My Boss's Forbidden Daughter: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy (Heartbreakers Book 3)

by Lindsey Hart

  CHAPTER 8

  Cassie

  Sweet, holy, everything that’s holy.

  I didn’t realize fingers could feel so good. It’s not just his hand. It’s John’s lips. On my lips. He’s a good kisser. He’s a great kisser. He imitates what he’s doing with his mouth down lower, with his fingers. They act in tandem, his tongue, his lips, the grazes of his teeth, and those sinful, delightful fingers.

  He strokes me over my panties before he gets bold and dips a finger below. I love being touched by him. My hips jerk into his hand, proving just how much. He’s driving me mad with those sinful strokes, and he hasn’t even touched my clit yet. I want him. I want him fast. I don’t want the freaking foreplay and the teasing. I want release. I want him inside of me. I’ve thought about this way too much, and I feel like I’m going to burst wide open with want.

  His finger strokes over my folds again, and my body tenses up. His finger slides lower, closer to my entrance. I try to push my hips into his hand, to take him inside of me before I die, but his hand dances away. He leaves me straining, empty, and aching. I’m two seconds away from losing my mind and exploding all over the place, and it’s entirely his fault.

  “You’re sinful,” I grind into his mouth.

  “I won’t end this until you apologize.”

  “Maybe I should apologize to the one I offended,” I answer smartly. I can’t help it. I don’t know where all this sass and confidence comes from. It’s always been like this. Me speaking far too freely. I’ve always been witty, but generally, I still border on the more appropriate side of things. All the things I’ve ever said to John, anything we’ve ever done, it’s been a face off against each other. A battle of wills and opposing forces. We’re the kind of opposing forces that come together and create something crazy spectacular, like a tornado.

  Given the mess around the desk, I think that’s about right.

  “You should. To my dick.”

  “Yes. I—well—maybe I should see it.”

  John’s momentarily surprised, but he recovers fast. “Oh, no. You’re not trapping me into that. You’re trying to get this over with, make it fast and easy on yourself, but that’s not going to happen.”

  I cover his hand with mine, stopping his fingers. “Then I’ll take care of myself.”

  He almost stumbles back a step. His eyes glaze over with shock, but I recognize the hard need there too. “Christ.” He shakes his head. “That would be a thing to behold.”

  I tilt my chin up at him fearlessly, even though I’m not fearless. This isn’t me. I’m not bold like this. I’m not playful. I’m the boring girl who people don’t ask out on dates. I’m the only one in our group who is still single. I haven’t gone out with anyone in a year, and it’s been at least a year and a half since I had a good time. I don’t know what it is about John, where I’m bold and—and free. My cheeks only heat up a little when I slowly run my finger over the straining bud. I’m so wet it should be mortifying, but I’m not even overly uncomfortable about that. Not when John is looking at me like that. Like I’m touching him, not him touching me.

  I whimper, arching my hips into my touch. It feels good. Bolts of pleasure race up and down my legs. I keep going, swirling my finger over my clit. John’s hand comes back, joining mine. This time, he coats his fingers with my wetness and pushes one inside.

  “So tight,” he groans, his eyes shuttering.

  I whimper and close my eyes too. I’ve never been wet like this. I’ve never been turned on like this. I’ve never felt like my whole world is going to explode all around me.

  He moves his fingers, and I rock back and forth into him while I touch myself. “Yes, more,” I whimper, even though I’m the one doing most of the work here.

  “Like this?” His finger moves faster and a little deeper.

  “Yes. Yes. Like that.” My other hand curls around the lip of the desk. Is it wrong that during the most intense pleasure I’ve ever experienced, I’m also worried about what the heck I’m going to use to clean up his desk after this?

  “Like this?” He moves even faster, setting a brutal rhythm. I let my hand fall away. I can’t take this. I can’t concentrate. I can’t make my own hand function.

  John bends, and then his mouth joins in on the action. Somehow, he keeps working me with his finger as he licks and suckles me, still avoiding my clit. I bury my hands in his hair again, which is soft and incredible. I hold on. Desperately. My hips rock back and forth, and I can’t stop them from doing that. I can’t keep them still. I can’t stop my high-pitched whimpers or the way my head falls back, and I have to pant just to try and keep from blacking out.

