully there are some things that keep me in check and remind me I'm—I have a life outside of that small, specific hunger for her. Shit, I'm only reminded of a Kennedy-sized craving every few weeks or so when we collide at work in passing.

  But now she's going to be my court runner for a month. I just have to grit my teeth and survive almost daily interactions.

  Being a good guy.

  Fuck. My. Life.

  COMING JAN. 24th