Page 35 of He Falls First

“Where in the hell did you learn to throw around invitations like that, Elizabeth?” I challenge her. “I haven’t taught you any tactics like that in our dating lessons.”

She bites her lip, looking up at me through those lashes that seem too thick to be real.

“It’s not a tactic, Hendrix. It’s what I’m feeling,” she says. Her voice is honest—too honest for my comfort. “There’s this tension between us. It was there when I massaged you the other day. We’ve been keeping it wound up and maybe we both just need a release.”

I snort, even though every muscle in my body is coiling tight, ready to spring. “And why should I give you what you want when you’ve been snooping through my stuff?”

She steps closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Because it’s what you want, too.”

Damn her for being right. But she doesn’t know the half of it. She’s thinking this “release” would be quick, easy fun—a game. A fleeting pleasure, an itch to be scratched. Not to mention, just a momentary distraction from her snooping.

She’s oblivious to the depth of what I’m holding back—the real emotion, the terrifying potential of wanting her in ways that go far beyond physical. Whereas I’m terrified of how deep this rabbit hole goes. How much I could lose myself in her.

Frustration wins out. I stride behind my desk, sit down, and pull her across my lap. The movement pulls her nightgown up to her waist, and her gasp is a sound that does destructive things to my control.

“Seems like you could use a lesson in privacy, Liz,” I growl. My hand lands on her ass, feeling her through the fabric of her panties—a teasing promise of what’s to come. There’s a heat there, building with each smack, and I’m borderline obsessed with uncovering it.

“Please, Hendrix,” she pleads, but there’s no real resistance in her voice. It’s all teasing, tempting. Whether it’s a plea for more or less, I can’t tell. And I don’t ask.

“Quiet,” I command, my hand slipping beneath the elastic to peel back the barrier of her underwear. The skin beneath is soft, unmarked, inviting. Another spank, harder this time, and the sound echoes off the walls—music to my twisted senses. And I do it again because I can’t get enough of that satisfying smack, of the way her body jerks in response.

“Is this what you wanted, Elizabeth? This kind of attention?” My voice is rough, gritty.

“Yes,” she whispers, and the word is almost lost amidst the sound of another slap as a red imprint blooms on her bare skin.

I lean down, my teeth grazing her, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Elizabeth. This isn’t gentle. It’s claiming. Owning. And we’re both lost in it.

“Bad girls need to be punished,” I growl, sliding her panties down to reveal the bare skin I’ve only fantasized about until now. My palm meets her flesh again, harder this time, watching a rosy flush spread where I’ve struck. The sight has me biting back a groan.

She whimpers.

“Shh,” I scold, nipping at her exposed cheek with a bite that’s gentle but promises more. “You just focus on taking what you deserve.”

My fingers trail lower, exploring, pushing, and when I find her wet and ready, it’s all I can do not to take her right here and now. But that’s not what this is about. Not yet. I slip a finger inside her, and then another, setting a pace designed to unravel her completely.

“Does that feel good, Liz?” I whisper. “You like how my fingers fill you up?”

“Y-yes,” she stammers out, her breath hitching as I curl my fingers, seeking out the spot that will break her apart. I push against her pearl and her hands grip the edge of my desk as I work her over, relentless in pursuit of her climax.

“Tell me what you want,” I urge between thrusts of my fingers, my other hand still reddening her ass.

“More, I want more,” she pants, and I oblige, because it’s what she needs, what we both need—the tension snapping like a wire pulled too taut.

When she comes, it’s with a shudder that seems to shake her to her core, her cries muffled by her arm as she tries to stay quiet. I let her ride it out, slowing my fingers, easing her down gently from the dizzying heights. I’m riding the line between lust and something dangerously close to affection.

“Look at you,” I say, voice dark with satisfaction. “All that tension gone. Feel better?”

As she nods, still catching her breath, I feel how this was everything I wanted, yet nothing at all. Because as good as it felt to finally touch her, it’s more than sexual desire that has me tangled up inside—it’s something that runs far deeper, and far more dangerous.

“See?” she says, breathless and spent over my knee. “Wasn’t that better than arguing over files?”

“Shut up, Elizabeth,” I say, but there’s no bite to it. Because, yeah, she’s right. This was good. Damn good.

Elizabeth’s hand inches toward my lap, grazing fabric that does nothing to conceal how much I want her. But before she can make contact and feel how hard I am for her, I catch her wrist, my own fingers wrapping around her delicate bones.

“Easy,” I murmur, and there’s a rough edge to the word, an involuntary rasp of desire.

I carefully pry her fingers from their intended target. Her eyes are heavy-lidded but sharp with a challenging glint. If she touches me, if those soft hands wrap around me, I’m done for. There’s no way I’d keep any thread of control.

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