Page 23 of Tempted By the Bosshole

Why does my bosshole have to look so damn good? Why does my traitorous pussy clench with need at the sight of him?

“I’m waiting.” He unlocks his door and holds it wide impatiently.

I’m afraid to ask what he wants.

On wobbly knees, I rise and hustle toward him, ducking under his arm as I enter his private domain. Memories of his touch assail me.

God, he smells good, like amber, sandalwood, and man. That scent reminds me of the orgasms he heaped on me last weekend until I begged him to stop.

He ignored me and kept making me come.

In the middle of the room, I face him and tell myself to focus on business. He shuts and locks the door. As he shrugs out of his suit coat, he crosses the room and brushes past me—detonating tingles through my body—before he hangs the garment on the back of his chair. Then he snares my gaze. His face is impassive, but his eyes… They’re burning. With anger? Desire? Vengeance?

“Come here.”

I raise my chin and force myself across the floor, keeping his desk between us. “Welcome back, Mr. Price. What do you need?”

“Your pussy. Lose that prissy little blouse, along with whatever’s underneath it, lean over my desk, and lift your pretty ass in the air.” He flings off his tie and flicks open the buttons of his crisp, white dress shirt. “Grip the far edge. And no matter what, don’t make a sound.”

Has he lost his mind? “You want to?—”

“Fuck you? Yes. It’s been days,” he groans as if our separation has been torture while reaching for the hem of my skirt. “I hope for your sake you didn’t wear panties.”

I did. He hasn’t been here for days, and I didn’t think the text he sent on Monday morning forbidding me to wear anything under my skirts was serious. “I-I…”

“Can’t follow directions? We’ll work on that. Bend. Over. The desk.”

Panic sets in. Everyone will know what we’re doing. “I won’t screw my professional reputation so you can get laid.”

He raises a brow. Why the hell does he have to look so hot and male with his shirt open to his ridged abs and his hard, lickable chest exposed.

Damn it, I’m a responsible adult. My libido should behave like a grown-up, too.

“The longer you stall, the longer people will have to guess what we’re doing behind this door. Tick-tock, Ms. Shay. If you’re quiet when I make you come, no one will be the wiser.”

I could keep refusing and call his bluff. But merely being close to him has made me uncomfortably aware of his nearness, of his mastery of my body, of my ache for his touch…

“You’re a bastard.” I unbutton my blouse.

“One who will give you never-ending orgasms. How terrible,” he drawls. “You’ve got ten seconds to lay yourself across my desk.”

I don’t ask or what. He’s already spelled that out.

My fingers tremble as I remove my lacy shirt. My bra follows. My nipples draw tight, and I’m incredibly aware of his stare on my breasts. With the windows open to the city, I feel exposed. I should be too self-conscious and ashamed to be excited.

Unfortunately, I’m drenched.

Swallowing hard, I stand behind his desk and kick off one high heel.

“Leave them on.”

“Why? Because you’re a sexist pig who thinks sex while I’m wearing my heels is hot?”

“Because you’re a little thing. You’ll need the extra height while I fuck you.”

His blunt words send shards of pleasure through me. Gulping, I slide my foot back in my shoe. He plants his palm between my shoulder blades and pushes me down. I hiss when my hot cheek and sensitive nipples make contact with the cold surface. Then he shoves my skirt to my waist with one hand. With the other, he slips his fingers inside my panties and finds my clit.

I gasp. “Nathan…”

---