Page 65 of Sexting the Boss

Sasha’s head jerks up. “What?—”

I don’t let her finish.

In two strides, I’m on her. I pin her against the elevator wall, my hands bracketing either side of her face, caging her in.

Her breath stutters, eyes wide, lips parted in shock.

I don’t give her time to think.

I take her mouth.

Hard. Deep. Unrelenting.

Sasha gasps against my lips, and I take advantage, pushing deeper, swallowing any protest she might have had.

She tastes like coffee and something sweet, something uniquely her.

She should push me away.

She should protest, call me insane, remind me that I’m her boss.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, her hands clutch at my shirt, her body melting into mine.

I groan into her mouth, grabbing her waist, kneading her ass as I press flush against her, letting her feel exactly what she’s doing to me.

The air is heavy, charged, like something irreversible is happening.

Something neither of us can stop.

And fuck—I don’t want to.

I angle her head, deepening the kiss, my tongue sweeping against hers, coaxing, demanding more.

She gives in.

Completely.

Her tits graze my chest, soft against the hard lines of my body, and the contact sends a sharp, raw heat spiraling through me.

She whimpers, her head tilting back, giving me more.

More of her mouth. More of her body.

I take it.

I trail my lips down her jaw, along the delicate line of her throat, my teeth skimming over her pulse.

She shudders, her fingers clutching my arms, desperate for something to hold on to.

I suck on her neck, hard, just below her ear.

She gasps, pressing closer, her hips barely restrained under my grip.

Fuck. She’s perfect.

Perfect and mine.

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