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“And after our agreement, I think it’s only fair that I get to cross a line, too.”
I bite my lip, unable to protest and not wanting to. With his hand turning to slot under my knee and the other going to the neck of my blouse, I can’t find the words to insist that he treat me with respect.
Because I don’t want him to.
He pulls me into his lap. With a gasp I latch onto his shoulders, remembering the corded muscle there as my fingers dig in. I can already feel my panties getting wet as Nick’s hand slides slowly up my skirt, bunching the dark fabric and moving up my inner thigh.
“This is a bad idea,” I whisper, but even as I say it I arch my back so that my ass presses into his lap. I can feel him getting hard already, the thrum of iron heat making me want to crawl onto the desk and offer myself up.
“You should have thought of that before meddling in my life,” he growls, half-joking, standing and turning to lay me out on the hard surface.
We clash together at the same time, drawn by the same thread of desire. My hands tug insistently at Nick’s shirt as he yanks my blouse out of my skirt. His hair is mussed, the silver at his temples gleaming in the low light, and I trail my fingers up his muscled chest.
He stops unbuttoning my blouse, dark eyes gazing at me curiously over the rim of his glasses.
“You know this is a breach of contract, right?”
He sounds like a businessman, and I can’t help smiling. Thinking back to that day in the closet and the flame a tiny kiss lit throughout my body.
“I know. But we might as well get it out of our systems and move on.”
No one needs to know. That’s what I tell myself as Nick shoves my skirt up over my hips, exposing the satin underwear that is already soaked through. He tugs them roughly to the side, presses his thumb against my slit and rubs the wetness in.
Through my moan, I can hear his low chuckle.
He takes his hand away, leaving me feeling needy and vulnerable. Nick shoves his own pants down and barely manages to kick them off before moving toward me.
“Spread your legs.”
I obey, my thighs trembling. Nick wraps a hand under my leg and yanks me toward his throbbing cock. It looks almost angry, as demanding as the man wielding it. With his free hand, he strokes a thumb over the tip, gathering precum and spreading it.
I’m so wet that there’s almost no resistance when he pushes in. Just the aching feeling of pressure. Dropping my head back, I moan again, then tilt my hips up to meet his.
Like the night at the The Grove, we get right to fucking. There’s no other word for it. I’ve become some woman I don’t recognize, begging with mindless words, gushing when he says, “On your knees, Blair.”
Nick hammers into me from behind. He’s trying to restrain himself, but I’ll be sore tomorrow. And I don’t even care.
He pulls back and thrusts at a different angle, one that makes me gasp. Electricity runs from my core to my toes to the top of my head. “Oh, fuck,” I moan, jerking my hips back erratically, trying to find that sweet spot again.
Nick wraps his fingers in my hair, now loose around my shoulders. He gives it a light tug.
“Are you going to come for me, Blair?”
The words come out as a growl and the orgasm blooms immediately in my core. Despite the pace that he’s driving into me, it’s a slow throb of pleasure through my body, a mindless flood of relief.
Nick groans, his hands gripping my hips tightly as he jerks into me once, twice more. I feel him go still as he comes, his sigh broken and satisfied.
The desk beneath my palms is cool and solid. But my knees will be bruised in the morning. Nick rubs a hand soothingly over my ass and mutters, “Good girl.”
I try to ignore the thrill of obedience that goes through me. I’ve now crossed the very line I drew the moment Nick Weaver stepped into my firm.
And now I’ll have to deal with the consequences, however tempting and earth-shattering they may be.
Chapter 7
Nick
Itakeadeepbreath and tap the green “call” button on my cell. It’s just before 4 p.m. in the UK, and I’m hoping Dad will answer.
