Page 7 of Ctrl Me
When we returned to our cube, I sank into my chair. “This isn’t going to work.”
“’Course it will.” He pointed at my monitors, the devil in his smile. “Code. Won’t write itself, will it? That’ll keep your mind off things.”
No it wouldn’t. But I turned around anyway. My IM flashed, from Gabe.
Besides, the better you are now, the more fun you’ll have tonight.
I swallowed my groan and resigned myself to being semihard for the rest of the day. I glanced at the words again. Well, if that wasn’t incentive . . .
Soon enough, I was deep into the zone. Gabe sat on the other side of the cube, the tapping at his keyboard a welcome, soothing sound, as natural as my own heartbeat. Comfortable, not distracting, his presence was a part of the way things should be. The god-awful squeaky noise echoing through the office? That wasn’t. The sound came closer until it stopped right outside our cube. “Gabriel Visser?”
We both turned. Gabe stood. “That’s me.”
The delivery guy held out his device for a signature, which Gabe provided, then deposited the large box just inside the cube. “Have a good one.”
As the sound of ungreased wheels faded down the hall, Gabe shifted the box farther into the cube, then fetched a pair of scissors to cut the tape.
“What the hell is that?” I asked.
“A spool of rope.”
What the fuckclashed withOh my Godin my brain.
He opened the top of the box and reached inside, pulling what he’d said out enough so I could see—a spool wound with electric-blue rope. “Perfect,” he murmured, his voice soft and too sexy for the office.
I swallowed, my throat desert dry. Something about his expression, maybe that evil glint in his eye, told me he wasn’t using it for arts and crafts. I dropped my voice low, too. “That’s a lot of rope.”
The smile he gave me wasn’t innocent at all. “Two hundred yards.”
“You could wrap a body with that.” Why the fuck hadthatcome out of my mouth? Heat swam to my cheeks.
Gabe’s grin didn’t help. “Yes, I could. Several, actually.”
Oh shit.I shifted in my seat, my jeans suddenly a whole lot tighter than they’d been a moment ago, and my blood was fucking on fire. Again.
Gabe chuckled and lowered the spool back into the box. “You should feel it.”
On my skin. Over my wrists and ankles. Across my chest. I whipped back around, and stared at my monitor, breathless and far too warm to be sitting in a cube at work.
A moment later, my IM pinged. Gabe, of course.
Didn’t mean to freak you out.
I licked my lips, and typed.You didn’t.
Then what’s up?
My cock. But I wasn’t about to say that over the corporate network. Hell, this conversation shouldn’t even be happening. But my fingers had a mind of their own.
I . . . didn’t realize you were into rope work.
Across the cube, Gabe huffed a laugh.
This a problem?
No.
Then what?
