Page 91 of Torched Spades
“I repeat, you need to leave or I’m calling the police.”
He chuckles. “No, you won’t.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No, it’s a solid observation. You’d sooner fight off a gang of cannibals with a butter knife than call Daddy for help.”
His remark infuriates me, not because of the brazen tone that delivered it, but because it’s true.
Dropping the gun into my purse, I slam the drawer closed and scowl. “Why are you here?’
“I didn’t finish proving my point earlier.”
“Oh, I think you did.”
“And what point was that? That you have a habit of issuing empty threats?”
“No, that you’re an insufferable jackass like my father. One who can’t use simple ratiocination to see the risk of his actions.”
My derision bounces off him, not leaving so much as a dent in his cool, calm exterior. “Can’t say I’m used to being insulted with SAT words. However, as true as that first part may be, I’m referring to the fact that you and I are incapable of being professional.”
I close my laptop and give him a dry laugh. “Once again, you underestimate me, Mr. Malone.”
He clicks his tongue, and I watch with trepidation as he closes the door behind him. “I don’t think so,” he murmurs, reaching around his back to turn the lock.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
“We had an agreement. Only professionalism inside these walls,” I say, giving a chaotic wave around the office. “Last night, you swore you’d abide by my rules during office hours.”
“Yes,during office hours,” he stresses, a savage smile spreading across his face. “I found a loophole.”
The arrogance of that statement should enrage me. Instead, my mouth dries. My heart beats faster. My thighs part. The frightened woman who just aimed a gun at her office door morphs into the femme fatale hanging on my wall.
“It appears so,” I say heatedly.
“Glad you’re seeing things my way.” Johnny strides across the room like the predator he is. His eyes darken, and his lips part as he slides his tongue along the back of his teeth. “All those weeks ago I walked into this office, Dr. Brennan, and do you know what I remember most?”
I don’t trust my own words right now, so I shake my head.
“I remember how you looked. I remember that slate gray pencil skirt that kissed your knees as you sat down. I remember that uptight white blouse buttoned up to your neck being suffocated under a boxy blazer. I remember looking beyond those wire-rimmed glasses and staring at your light blue eyes. But do you know what I remember most, Doc?”
Again, I shake my head.
“That for forty-five minutes, all I wanted was to tear it all off and fuck you on your desk. But that was just the beginning. Every Tuesday afternoon, I had to jerk my dick raw just to get relief from what you’d done to it. Sometimes, I barely made it to the car. You had me so goddamn hard sometimes I came in my hand right outside that window.”
His forbidden words cause a flood of desire to pool between my legs. I shift in my chair, but it offers no relief. The friction only incites a second surge of restlessness that stains my cheeks.
“It only got worse after I tasted you,” he continues, his voice dropping to a seductively low cadence that whispers for me to surrender and submit.
“Johnny…” I rasp, but either he doesn’t hear my plea or doesn’t give a damn because he continues his prowl, one agonizing step at a time.
“Then after I fucked you…” he groans, his hand stroking the covered length of his already hard cock. “That was it. I thought nothing could compare to the feeling of your pussy squeezing my cock. But then, the more you argued—the more you defied me—the more I wondered…” He rounds my desk, his hand moving from his cock to his belt. I watch with bated breath as he slowly unbuckles it, then pulls it from its loops, his hooded gaze never leaving mine. “What would that smart mouth feel like wrapped around it?”
“Shit…” I exhale a labored breath, my head starting to spin.
I stare as he unbuttons his jeans and slowly drags down the zipper. His eyes never leave mine as he reaches inside his boxers and draws out his thick cock. Suddenly, nothing else matters but watching him pump his hand up and down the hard, swollen flesh.
