Page 111 of Heat Clinic

I come, my walls clamping down on him as he fucks me through my release and aftershocks with zero mercy. The desk rattles and shakes as he takes his pleasure, using me until he grunts through his own orgasm. He floods me with cum and leaves me dripping as he pulls out and spreads my cheeks apart so he can watch me work his semen from my body with squeezes.

“That should help you be more forgetful in the future,” he says as he tucks himself away and zips his pants.

I turn around and perch on the edge of his desk and pluck his handkerchief from his pocket, using it to clean up. “Don’t you mean less forgetful?” I fold it so the messy parts are covered, then fold it up neatly, stand, and tug my skirt down.

Tom arches a brow. “I definitely don’t.” He grins.

I kiss him, running my hands through his long hair, then nip his bottom lip and dance away from his groping hands before he can talk me into round two. I have plans. “Eat.” I point at the food I left on his desk.

“Get up on the desk and I will.” His grin is wolfish.

I back away from him, and his head swings as he keeps his eyes trained on me like a predator stalking prey. I keep my steps slow and measured because running only makes him want to chase. “Eat.” I arch a brow. “Do I have to call Alicia later to check?”

He chuckles and smoothes the wrinkles from his dress shirt. “No, ma’am.”

I give him a sunny smile and turn around, pushing through the heavy black curtain. The receptionist looks over from her computer, her cheeks pink, then ducks her head back down to her work. We weren’t all that quiet, I guess.

Lindsay gives me a loaded look when I find her studying the portraits of Tom and Marcus. “All done back there?” She’s fighting the urge not to smile, her mouth twitching.

I shove the handkerchief into the purse under my arm. “I got what I came for. Ready to go? I’m headed back uptown, and I can drop you off. They’re leaving tickets at the counter for you for tomorrow.”

The driver takes us back over the Brooklyn bridge and heads north, and I drop Lindsay off along the way, and then he heads to Marcus’s investment firm. My heels click on the tile floor and I tap my foot while I wait for the elevator.

His secretary, a middle-aged woman named Georgene, who runs the office with the efficiency of a drill sergeant, looks up from her computer when I enter. “Mrs. Orello. Mr. Orello is in a meeting. Do you need me to get him?”

“No, thank you. I’ll wait in his office for him to finish.”

She nods, and I show myself in. They’re used to me popping by every once in a while. Marcus’s office is imposing, his large desk facing away from the gorgeous view out the wall-to-wall windows behind him. This high up, the people on the sidewalk look like ants. His desk is made from thick, dark wood with curved legs and chunky carvings. It’s imposing. Regal and masculine.

I sit in his chair and spin around in slow circles while I wait for his meeting to finish. The door opens, and I stop, my head still spinning a bit as he walks in and sees me there. He pauses, then turns and says something to someone in the hallway and shuts the door.

“Emily. Is everything okay?”

I hop out of the seat and cross the room, smoothing my hands over his big, broad chest. How does he pack all those glorious alpha muscles into such fitted clothes? I tuck the stolen, soiled handkerchief into his pocket, shoving his carefully folded silk one down. His nostrils flare as he catches the first whiff of it.

“Everything’s fine. I just had to ask you something.”

His dark brow lowers over his eyes. “What is it?”

“For dinner, do you want enchiladas or steak?”

“That’s it?” His eyes narrow as he catches onto my game. “You could have called or texted.”

I shrug and give him an innocent smile. “I was already out. It wasn’t any trouble to stop by and visit you. But I need an answer, because I need to know which meat to thaw.”

“Steak,” he says, his voice low and rumbly. The sound of it makes my stomach flutter every time, no matter how often I hear it. It’ll never get old.

“Great!” I lean up and kiss him, then hike my purse up higher on my shoulder and flounce to the door. I nod at the suited man hovering in the hallway, then wave goodbye to Georgene and take the elevator down. The drive home is quick, the traffic a little thinner at this hour. I thank the driver and tell him I’m done for the day.

“Hello, Bobbie. How are you today?”

Bobbie holds the door open for me. “Great, Mrs. Orello. You have a nice day.”

“I already am.”

Sam isn’t home when I get there, but I find a note on the counter.

Working on the bike :)

---