She gasps, then melts, one hand fisting in the damp cotton of my shirt, the other braced on my chest.
I devour her.
It’s not soft. Not tender.
It’s dirty and grateful and laced with every single time I’ve looked across this desk and imagined bending her over it. Lifting her skirt. Shoving aside files and electronics and pressing her face to the glass.
Last night, she made a mess of the coffee table, and now I want to see my desktop smudged with her fingerprints, marred by her nails. I want her soft pink lipstick to live in the grain of this wood and her tears to stain the documents I’m supposed to care about.
I deepen the kiss, hand tangled in her hair, hips pressing into hers so she can feel what she does to me.
She whimpers, soft and compliant, and I nearly lose the single thread of restraint I’ve got.
But I’m still soaked from the gym. Still supposed to be a professional.
And we have work to do.
I force myself to step back.
She sways a little, dazed, lips kiss swollen and cheeks flushed, and God help me, all I want to do is take her right here.
“This is inappropriate.” My voice is rougher than it should.
“I know.” She nods.
“This should never happen at work.”
“It shouldn’t.” Even though she agrees, she doesn’t move away. Doesn’t fix her blouse or put any distance between us.
“I’m way out of line, and you should tell me that.” And I pray she doesn’t.
“Of course you’re right, Mr. Blackwell.” But very deliberately she reaches down and cups my cock through my workout pants.
I groan, and she squeezes.
And then I can’t stop.
The desk moves slightly as I pin her back against it.
She watches me, wide-eyed, as I reach behind her to unzip her skirt. The fabric resists, but I tug it down, baring her inch by inch.
Her panties are lace. Soft. Damp.
Of course they are.
I groan, fingers gliding over her hips, then her thighs. I nudge her knees apart.
“You need to start wearing a garter belt to work,” I murmur. “And stockings. Every goddamn day.”
“Xavier!”
I slide her blouse free of her waistband, popping the buttons one by one until her bra is exposed—a delicate, lacy thing that barely restrains her. I press a kiss to the top curve of one breast, then another. Her breath catches.
“Tell me you want this.”
She grabs my face with both hands. Her voice is fierce, ragged. “I want you, Xavier. So much I can’t breathe.”
My mouth crashes down on hers again. My cock throbs, hard and aching, and there’s no turning back.
