Page 107 of Ivory Ashes

“Your job is to do what I ask you to do. Right now, I’m asking you to tell me what you think of these flowers.” He leans back against the front of his desk, his legs stretched long so I’m caged between them.

“And I told you,” I snap. “They’re flowers. Roses are cliché and desperate.”

“I like them.”

My heart drops into my stomach and any hope that I could keep my jealousy at bay evaporates.

“Of course you do! Because the woman who sent them wants to fuck you. I’m sure you love that.” I try to turn towards the door, but Mikhail grabs my wrist and pulls me closer. I yank my hand back. “You also love the flowers because they’re driving me absolutely insane and you know that, too.”

His legs are warm around my hips. “I do know that.”

“Is that why you won’t tell me who they’re from? Because you think it’s fun to see me jealous?”

He grips my hip, his fingers spread around the curve of my ass. “You’re sexy as hell when you’re jealous.”

The wind in my sails dies without even one last pitiful gust. I blink at him. “What?”

Mikhail stands up and turns me around, pinning me against the desk where he was just sitting. I can feel the residual warmth of his body in the wood. More importantly, I feel the warmth of his fingers as they slide under my skirt.

“I’m not telling you who they’re from because it doesn’t matter.” He drops to his knees and presses a kiss to the inside of my knee. “I’m not telling you because the only name I want in your head—the only name I want on your lips—is mine.”

This morning, I wondered if a knee-length skirt with a full zip down the right side was too risqué for the office. As Mikhail slides the zipper from top to bottom and lets the material puddle on the floor at my feet, I have my answer.

The skirt is positively filthy.

Mikhail spreads my thighs and drags his thumb over the soaked lace of my panties.

“Mikhail,” I gasp, my head lolling back without my permission. “Someone will see. The door.”

He pulls away for half a second to slam the door closed. Then his stubbled face slips between my legs, parting them so he can drag his tongue over my slit.

“Fuck.” I fist my hand in his hair. “Mikhail.”

“Just like that,” he growls, his breath hot on my skin. “Let them know you’re mine.”

I don’t know who the them he’s referring to is.

The proverbial them?

Our poor coworkers who are within earshot of his office?

The woman who sent the flowers?

Giving Mikhail exactly what he wants doesn’t give me any pleasure, but the flick of his tongue over my clit? That does the trick.

“Mikhail!” I moan a little louder. As if the woman who sent the flowers can hear me.

Mikhail grips my hips and slides me to the very edge of the desk. The only thing keeping me from slipping to the floor is his very competent mouth, sucking and tasting every inch of me.

Papers flutter to the floor and a cup of pens tips over, but I don’t care. I actually think it’s physically impossible to care about anything at all when Mikhail’s tongue is inside of me.

“Oh my God.” I tug on his hair, unsure if I’m trying to pull him away or drag him closer.

It feels so good it hurts and I lose the ability to speak. Instead, I moan. I grind myself against his mouth and squeeze my thighs around his ears. I seek and seek and seek until, with one last flick of his tongue, I find.

The orgasm rips through me like a bolt of lightning. My muscles contract and hold as pleasure I didn’t know was possible in under sixty seconds erupts inside of me.

When I can finally move again, I grab Mikhail by the shirt and bring him to my mouth. His lips are shiny from me, and I lick him clean.

---