I didn’t even have time to unpack. Because twenty minutes later, I was sitting in a meeting with Harper and Theo, pretending to care about merger memos. And when he walked past me, fingers grazing the small of my back like a whisper of ownership, I almost choked on my breath.
I don’t remember what I said in the meeting. Just that I felt high off the heat between us. Afterward, I returned to my office to breathe and maybe steal a second to think. The space was sleek, modern. All white, with chrome details and minimalist furniture. Itwas elegant, like me, I guess. Like they wanted me to be anyway.
I was walking toward my desk when the door clicked shut behind me. I already knew who it was. He didn’t say anything, he just pressed the dimmer on the glass wall until it turned opaque, swallowing the office in a soft, hazy privacy. His voice was low and controlled. “Pull up your skirt, sit on the desk, and open your legs.”
I didn’t move. Ishould’ve. Icould’ve. Instead, I turned and raised one brow. “Excuse me?”
He stepped forward, slowly, like a lion in a tailored navy suit. “You heard me, Samantha,” he said, eyes burning into mine. “Skirt up. On the desk. Legs open.”
I paused and let the silence thicken. Let him wonder if I’d obey. But I wanted this. God, I needed this.Him. Us. Whatever the hell this chemistry was, addictive and dangerous, I wanted to overdose on it.
I reached behind and slowly unzipped the pencil skirt. Tugged it up to my waist and boosted myself onto the desk. He exhaled, sharp and low, as I leaned back on my palms and spread my legs. I had lace panties on. A bold choice I made this morning and now,clearly, the right one.
Theo stepped between my legs and pulled me closer by my thighs. “I’ve been thinking about it since I saw you walk into this place.”
“Just about this?” I teased.
His mouth crashed onto mine, rough, hungry,tasting like control lost in an instant. I moaned against him as his hand slid under my blouse, fingers brushing my ribs, then my bra, then gone again. Teasing. Always fucking teasing me. His lips moved to my jaw, my neck.
“Tell me you want this, or I stop.” I gasped, arching into him. “I want this.”
He kissed down my chest, his lips grazing the swell of my breasts through the silk of my blouse. His hands were steady as they slid down my waist, fingertips trailing along the edge of my skirt, igniting every nerve beneath my skin. Then he dropped to his knees in front of me, and everything in me stilled, except my heart, which was pounding like it was trying to climb out of my chest. My breath hitched. The room shrank. The air thickened.
He looked up at me from between my thighs, his hands firm on the backs of my calves, holding me open. His fingers hooked the lace of my panties and pulled them to the side with a patience that only made it worse, maybe better? And then his mouth was on me.
His tongue moved like he remembered every shudder from Paris and wanted to relearn them all again. My hips jerked instinctively, searching for more friction, more of him, and he didn’t stop. He just groaned low in his throat like my reaction turned him on, and I swear I could feel it vibrating through my entire body.
My hands flew to the edge of the desk, the woodcreaked under me, the only other sound besides my broken breaths and the obscene wet rhythm of his tongue. He flattened his hands on my thighs, holding me there as I gasped and rolled my hips against his mouth, chasing that edge, spiraling into it.
And I shattered, biting my lip to keep from crying out, fingers threading through his hair as I came against his mouth. When he stood, his lips were slick and his eyes dark. I was already breathless. He didn’t speak. He just looked at me, as if trying to save this exact version of me into his memory. Flushed. Unraveled. Still trembling from his mouth. Then his hands went to his belt. The sound of the buckle unfastening made my breath catch all over again.
“I need to be inside you,” he said, voice low and hoarse. “Now.”
I leaned back slightly on my elbows, legs still parted, skirt still bunched around my waist, silently daring him to take what he already owned.Me.
His gaze burned across my body as he unbuttoned his pants, shoving them down just enough, and then he stepped between my thighs like he couldn’t stand another second without us being connected. One hand slid around the back of my neck, pulling me up to kiss him, and I tasted myself on his tongue. Then he pressed into me in one long, slow, but hard thrust. My head fell back as I moaned.
His grip tightened on my waist, the desk scraping slightly beneath me with each sharp movement. He moved roughly, hungry, as every second in this officehad led to this. His rhythm was fast, deep, claiming me all over again.
He was fucking me like he was mad at me. And, now I know, he still was.
“Fuck, Samantha,” he groaned, lips at my ear. “You feel— Fuck, you feel so good.” I smiled through a gasp. “I know, you’re welcome.”
He let out a broken laugh and thrust harder, deeper, until my reply disappeared into another moan. His hand slid between us, fingers finding just the right spot, and I shattered for the second time, with his hand on my mouth trying to muffle the sound. He pulled back just enough to look at me, brushing the hair from my face with a gentleness that did not match what had just happened on that desk.
“I’m still mad at you,” he whispered, his voice all low and gravelly like that was supposed to scare me. I smirked. “You seemed a lot less mad two minutes ago.” He narrowed his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “I’m serious.” I dragged a finger down his chest. “Serious looks good on you.”
He groaned. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet… wildly irresistible,” I said, tilting my head. “It’s a curse, really.” He shook his head, biting back a smile. “You’re going to be the death of me, Samantha Hayes.”
“Please,” I said, breathless and smug. Clothes half-on, hair disheveled, skin flushed and sticky in the most delicious ways. My blouse was still unbuttoned, his tiehanging loose like we’d just survived a hurricane. Honestly, we had.
Theo reached for a tissue box on the corner of my desk, of my pristine, still-smells-like-paint office, and handed me one like it was the most casual thing in the world. “Classy,” I said, swiping at my inner thigh. “Very CEO of you.” He tucked himself back into his slacks and smirked. “I have range.”
I rolled my eyes, buttoning my blouse. “Remind me to have this desk burned.” He grinned, straightening his shirt. “Don’t. I plan on using it again.” I gave him a look. “You’re still mad at me, remember?” He paused, like he had to recalibrate. Then he stepped closer, smoothing a wrinkle from my skirt, letting his fingers drag just a beat too long. “I am mad,” he murmured. “But that doesn’t mean I want to stop.”
“Dangerous words, 1A.” He arched his brow.
