For a heartbeat, my vision goes white at the edges. I call out her name as I milk every last drop from my cock.
I lean over the sink, panting, watching the last tremor roll through my arm. Damn her.
But I needed this. Needed the edge blunted so I don’t shove her against that reception desk the second she walks back in.
I grab a handful of tissues, wiping myself clean, then catch a bead that slid onto the edge of the counter. Methodical. No mess. No trace. I tuck my cock back into my slacks, zip up, thread my belt through the buckle, cinch it tight.
My reflection’s calmer now. My eyes are clear, pulse slower. For now. I turn on the water, scrub my hands with soap until the water runs hot. Then I switch to cold and splash a handful over my face, chasing the flush from my cheeks.
Relief. Sharp. Fleeting. I towel my hands dry, force my tie straight. She’ll be here soon, all polite smiles and simmering defiance, pretending she doesn’t know exactly what she does to me.
She thinks I’m dangerous?
She has no idea yet.
Hours later, when my temper is fraying at the edges, the elevator finally dings.
I cross into reception and wait.
When she steps into the suite, my breath catches like a punch to the chest. Rêve de Mode has transformed her. A black pencil dress hugs her curves, the hem grazing mid-thigh. It’s much shorter than I’d like. No one else should see those shapely legs but me.
Her hair is loose, dark waves framing her face, and her heels click softly, each step a challenge. She’s a vision, polished and powerful, but that fire in her eyes hasn’t dimmed. She’s not the maid in my bed anymore. She’s the woman who will bring me to my knees.
I stand, my gaze raking over her, possessive and hungry. “Excellent choices.”
She nods, all professional.
If she hadn’t momentarily glanced away, I would have thought my opinion didn’t matter to her. “I’ll let Amelia know you approve of her selections.”
“Come into my office.” My voice is rougher than I want. “We need to talk.”
With a sharp inhale, she tightens on the strap of a new leather bag. The accessory is also thanks to Amelia, no doubt. There’s no way my beautiful assistant would have splurged on that kind of expense.
“My office,” I remind her.
“This is about work?” Though her tone is wary, she doesn’t argue.
“What else would it be?” The air between us hums with tension, thick and electric.
After pausing to tuck her purse into the bottom drawer of the desk where she’ll be spending most of her life, she follows me into my office. She stops just inside the door, her posture stiff, her gaze locked on mine.
I take my seat, then gesture to the chair across from my desk. She remains standing, her defiance a living thing.
Anytime you try to change the rules, little troublemaker, I’ll adapt and up the ante.
I stand to round the desk, leaning against it, my arms crossed. “The Lockhart merger. You’re going to dig into the financials. Find the holes. You did it before; you’ll do it again.” My voice is all business, but my eyes trace the curve of her neck, the way the dress clings to her waist. I want to rip it off, taste the skin beneath, make her beg for me.
She nods, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I’ll need access to the full dataset. And I want Reynolds’ projections. He’s still your lead analyst, right?”
“I’ll arrange to get you everything while you go to HR and collect your official ID, fill in your tax forms and direct deposit form, unless you prefer a paper check.” I push off the desk, closing the distance between us, stopping just short of her. Her breath catches, and her eyes flick to my mouth, then back up. “And we should discuss the fact you’re all dressed up. You need somewhere to go.” My voice drops, a dark promise. “Dinner. Tonight. With me.” It’s not a question; it’s a demand.
She keeps our gaze locked on mine. “That’s not in the contract, Mr. Blackwell.”
I grin, slow and predatory. She’s trapped, and soon she’ll know it. “You agreed to work until seven. If we leave at five, we can enjoy a leisurely meal while you’re still on my time.”
Her lips part, a retort forming, but the fire in her eyes tells me she’s tempted, even if she won’t admit it.
The game to make her mine has just begun. I assured her she’s not a toy, and she’s not. Regardless, I’m playing to win. “Say yes, Seraphina.” I want her to hate me for asking. I want her to need me more than she hates herself for needing me. “Tell me you want to spend time with me.”
