Page 71 of Tempt

On one too-excited scribble, the pen rolls out of my fingers and lands on the floor. Sam shoots me that stern look and I mouthsorryat him. I’m a terrible secretary.

Maybe he’ll spank me for this later.

I grin to myself as I push back and lean over to pick up the dropped pen. But my skirt is too tight, and it constricts my movement enough that I can’t quite reach—I want to stretch my leg out to counterbalance my arm and upper body, but I can’t. I roll back further and stand up carefully, trying to maintain the facade that I’m really Sam’s assistant. I kneel carefully and reach for the pen—but stop, because underneath the table Sam is doing something incredibly filthy.

The jerk is rolling up his sleeves. The cuffs are undone already, and his fingers—those thick, strong digits that he likes to plunge into my body—are nimbly rolling the white cotton fabric up his forearm.

Slowly.

Carefully. With erotic precision.

As I take in deep, horny breaths, the ropes Sam bound me with an hour earlier press into my flesh.

How long is he going to torture me like this?

Seven more minutes, it turns out.

After I rescue my pen, he gets the client to agree to two key action items—which I actually do write down, go me—and then he ends the call.

My breath catches in my throat as he gets up and comes around the table. He looks at the notepad. I’m on the fourth page now, the others flipped up.

The page he’s looking at has real work on it.

The others…not so much.

He grabs the pad and nods at what he sees. “Good.”

That’s not going to last long.

He flips to the previous page, then the one before that. “What is this?”

There’s only one answer here. A lie. “The minutes of the meeting.”

“His thighs brace against the luxurious leather seat, rock-hard with tension as she uncrosses her legs. He wants to shove her skirt up and feast on her cun— Ms. McLaughlin, did you write this?”

“I—” I grab for the pad, and Sam catches my wrist in mid-air. He squeezes his fingers tight and slowly, threateningly pushes my hand back down to the table. I squeak and back up, my butt hitting the table, too. He leans in, forcing me to scoot back, hopping up onto the table to try to get away from his menacing approach.

And then he releases me and sits down in the leather chair I just vacated.

Now we’re in exactly the position I just described. He’s sitting down, his legs spread wide, framing his heavy erection. I’m perched on the boardroom table in front of him.

So I cross my legs.

Just so I can uncross them.

Sam’s gaze narrows in on the shadow between my thighs.

My clit pulses, a desperate little slut. Ready to do anything, anywhere with this man. “What temp agency did you say you were from?”

His voice is full of gravel. Hot, intense.

“I don’t remember.”

“I think you came here to tempt me.”

I did. I really did. “I tried my best, sir.”

“You fantasized about me shoving your legs apart and burying my face in your hot, little cunt. Is that how you think of that sweet pussy between your legs? A needy, dripping cunt? Will you do anything for her?”

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