“Okay, I had to get some air from those terrible ladies, and I heard you in here.”
“The fucking drawers,” he snarls. “Who keeps their personal files locked in their own damn home?”
“Prime, what are you doing?” I turn to face him. The darkness in his expression scares me. There’s no shame, no worry, only a pure determination rolling from his body, like he’s still trying to decide how far he has to go.
“I need you to keep watch. I’ll be done shortly.”
“Keep watch?!”
“Do what I’m asking, Deanna.”
“You’re stealing from him!”
“Yes, I am.” He drifts past back to the filing cabinet. “And I’m almost finished. Keep. Watch.”
Without another glance, Prime gets back to work. This can’t actually be happening. He’s going through what are clearly personal and important papers, stuff Ricardo doesn’t want anyone to see. We’re guests in this house, and Prime’s acting like he’s some kind of thief.
Who the hell did I marry? And is this why we’re actually here?
Shit, shit, shit. This is madness. But what else can I do? If I storm out, I risk drawing attention to Prime, and I’ll be in deep shit too if he gets caught. I’m his wife, right? Nobody’s going to believe me if I pretend like I have no idea what he’s up to.
Anger wins out. I’m trapped now. Whatever game he’s playing, I stumbled right into the worst part.
I peek out the door, listening hard for any sounds. There’s only voices coming from downstairs. No footsteps in the hall.
Sweat dribbles down my back. Prime gets another drawer open, but this one makes noise too. It sounds impossibly loud. I clench my jaw to keep from groaning. “Are you almost done?” I whisper at him.
He tosses a file on the desk. “Nearly. Stay quiet.”
“This is insane. What are you?—“
But I stop mid-sentence, freezing as I hear a grunt. It’s coming from the steps and sounds like someone heading up.
I wave frantically at him. Prime doesn’t notice at first, at least until I’m practically jumping up and down. I point at the hall, eyes wide with panic, but he stays calm. He takes the file, tucks it under his arm, and shuts the drawer softly before striding over.
Too late though. There are footsteps coming toward us and the sound of heavy, labored breathing. An older, bigger man, by my guess. Someone like Ricardo. The owner of this damn office.
I’m freaking out. I turn to Prime. There’s got to be a way out of this. Some escape, some window we can climb through. Instead, Prime takes me by the hips and pins me against the wall beside the door. I yelp but he muffles the sound with his mouth, crushing his lips to mine in a brief kiss.
“Play along,” he whispers, reaching down and roughly yanking up my dress.
“What are you?—“
He jams the file up my skirt. I wriggle, trying to fight him, but he gets it wedged between my back and the tight bust of the top. I open my mouth to protest, but he smothers me with another kiss, this time deep and hungry, and my skirt’s still hiked up around my hips, his thigh shoved against my warm pussy, his fingers grabbing tight through my hair as I whimper into it, confusion, fear, and desire all burning through my core as I involuntarily grind against him?—
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.” Ricardo’s voice from only a few feet away.
Prime pulls back. His eyes blaze with heat as he turns to look at our host. I don’t have to feign the needy pulse between my legs as my fingers dig into Prime’s back. I bury my face in his chest, playing the role of mortified wife.
“Excuse us. We were looking for some privacy.”
Ricardo’s laugh is genuine and low. “I remember being a newlywed myself. Wasn’t that long ago. And with how much money you just won, I bet you were in the mood to celebrate.”
“Can’t blame a man.”
“Not at all. Except this is my office, not a bordello. Would you mind?”
“Of course. Which way to your bedroom?”
