“Such a bad example to set, Mr. CEO,” I reply, picking up one of the more ergonomic sex toys. It sort of looks like a pebble and fits into the palm of my hand.
“As is my prerogative, Miss Sexy Secretary.” His stern voice sends a zing of something down my spine.
“That’s Miss Executive PA to you. Miss Sexy Executive PA, even.”
“You’re such a hot fuck, Miss Sexy Secretary. I wonder, what would you take down for me if I was there?” My body reacts viscerally to his base suggestion, a throbbing pulse running through me like the beat of a sensual drum. “And I don’t mean like memo.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, I think you know,” he purrs in return. “In fact, why don’t you do it now?”
“What?” Is it me, or has someone turned off the air in here?
“Take down your underwear.”
“That sounds suspiciously like it falls under the category of shenanigans.” My voice sounds a little reedy as I drop into his extremely comfortable leather chair and literally fan my face. Vibrators and sexy talk on a weekday afternoon? The man has no boundaries.And I like it. “And as I’ve already explained, Mr bad boy CEO, I’m a good girl who doesn’t like to break the rules.”
“You lie because you’re most certainly sitting in my chair.”
“Ha! You can see all the way from across the city, can you?”
“No, but I can heard the creak of the leather.”
“So I’m not allowed to sit in your chair?” In an act of unseen defiance, I kick up my legs, placing my heels on the edge of his desk.
“Only if you promise to get the seat wet.”
“That also comes under office shenanigans.” Closing my eyes, I let the thought possess me for a beat. It’s hardly the first time I’ve imagined him bending me over his desk, only now I have a lot more to work with. I know how my name sounds groaned from his tongue, and I’m intimately acquainted with the hum of his body as he comes. I know how deliriously happy it makes me when he stiffens above me, his body shaking as though he hasn’t another ounce to give. I know how it feels to have him inside me. Oh yes. I’m intimately acquainted with Whit’s sexual voodoo.
“Live a little,” he chides. “How many times will you get to say you got yourself off in the boss’s chair?”
“If it’s up to you, probably plenty.”
His laughter is as dirty as a drain. “Seriously, though. I’m about to head back into a meeting. You must have something a little sweet to share with me. I won’t even ask you to choose your weapon.” His words trail off as the penny drops.
“You can’t mean—”
“Just use your hand for me.”
“Why don’t you just use your imagination,” I retort.
“You mean like you did when watched me in the bathroom, fucking my own fist?”
The images his words paint, the fragments of memory rising like steam. “It’s not even as if I’ll get to watch. I’ll just get to enjoy a little audio.”
“I am not masturbating in your office.” I’m not. Then why is my hand inching toward the hem of my dress?
“Start slow. Just loosen a couple of buttons on your dress. Maybe two at the top and two at the bottom.”
“I should’ve known you were up to no good this morning when you suggested I wear this.”
“When I said your tits looked wonderful, you mean? You could wear a rice sack and still look totally fuckable. Just a taste, darling. I bet the door is closed.”
“Be reasonable, Whit.” But there’s little contest in my tone.
“Let me hear those sweet moans. I’ll talk, you just listen. And play.”
“I could just pretend,” I retort in a last-minute half-assed attempt. I don’t know why I’m fighting him.
