Chapter 7
And there I was…
Half-naked. Bent over at the waist, with my ass high in the air. My dirty shirt crumpled in a ball on top of the sink counter… again.
I closed my eyes and swallowed a groan of mortification.
Why, God? Why me, God? FML.
“Are you fucking kidding me? Are you seriously in my office without permission again?” a deep voice demanded.
I stood up quickly, smacking my head on the counter. The pain was instantaneous but not nearly as agonizing as the embarrassment that heated my cheeks. I rubbed my head to check for bleeding, then turned.
“I...” My words trailed off in a sucked-in breath as my fingers grazed a tender part of my scalp. Fortunately, there was no blood. Bleeding all over this tacky, expensive-looking tile would make this all so much worse.
He stepped inside and slammed the door shut. “Let me answer that for you. The answer is yes.”
Uh oh.
His words were gritted out between clenched teeth. “Same as your answer when I tell you to bend over, lift your skirt, and take the punishment you have now more than earned.”
I raised my chin and held up a palm to ward him off. I couldn’t let him intimidate me. “I just spilled coffee all over my shirt, and I came in here to change.”
He placed a hand against the wall over my head as he moved closer. “Does this look like a fucking Nordstrom changing room, Ms. Carmichael?”
“I wouldn’t know,” I said with brutal honesty. Unless they filmed an episode of Sex in the City there, I would have no idea. I looked around at the needlessly luxurious bathroom. “But probably.”
He towered over me. “I’m glad you find this amusing, Ms. Carmichael. Apparently you need an attitude adjustment along with a lesson on trespassing law.”
Realizing my lame attempt at levity had only ignited rather than diffused the situation, I shifted along the wall a few inches, trying to put space between us. “I’m really sorry. My shirt turned transparent when it happened, and then I saw the mayor headed this way. I thought it wouldn’t look professional if I walked past him in a see-through shirt with my bra on display, so I ducked in here.”
Surely the DA would be a reasonable man and understand. He should be grateful I was trying to make a good impression. After all, I was assigned to his desk. How I looked reflected on him.
Once again, I only succeeded in adding gasoline to the flames. I watched in horror as his gaze moved from my face to my breasts, then to my mouth, then finally back to my eyes.
“No,” he said, once more glaring down at me.
“No?” I asked, not sure what to say.
“No, I think you’re here on purpose. Maybe last night was an accident, but then you liked how I treated you like a whore and you’re here for another taste.”
Before I could process what he’d said, my hand was flying through the air, ready to slap him.
He grabbed it and pulled me into his chest. “One slap is all you get, sweetheart.”
My stomach flipped.
I knew he was only using the endearment sarcastically but still…Damn.
This close, he smelled like cologne, coffee, and maple syrup.
I swallowed. “That’s not…”
“That’s not what?” he taunted me, tilting his head to the side. “That’s not what’s happening here? Maybe you wanted to try and sue for sexual harassment. Maybe you have hidden cameras in here and are trying to use yourself as bait? That’s entrapment, Ms. Carmichael.”
His words dripped with resentment and anger, even as his tone was demanding in a way that made my knees a little weak.
My eyes went to the floor, and I ignored the spark of excitement that shot down my spine and settled deep within my core.
“No, really, I just came in to change because I dumped coffee all over myself. There are no cameras. No hidden agenda. I want to forget all about last night, just like you.”
He grabbed my chin and pulled it up so my gaze met his. “Who said I was willing to forget?”
Dammit. He is firing me for sure.
And after this I would be lucky to get a job as a paralegal for a scummy, ambulance-chasing lawyer in the Bronx because I could certainly kiss my legal career in Manhattan goodbye.
His eyes were so full of fury and disappointment, I had the urge to drop to my knees and beg for forgiveness. Beg him to not fire me or pursue charges for breaking into his office without permission. Maybe he wouldn’t if I swore I wouldn’t sue him for harassment.
I dug my nails into my palms, letting the pain focus me. There had to be a way to convince him. “Please, I can prove it. My shirt is right over there, and I am sure I smell like my favorite stupid overly sweet coffee.”
His voice lowered to a dark purr as he contemplated me. “So you’re pleading your case. And the taste of your skin is Exhibit A.”
Oh no! What is more flammable than gasoline because I just fucking poured a gallon of it on this situation.
He braced his other forearm against the wall, trapping me as he leaned down and ran his tongue from my neck to my cleavage.
The small sparks that were in my core lit on fire as I gasped in shock.
“Mmm, Italian roast, that’s my favorite too,” he growled before licking my breast again, running his tongue along the seam of my bra.
My palms ached to pull my bra aside and offer him my breasts, then run my fingers through his soft-looking hair while he devoured me.