  His finger works hard, plunging in and out of me. I can feel the pleasure sneaking up on me, but then he shocks me by sucking my clit hard and grazing it with his teeth as he pulls away. That’s all it takes to send me plummeting straight over the edge.

  I’m pretty sure the desk collapses under me because suddenly, it doesn’t feel like I’m sitting on it anymore. I feel like I’m hurtling down to the floor or maybe soaring near the ceiling, climbing the walls like a big spider, or doing a crazy monkey impression, swinging off the tall cabinet. Pleasure rolls through me, and I tremble and rock and make all sorts of noises. I’m glad there isn’t anyone around to hear.

  When I can finally force my eyes open again, I find John’s burning into mine. “Condom,” I pant. “Now.”

  “Where is it?”

  “What?”

  “You have one. Tell me where it is, and I’ll get it.”

  “Uh—no. I don’t have one. I—don’t you have one?”

  “I keep a supply in the top desk drawer for just the occasion.”

  I nearly scramble off the edge of the desk and go around to check before I realize he’s not actually serious. I feel my face fall. “You mean you don’t have a condom?”

  “No. Not with me.”

  “Not even a dicey, almost expired, kind of gross one that you keep tucked into the folds of your wallet?”

  “No. Nothing.”

  “Fuck.” Fuck the no swearing thing right now. I hop off the edge of the desk and scramble for my clothes. “There is no way I’m doing this without a condom.”

  “I haven’t done this in a long time either. I—I’m good. I mean, I—I know I’m clean…”

  Christ. I grab my blouse and pull it on before I stalk over and yank my pants on. This was a terrible idea. I could have avoided this kind of awkward conversation altogether if I hadn’t come in here. If I hadn’t thought about doing this all freaking day. All freaking week. All the freaking time since the first minute that I ever laid eyes on the ridiculously hot new employee. I silently curse Rin and Aria for their provocation.

  “Will you just stop and talk to me?”

  I glance up when I’m done getting my pants on. My shoe is near the desk, and I have to go past John to get it. I don’t move. He’s standing there in his boxers, looking very confused. His eyes are dark, the pupils blown wide. They glisten with confusion and something that might be very close to hurt. My chest constricts. I don’t want to hurt him. I never wanted to hurt him.

  “That’s not the point. I’m not doing this without a condom.” I just happen to not be on the pill or any form of birth control. I have not had any hopes of actually having sex in over a year, so I didn’t see the point. The pill kind of always messes with my mood, and I actually feel better being off of it. The point is, without a condom, this is a no go.

  “Let me take you for dinner—” John tries, but I shake my head.

  “This was a shitty idea. Let’s not bring it up again. You were right. We can’t control ourselves, so we shouldn’t even go there. We work together. This should stay professional.”

  A muscle in his jaw ticks. He doesn’t move. He keeps standing there by the desk, in just his boxers, his freaking amazing, god-like body on display. He looks like he was hewn out of one of those freaking trees you can drive a car through—he’s that broad. He’s all d
elicious muscle and delicious man.

  “Oh. I see. You don’t actually want to go on a date with me. You just wanted my—not so impressive according to you—cock.”

  I can’t even dignify that with a response. I duck past him, trying not to inhale his nice, manly aroma or look at the spot I had just been sitting. I grab my shoes and hurry over to the door, which I unlock and throw open.

  I know I can’t just leave things like this. It’s going to be painfully awkward every single time I have to see him, which is every freaking day except weekends. I force myself to turn slowly, my face devoid of expression.

  “We won’t talk about this ever again. It never happened. We’ll keep our distance. From now on, we’ll be strictly professional. Deal?”

  He grimaces and glances at the desk. I can feel myself turning a horrible shade of scarlet. It’s fitting, given my body feels like a pool of molten lava is still rumbling at my core.

  “Yeah,” he agrees. “Whatever you want to say to make this easier.”

