Page 69 of Unleashed

Michael’s expression grew serious. “I think you require a good fucking for this,” he said, his words cutting through me like a jolt.

My pulse quickened, and I struggled to maintain composure. “We’re not ready for that.”

“I’m ready,” Michael said, leaning back. “But I’m not surprised you aren’t. You seem to need an emotional connection first, and you don’t have it yet.”

“I’ll admit I like emotional connection,” I said, my voice faltering slightly, “but I don’t need it to have sex.”

“I believe you do,” Michael said confidently. “And I’m a good judge of people.”

As our drinks arrived, I took several sips of my mimosa, hoping it would ease the growing tension between us.

“Would you like to get something to eat? The line has subsided.”

“Yes, I’m hungry,” I said, though my appetite had waned. Michael’s provocative comment had made me more restlessthan ravenous. I needed a distraction, so I filled my plate with a modest selection—broccoli quiche, sliced melon, and a plain bagel with vegetable cream cheese.

Michael, in contrast, piled his plate with ham from the carving station, Eggs Benedict, and two raisin scones with apple butter. He returned to the table and helped me into my chair with a gentle touch. But as I sat, the heat of our earlier conversation returned, making it difficult to focus on my food.

“Not hungry? Did you overindulge last night?” Michael asked, noticing my disinterest.

“Not at all,” I replied. “Your talk of sex made me lose my appetite.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Michael probed.

“It’s good,” I said, forcing a smile. “But I’m interested in something other than food.”

His talk of sex dampened my panties. I was never like this before, and I think having two men who desired me had fired me up. I could go months without sex but now I felt like a bitch in heat, powerful to have this type of control.

Michael’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Like what?”

I sighed, picking at my bagel. “I’d rather not discuss it. Can we change the subject?”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “What would you like to talk about?”

“Tomorrow,” I said, hoping to shift the conversation.

“It will be a usual day in the office,” Michael replied, his demeanor calm.

“Will it?” I challenged. “Especially knowing what I know now?”

Michael’s gaze softened. “I feel the same way for you as I did when you first started. Nothing has changed.”

“Except that I know,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

“All I ask is that you keep it to yourself,” Michael said, his tone serious.

“Why don’t you have normal offices?” I asked, trying to steer the conversation away.

Michael paused, biting into one of his scones before answering. “Normal in what way?”

“Walls and doors—privacy,” I explained.

“I prefer an open workplace,” Michael said, shrugging. “It fosters better involvement from the staff.”

“Do you have no desire for privacy?” I pressed.

Michael’s smirk returned. “Do you? What are you expecting to happen in the office?”

“Nothing,” I mumbled, looking down at my plate as I speared a piece of cantaloupe with my fork.

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