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She fields my calls better than anyone has. She’s quick with any task I give her, often beating me to the punch with the requests she can anticipate. She makes decisions she’s really not qualified to make, but I let her because it keeps the idiots out of my office and off my phone line.
I wish to fuck she looked like an old hag.
Because all I can think about is how she would taste with her back flat on my desk and her legs spread wide.
I’ve done my best to keep a distance between us. To ensure our interactions are as short as possible. I don’t like to be in her presence for too long, or her nutmeg and orange scent starts driving me insane.
Yet I also find myself staying in the office more than usual, needing to breathe it in during all hours of the day.
I stride over to where she’s sitting at her desk fielding a phone call with someone who’s obviously a pain in the ass to deal with. Totally my fault for never answering calls, and I don’t give a shit.
“Hang up,” I snap.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Anderson, I will get that message to him as soon as possible, but I have to take another call. Have a great day.” She hangs up the phone despite the barking voice on the other end still making demands.
“Good morning, Mr. Blackthroat.” She offers a pleasant smile as she stands to greet me.
Definitely fucking with me.
My nostrils flare. “What did I tell you about this?” I make a circling gesture over the window to her boobs. The dress is gunmetal gray with cutouts on the shoulders as well as the cleavage. I want to put my lips to each place and nibble. Lick. Find out if she tastes as good as she smells. I want to rip the dress off her and find out what kind of lingerie she wears beneath it. Satin or lace? Or plain cotton. I can’t decide.
Is Madison Evans experienced in bed, or did she spend her nights in college studying?
So many questions I want answers to.
She doesn’t look down this time. Instead she lifts her nose a bit in the air and shakes her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her tone is pleasant and business-like.
My gaze traces the cutout, then lifts to her eyes. “I told you not to wear those dresses.”
She brings her fingertip to the edge of the window and lightly traces along it. This time she doesn’t show me her irritation. Her confidence is fully in place. “There is absolutely nothing obscene about my dress. If you find it distracting…” She pauses and cocks her head like she’s waiting for me to confirm or deny.
I don’t know, would it be distracting if I put you on your hands and knees on top of your desk and put my tongue inside you?
I glare back.
“If so, then that’s your problem. I won’t be the girl who is sent home from school for her bra straps showing because it distracts the boys. As if their education is more valuable than hers.”
I frown. Feminist, then. Got it.
She’s not wrong. It’s not her fault her taste in dresses pushes me dangerously close to breaking every rule I have about touching employees and humans. But the fact that she’s right does nothing to cut through my annoyance. “In this case, my attentionismore valuable than yours, Ms. Evans. I am your boss. My time and focus are the primary asset of this corporation, and your job is to safeguard that asset. Understand?”
“So youdofind my dresses distracting?”
“I find this conversation a waste of my time. I told you not to wear the dress again. Now you’re wearing another one, and you’re bordering on insubordination. I won’t send you home to change, but I will dock you for the day’s pay. If you want to keep this job, you’ll do what I tell you, understand?”
“I am not wearing the same dress, so no orders were disobeyed, and I’d think twice about firing me over the cut of a dress, or you will have a lawsuit on your hands. Sir.”
Oh no. Nobody fucking threatens me, especially not an employee.
“Listen to me, little girl. I woulddestroy youin a legal battle. My lawyers know how to turn a hangnail into a ten year lawsuit that could cost you millions. Which I doubt you have.” I look down my nose at her. I don’t mean it to be condescending, I’m just being a prick. But for some reason, this is the insult that lands. My wolf hates the flush of anger and shame that rises to her cheeks.
Huh. I guess my sassy secretary is touchy about money. But she doesn’t crack. Of course she doesn’t. It’s why I enjoy her so much.
In fact, instead of escalating our argument, she dials back the aggression. She touches the skin inside the window again. It’s a soft, lingering touch. A suggestive one. She’s touching herself the way a lover would. I draw blood on the inside of my cheek.
Cocking a hip, she looks up at me from under those long lashes and asks, “You would destroy me because I defied you or because you really can’t stand the small window to the skin above my breasts?”
Just her mention of the wordbreastssends my blood plummeting below my waist.I’m trying to prevent the lawsuit that would arise when I pushed you to your knees and shoved my cock in that window to see how it feels to glide between those twin peaches.
