Page 50 of He Falls First

As soon as the door shuts behind the last board member, the room feels different—like it’s just calm between storms. Except there’s nothing calm about the way my heart picks up every time I find myself alone with Elizabeth.

“Nice work,” I tell her. “Didn’t know you had that fire in you.”

“Thanks, Bossman,” she says. “But let’s wait and see if they bite.”

“Let’s,” I agree.

I’m frowning a little, even though my gut tells me that we don’t have to worry about if they’ll bite or not. No, what’s bothering me is that little nickname she’s started using for me over the past couple days—Bossman. It is just a nickname, isn’t it? She only calls me that when we’re alone, and she says it playfully. But every time she says it, I get the feeling she’s trying to put some distance between us.

And every time I think that, I want nothing more than to pull her close to me, so that distance is the last thing on her mind.

I spin on my heel and lock the door with a decisive snap.

“Elizabeth,” I say, my voice sounding more like a growl than I intend.

She turns to me, her deep blue eyes going wide. She has her hair pulled back today, and she wears a cream blouse that’s suddenly looking too damn tight. Those eyes—usually so soft—sharpen as they clock the intention in mine.

“Are you thinking about our contract?” she asks. But it’s not really a question. Her tone teases, taunting.

“Off the record,” I say, closing the gap between us in two strides. My hands find her waist, pressing her back until the edge of the table bites gently into her thighs. The sound of her sharp intake of breath is drowned out by the thud of my heart against my ribs.

I slide my hand up her thigh, hitching her skirt higher. Her breath hitches and I take that as an invitation, lifting her onto the table where moments ago she’d eloquently defended LocalLink. Her heat contrasts with the cold, polished surface of the marble.

My lips crash against hers, hungry and demanding, and I press my tongue through her lips, exploring her mouth. My pants are suddenly too tight, and I can’t escape the fabric fast enough. I unbuckle my belt, the clink of metal loud in the charged silence. I unzip and free myself, all while devouring her mouth with mine.

“God, Lizzy,” I growl against her lips.

Her response is a moan that vibrates through my skull, drowning out any semblance of reason. I feel her with my fingers, already wet for me, and I can’t even wait long enough to remove her panties. I tear them aside instead, and with one swift move, I thrust into her, heat enveloping me.

There’s no gentle preamble, just pure, unadulterated hunger. It’s primal, raw—the kind of need that could start wars or end them. She wraps her legs around me, her heels digging into my back.

Could she be any more perfect?

She’s warm, welcoming, gripping me tightly, and I’ve never wanted to be anywhere more than I want to stay inside her. We create rhythm together, frantic and frenzied. My trousers hang around my hips, and her blouse is pushed up just enough to reveal the swell of her breasts, which bounce with every powerful drive of my hips.

The risk of getting caught haunts me, making me thrust faster. I should hate the risk. It should feel so wrong. But instead, the illicit thrill enhances my every sensation, sending extra blood pumping to all the right places. The slapping of skin echoes in the cavernous room. Each collision sends ripples through her, her blouse riding up to reveal more of her intoxicating flesh.

“Harder,” she gasps, nails scoring my neck.

Who am I to deny her? I comply, losing myself in the slick heat of her, the way she clings to me, nails digging into my shoulders.

“Fuck, Liz,” I groan, feeling the coil inside me tighten.

“Right there. Don’t stop,” she pleads beneath me, arching into me.

We move together, all grunts and muffled moans. All that matters is that right now, she is mine. Mine. Mine.

“Coming,” she whispers, a tremor in her voice that sends me over the edge.

“Me too,” is all I manage before I’m releasing into her, shuddering as she tightens around me and wrings out my dick.

We cling to each other, panting and finished, like the sound of victory. Forget the board and their skepticism—for now, we reign supreme in this corporate kingdom of glass and steel.

I should feel guilty, I suppose. Or at least worried about the professional apocalypse we’re courting here. But there’s no space in my mind for anything but Elizabeth—her heat, her scent, the way she looks at me like I’ve just exploded her little pussy with wonder.

As she pushes back on the table, my dick pulls out of her and I exhale sharply, reality seeping back as my pulse begins to slow.

“That was…”

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