  “What? Make what easier?”

  He shakes his head, catching on. “I have no idea.”

  He closes himself off too. It hurts, strangely enough, to watch him do it, even though I basically stood here and commanded it. All because I just had the best orgasm of my life on the edge of his freaking desk and then panicked, sort of, and I don’t freaking know how to deal with any of this or look him in the eye again. I thought I could get away with the no strings attached sort of deal, but I have no idea how to do that. It’s awkward. Horrible. Horribly awkward.

  I seriously feel like the walk back to my office is a walk of shame, and it sucks. It sucks big time.

  I power walk down the hall because I have too much dignity to sprint. I can see my office. It’s within reach. I can lock myself in there and try and put myself back together while John makes a fast exit. That strategy will give me all of two days to try and come up with a better strategy to pretend like this never happened.

  “Cassie!”

  What the hell? I whirl around, my hair flying about my shoulders and nearly blinding me when I give myself a minor whiplash.

  Shat stacker. John bursts out of his office with his pants on and races down the hall, also doing a power walk thing to act dignified, but still kind of running. It’s funny and oddly not funny because watching him do it is way too sexy, and it shouldn’t be sexy, watching his long legs and his hips sway like that.

  I break into a run. Mature, I know, but I get a burst of adrenaline, and I sprint the last fifty feet to my office.

  I throw myself in and try to slam the door shut behind me, ready to lock it and lean on it. My heart wildly hammers like I’m being chased down by a five-hundred-pound gator. Do gators even come in five-hundred-pound varieties?

  I thought I was fast enough. I thought the door had clearance. I thought it would shut neatly and tidily on my mess and the gator breathing down my neck, but no.

  No, of course, it doesn’t.

  The door slams, alright.

  Right into John’s face.

  I hear a thud and a crunch and a muffled exclamation of pain. John’s exclamation. I have a feeling this night just went from really embarrassing to epic disaster territory. Not only did I just try to seduce my coworker and fail miserably at it, I think I might have just broken his face.

  CHAPTER 9

  John

  “Holy shit!” The door flies open, and Cassie stands there, horrified. She slaps a hand over her mouth when she sees my hands covering my face.

  They’re not doing a very good job at stemming the blood fountain that just erupted from the dead center of my face. My nose. My mouth. I know both of them are bleeding. I smashed face-first into that door. My nose took the brunt of the impact, trying to do me in solidly. Unfortunately, it wasn’t solid enough for said solid, and I heard a crunch before the pain bomb blew to bits somewhere behind my eyes. I think I bit down on my bottom lip at the same time because I taste metal in my mouth. It could be leaking down my throat from my nose, but my lips feel like they’re ten sizes too big, so I think some bite action—and not the hot kind either—went down.

  “Oh, shoot! Shoot! Crap.” Cassie wrings her hands. “You’re bleeding everywhere. The floor.” She swings the door open and studies it. “Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit. There’s blood on the door. Oh god. This is bad. This is so freaking bad.”

  “It’s not that bad.” I try to calm her down because even with my hands on my nose, I can see that she’s trembling.

  “I need to mop this up! You’re going to sue the company, aren’t you? You have every right to. My mom and Bill are going to be so pissed. Oh god. This is such a mess.” She flaps her hands as if she would fly away from the scene and leave it all behind if she could.

  “I’ll just head to the bathroom. Don’t worry. I’m sure it’s just a small bump.”

  “You’re not a freaking fridge! This isn’t the scratch and dent sale.”

  “If I was a discounted fridge, would you take me home with you then?”

  “I’m sorry, did you just… uh…use a pick-up line on me?” she asks, her face a mask of horror and surprise.

  “Sorry. I was trying to get you to calm down.”

  “You’re bleeding everywhere. It looks like a murder scene here. Like your nose was murdered. Like it was chopped right off your face. Like, like—”

  “I’ll just go to the bathroom and check this out. I’m sure it will stop bleeding in a few minutes. You should just chill. Don’t worry about cleaning up. I’ll do that too. Or you can leave if you want. You don’t have to wait for me.”

