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And even though I know it’s in flagrant disregard of theDon’t you dare catch feelingsclause of our contract…
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
33
RUSLAN
The train is officially off the track.
Last week’s steamy blowjob in my office pushed it to the edge of the rails. And now, a measly seven days later?
We’re an absolute fucking disaster.
For starters, I can’t stop fucking her at work. Her mere presence is just one big tease. Every time I walk into the office and find her sitting at her desk like a good, innocent little employee, my balls feel like they’re on the verge of exploding. I keep shutting the door on that coquettish smile of hers, trying to resist calling her into my office for reasons that have nothing to do with my meeting schedule or when I want my afternoon coffee brought in.
But day after day, I lose the battle. It doesn’t matter if I invent a lie to drag her in or not; it all ends the same way—with Emma spread out on my desk or up against a wall or bent over the chair while I fuck her brains out.
And since we’ve already established that she’s a screamer, it falls to me to keep her quiet. I’ve experimented thus far with clamping a hand over her lips, burying myself in her mouth, or shoving her panties in while I fist her hair and bend her back so far I wonder if one day her spine might just snap. None of the techniques are particularly effective. I’ll have to keep exploring.
Every time she struts into my office with that cheeky little grin on her face, it feels like a challenge. It feels like she’s asking me,What filthy thing are you going to do to me next?
Maybe that’s why I upped the ante by calling her into a meeting with the board last week just so I could finger her pussy under the table while Henrich Stenson droned on about annual sales reports and net profits.
She squirmed so much and turned so red that Henrich actually paused in the middle of his speech to ask her if she was feeling alright. She stammered through an apology, muttered something about a migraine, and then excused herself. I trapped her in my office later that day and punished her for leaving without my permission. She had three orgasms, one of which gushed on my face, before she begged me to stop.
Suffice it to say, this was definitely not the plan.
Every night, I go to bed resolving not to cave the next day. And every morning, I wake up with a raging hard-on and the addictive need to see her again, feel her again, fuck her again. There’s just something about sex at the office—the illicitness of it, the knowledge that we’re breaking all the rules, even the ones we set in place for ourselves.
A lifetime of strict discipline all crumbles to dust the moment I think about Emma Carson.
Case in point: the Olsen-Ferber charity gala. Emma and I would usually go over final details for any event at the office during a scheduled appointment. But today, we pull up outside Jean-Georges to discuss the particulars over a four-course lunch.
We’re shown to our table overlooking Columbus Circle. While Emma admires the view, I admire her. I have to bite my tongue so hard I draw blood while I resist the urge to run my hand up the inside of her thigh in public.
To her credit, she always at least tries to maintain a certain level of professionalism. Like right now, as she pulls out her ivory folder and a matching ballpoint pen. She’s all business and she keeps me focused on the topic at hand… for the most part. We spend twenty minutes going over logistics and security concerns before I reach over and shut the file.
“That’s enough for now.”
She doesn’t argue. Her cheeks flush a delicate shade of vermillion. “What would you like to discuss now, sir?”
The little minx.She knows what she’s doing. What it does to me. It’s in the slight rasp of her voice, even when her words are innocent enough on the surface. My hand settles on her knee under the table as that shy smile of hers perks up in the corner of her mouth. “Are we graduating to exhibitionism?”
I loft a brow and match her smirk. “Are you complaining?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” She takes a sip of her water. “Just asking.”
The truth is, as tempting as it would be to finger her under the table, I’m struck by the jarring thought that what I want right now is simply to talk to her.
“How are the kids?”
She gives me a subtle double-take that I find mildly offensive. Is it really that surprising that I care enough to ask?
“They’re good.” I cock a brow and she sighs. “Mostly. It’s amazing how many things kids need. Caroline wants to do ballet, which means she’ll need leotards, shoes, all kinds of stuff. Josh really wants to try out for basketball, but that’s not cheap, either.”
I frown. “I would think you’d have a little more money saved up now.” I don’t want to come right out and cite our arrangement, but it’s more than obvious what I’m getting at.
“I do,” she admits. “The thing is…” She’s squirming now, her eyes flitting from the view to the table and back again. I squeeze her knee until she stops. “I have to be careful what I buy and how I spend the money. If Ben realizes I’m making more, he’s just gonna start asking for more.”
