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Not to mention the constant throbbing in my pussy at the thought of him pinning me up against the wall and whispering dirty things into my ear as he thrust into me again and again until I screamed his name.
I shook my head.
What was wrong with me?
It would just be another day. Hunter Blackwater was simply another client, and I would keep it that way.
I had to. I needed to for the sake of my company.
I took a deep breath and walked in through the front door. I entered the same elevator I’d left from last night and tried to quiet my whirling shame as I rode all the way to the top floor.
The same secretary greeted me as I exited the elevator, and I nodded in return. After a few minutes, she cleared her throat.
“Mr. Blackwater is ready for you now.”
I swallowed hard. I could do this. I would do this.
This was work, and I would keep it professional.
CHAPTER 11
Morgan
As soon as I walked into his office, his piercing blue eyes leveled with mine, and immediately, all thoughts of keeping it professional flew right out the window.
Flashes of him ripping off my panties and my skirt, of him bending me over the desk and slapping my ass as he sunk his cock into me again and again until I came and fell apart right beneath him whirled through my mind on repeat, no matter how hard I tried to stop them.
My legs went weak as I ratcheted my chin upward and swallowed hard, hoping my emotions weren’t playing out all over my face like they always did.
Glancing around, I noticed that his office was put together like yesterday had never happened. All the papers, his pens, his small clock, and his picture frame were all back in their retrospective spots on his desk. Nothing was out of place.
Except for me.
“Miss Davis,” he began. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“Mr. Blackwater,” I greeted, keeping my reply curt, to the point, and utterly professional.
Stop thinking with your pussy, goddammit.
“Are you ready to get to work?” he asked, but his gaze roved up and down my body like he was imagining me standing before him naked, and my clit throbbed with need at the thought.
“Of course,” I replied, my mouth dry as cotton.
I swallowed hard, trying to think of something, anything really, to break the building tension between us.
Out of curiosity, or maybe sheer desperation, I reached out and picked up the picture frame. I turned it to see a group of children, all smiling in the direction of the camera.
I’d found no mention of children in my research. Had I not been thorough enough? Were they a product of his previous work affairs? Did they belong to other women?
A spark of jealousy ignited in my chest at the thought of him with another woman, of having children with someone else, and it took me by surprise. Immediately, I pushed it aside, embarrassed that my thoughts had taken such a turn.
Way to put the cart before the horse, crazy pants.
It was one night, and we were pretending it didn’t happen, right?
“Those are kids from a local orphanage,” he explained. “I volunteer there when my schedule allows. They’re all in and out of the foster system, most of them because their parents lost custody over drug-related issues,” he offered. I hadn’t expected that.
I turned the frame towards him, my curiosity piqued. “What are their names?”