Everything about this was a career-ending train wreck, but I couldn’t get my body to understand even while my brain screamed for me to run.
One of Mr. Astrid’s hands went to my waist, holding me still before it ghosted up my side to my shoulder and pulled down my bra strap.
A low groan of approval came from somewhere deep in his chest when my breasts were both uncovered.
“I think you are doing this on purpose, Ms. Carmichael. I think deep down you are a brat who needs to be taught a lesson.”
Yes. Spank me. No. Fuck. Holy hell.
My head swam as I pressed my nails deeper into my palms, struggling to gain the focus I needed to escape.
Mr. Astrid didn’t wait for a response. He just wrapped his lips around my nipple and sucked, giving me an illicit, taboo rush of pleasure.
I licked my lips and pushed my hands behind my hips, crushing them between the wall and my body so I didn’t give in to temptation and pull him closer. “I didn’t, I swear.”
“Why should I believe you?” He kissed his way back up my chest to my shoulder, alternating between sharp bites and soothing licks that had my head spinning and my pussy throbbing.
“Because I wouldn’t lie to you.” My words sounded breathy to my own ears.
“If I catch you in this bathroom in any state of undress without having told you to do so, I swear I will bend you over my knee and spank your ass until it’s bright red. You won’t sit for a week, do you understand me?”
It wasn’t a threat.
It was a promise, and I wanted nothing more than to call his bluff, but I was too shocked to form the words.
“Then I will push my cock into your tight entrance and pound into you until you scream for mercy. Is that understood, Ms. Carmichael?”
“Yes, sir,” I whispered, not sure where those words came from.
I had never called anyone “sir” in a heated moment before. I had never gotten turned on by being manhandled by my boss, either. I was also positive I had never been this close to coming just from someone giving my breasts attention.
“Good girl,” he rasped in my ear before sliding his fingers in my hair tight enough to force my head back before he pulled my lips to his in a scorching kiss.
His kiss was like him: direct, challenging, and punishing all at the same time.
Parting my lips for him, I melted into his body.
I wanted to fight him.
I wanted to shove him off me and threaten him right back.
I wanted to tell him it would be a cold day in hell before I let him touch me again, and that I was a professional paralegal who expected to be treated with respect in his office.
I wanted all of this.
The problem was, in that moment, I wanted him more.
Wanted his kiss. Wanted his rough hands. Wanted his dirty words.
For the first time in my life, I didn’t give a damn about my career or my reputation.
I just needed his touch, now. Nothing else mattered.
His hand crept down to my throat and held me against the wall as he ripped his lips from mine.
Mr. Astrid looked at me with narrowed eyes. His lips were stained with my lipstick, a shade of red appropriately called Inappropriate. Which couldn’t have been more on the nose than if it had been called Bad Life Choices.
He bared his teeth as he wrapped his hands around my upper arms. “Dammit… we can’t do this here. Not in the office during the day.”
Startled by his abrupt change, my eyes went to the massive mirror to the side, and I looked at my reflection.
I looked like a call girl, and a cheap one at that.
It jarred me like nothing else.
Was I really about to throw away so much effort and investment in myself? The hours studying and working on getting here so I could afford to take the LSAT and get into law school?
If this got out, it would destroy my career before I even applied.
He would survive the scandal. For him, it would be chalked up to an ill-advised indiscretion and brushed under the rug as boys will be boys.
I would be ruined, though. Just another woman trying to sleep her way to the middle or, worse, a dumb, low-class slut who didn’t belong in an office or a courtroom.
This could not happen.
A box of tissues sat on the corner of the counter. I grabbed a few, handed them to him, and motioned to his face.
He looked in the mirror and cleaned up the red smear.
Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, I slipped around him and snatched my replacement blouse from its hanger. With my back turned to him, I shoved my hands through the sleeves.
His arm wrapped around my middle to pull me close. There was no mistaking the press of his hard cock against my lower back.
His tongue flicked my earlobe. “We need to work late tonight. We’ll finish this later, after hours.”
With a twist of my hips, I loosened his grip enough to swing the door open and step into his office.
After buttoning my blouse, I tucked it in and straightened my skirt. Throwing my shoulders back, I turned and said, “The only thing I will be finishing off is your briefs.”
The corner of his mouth lifting, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned a shoulder against the door jamb.
The embarrassed blush on my cheeks moved down my neck as I momentarily closed my eyes. “I meant your legal briefs. Despite our unconventional start, I have every intention of keeping this professional from this moment forward. I trust you will do the same.”
His gaze ran over me before he quoted Lord Byron in response. “‘We are all selfish and I no more trust myself than others with a good motive.’”
Before I could respond, we were interrupted by the hard clack of a pair of office-inappropriate designer high heels.