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I shake my head. “I don’t need it. Can you just do me a favor and let Blaire know I don’t have it on me, so if there’s an emergency, she can contact you?”
He pulls out his phone and sends Blaire a text while I get to work. He sits patiently in the corner of my office, on his phone most of the time, but every once in a while I glance up to see him staring at me.
“What?” I finally say, making him laugh as he shrugs.
“Nothing. Didn’t say a word.”
“Don’t give me that look.”
“What look?” He leans forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Not in here,” I say seriously as I finish highlighting the section of the brief I’m working on.
“But that desk,” he smiles, “you’d look so fucking good spread out on it.”
“I know,” I say confidently. “But you’re never going to see it.”
“Is that a challenge, Miss Pierce?”
“It’s a boundary, Mr. Rockwell. I know you don’t like being toldno, but even you have to live with disappointment sometimes.”
By the time I finish my work and we head back down to his car to leave, it’s been three hours.
“I need to grab a few things from the market for dinner,” I say as he pulls out into traffic.
“What time are we picking Chloe up?”
I glance at my watch. “I told Blaire we’d be there before 5. Why?”
“Just trying to figure out if I have time to take you back to your place beforehand.”
“Take me back home why?” I don’t know how I completely missed what he was trying to say, but the moment I see the look on his face and feel his hand inching up my inner thigh, it hits me. I’m a second away from telling him to forget the market and take me home now when I remember that Terry is supposed to be coming by today. “Subtle,” I say with a flirty laugh.
“You’re fucking killing me, woman,” he mutters as he pulls down the street of the market.
* * *
“We should headover to get Chloe now,” I say as he loads the grocery bag into the trunk.
He’s silent on the drive over to their house, parking the car almost a block down the street from where they live. He reaches into the back seat, grabbing a windshield visor and placing it on the inside of the car before getting out and marching over to my side. He yanks the door open, helping me out and ushering me toward the back door.
“Get in,” he says, pushing me slightly.
“What?”
“Get in the fucking back seat,” he says through gritted teeth, his hand wrapped around the back of my head. The second I’m in the seat, he’s slamming the door and walking around to get in next to me.
“What are we doing?” I ask as he climbs in. He doesn’t answer and instead just pulls me into his lap.
“I need to fuck you,” he groans into my mouth as he reaches for his belt.
“In here? Broad daylight?” I push back against his chest. He smiles briefly, but it’s almost sinister.
“Why not? You want to let loose, right? Give in to those desires instead of always doing what you know you should do.” He rubs the seam of my jeans. “The windows are tinted; nobody can see in here,” he finally says.
I look down at him beneath me: his T-shirt stretched tightly across his broad chest, his long fingers wrapped halfway around one of my thighs. This man is a fantasy, ready to please me, and at the age of 30, I’m letting him do it—in the back seat of a car! He’s right, though. I want this.
Just do it, Jules. Be bad, give in. Take what you want unapologetically since every other man in this world is willing to take from you.