  “Leave? I can’t leave! What if you don’t get rid of all the evidence?”

  “This isn’t exactly a crime scene.”

  Her mouth twists and a vein throbs at her temple so violently that it’s actually a little bit alarming. The pain in my nose is already subsiding. I can actually see straight again, which is a bonus. I’m no longer swallowing so much blood when I tip my head back.

  “Have dinner with me,” I blurt. It comes out muffled since I pinch the bridge of my nose tentatively. It doesn’t hurt that much. It’s certainly not broken.

  “What? When?”

  “Now. After I get cleaned up.”

  “You look like a murder scene!” Cassie shrieks. “You have blood on your shirt. Oh god. There’s blood on your shirt. I’ll pay for that. I’ll pay for—uh—the reconstructive surgery. Therapy after. Whatever you need, just please don’t sue my parent’s company. If you want to sue someone, sue me. Personally.”

  I take my hand away from my nose, and it looks like things have begun to clot and dry up. There isn’t a river of red rushing down my face anymore. “I’m not going to sue you,” I say patiently. “Or the company. It was an accident. And as for the shirt, it was already wrecked. You tore it within an inch of its life.”

  “But why were you chasing me?”

  “I wasn’t chasing you. I just wanted to talk to you.”

  “I panicked.” Cassie twists her hands. She refuses to look at me.

  “Well, then, instead of suing you, how about you owe me dinner? I can meet you somewhere, but I’ll have to go home and change first.”

  “Why would you want to have dinner with me after I just tried to break your face?”

  “It was an accident. Accidents happen.”

  “Ew. You sound like my mom now.”

  “She’s very wise then.”

  Cassie’s eyes narrow. Her face is bright red. Her hair is a mess. She’s puffing for air like she just sprinted ten city blocks. In heels. “Why do you want to take me out for dinner? That’s not a good idea. I think I’ve done enough damage already.”

  “Things get awkward sometimes. That’s fine. It’s okay. You needed a minute. I get it. We don’t know each other very well. I want to, though. Get to know you. If you’re okay with that.”

  “Dinner sounds like drama. I’m against drama in all forms.”

  “Really?” I arch a brow. I
t tugs on the bridge of my nose to do it, and I regret it immediately. It’s sore there. Not broken, but definitely sore. Hopefully, I don’t end up with two black eyes. “Because that was a pretty dramatic exit.”

  “You’re the worst,” Cassie hisses. “It’s not going to work. I don’t want to go to dinner with you.”

  “Alright, then, I’ll just go to my lawyer in the morning and—”

  “You wouldn’t!” Cassie crosses her arms, but it’s more for her own comfort.

  “I would.” I wiggle my eyebrows. I can wag both of them at the same time. My younger brother, when we were kids, used to love that. I could entertain him for hours by making my eyebrows dance.

  “You wouldn’t! You just said you wouldn’t!”

  “I changed my mind. Dinner or a lawsuit. It seems like a pretty simple choice to me.”

  “You can’t just blackmail your way into someone’s affections.”

  “So, you do feel some affection for me then.”

  “I was just almost naked in your office!” Cassie hisses. She realizes what she said too late and turns away, her face nearly purple. “You’re so—so—impossible! Fine. I’ll have dinner with you.”

  “Willingly?”

  “I guess so. If that’s what it’s going to take.” She sounds not so put out, though, and I can tell she’s forcing the indignation. It’s pretty obvious she’s into this even if she doesn’t want to be. I’ve fought it. She’s fought it. We’re still fighting it. Whatever it is between us is winning. Undefined emotion, one. My nose, zero.

  My cock is currently struck out too, but this dinner isn’t about that. This is about getting to know Cassie. I want to watch her laugh. I want her to tell me the little quirky things you can’t know without spending time with someone. I want to watch her order dinner, to see what she chooses, to watch her eat. It’s kind of creepy, but it’s all those little things. I want to watch her smile and find out what brand of humor she enjoys so I can make her laugh. It’s not about my dick. We might have just done something unexpected and taboo in my office, but I’m not extending a dinner date with the hopes of continuing that later.