Chapter 2 #2
"I'm assuming after your careless destruction of my work, you're not my boss anymore," she responds.
Is it my imagination, or is her voice huskier than before?
"Plus, it's the truth. In months of working together, this is only the second time you or someone from your team has even met with me.
This entire process has been painful because of your lack of communication.
You seem to expect me to read your mind.
How was I supposed to know what you actually wanted was a minimalist gray podium and gunmetal chairs that look like they come from some kind of 1950s public institution?
And speaking of tacky…" Her voice hovers, then she seems to change her mind.
"You know what? No, never mind. It's not like you deserve or want my advice anyway.
I'm just telling you, Mr. Wolfe, that your dealings with me as your contractor have been wholly subpar. "
I smirk. She's like a governess who's disciplining an unruly child.
The heat is like a whip, whispering over my skin.
Teasing the beast to the forefront. I find myself wondering what I might do if she told me to get over her knee for a good spanking…
or what it might be like to put her over my knee for the same treatment.
My cock stiffens yet again. Best not to think those sorts of thoughts, perhaps.
I doubt she's in the mood for games of that nature.
I find myself standing up, walking around the desk, and pacing up to where she's still standing in front of my office door. My tread is light, but purposeful, a tiger stalking its victim.
She should be scared. She should back up.
She doesn't.
Instead, I catch the subtle squeezing of her legs. Her swallow.
Her lust.
We are close now. Too close. Neither of us is prepared to back away, to create the distance to make us safe. Neither of us is willing to give in.
"Are you done?"
"No, actually," she says, desire thick in her voice.
"I also wanted to add that you have a knack for wasting others' time.
Speaking of wasting time, your secretary is a witch with a capital ‘B.
' I suggest you hire a PA who actually answers questions and deals with issues, rather than just sounding bored and hanging up. "
"Okay." I nod. "Now I'm going to tell you one thing and one thing only. When you were hired, it was with the understanding that you'd managed events of this scale before. We didn't expect to handhold you throughout the entire process."
"I didn't–"
"I'm not finished." I cut her off, while staring at those plump lips, forming a stubborn line.
"There were plenty of candidates whom we could have chosen, most of them far more qualified than you, but for several reasons, we chose your company.
Had we known that you expected such intense oversight, we wouldn't have. "
She glares. "Communication isn't oversight."
"It might as well be. Because had I not been supervising, you would have sold me that clown show for an opener."
Oh, now the fire is crackling in her eyes.
"That 'clown show,' as you put it, is a visual representation of 'at-risk youth,' one of the major groups that your charity claims to help.
The stage itself was set up by a native Brooklyn artist who was a former at-risk youth, and painted a mural on stage that reflected his upbringing and his triumph over it.
You think your attendees wouldn't want to see that?
You think those things go unappreciated?
" She shakes her head. "I've been planning events for many years.
You have no idea how much those little details mean, and you got rid of it, to hastily put together a dull and unambitious alternative look and feel with no soul and no meaning, simply because you couldn't pick up a phone and speak to me first."
"You keep talking to me like that, and you're not going to like what happens next." I growl, at my breaking point.
She should leave. She should get out right now, or my restraint will break.
But she doesn't. Her lids lower in challenge. "It's not an insult if it's true."
Fuck. That's it.
I try to stop myself, I really do. Words are screaming in my brain, telling me how much of a bad idea this is. But I fail.
Our lips touch, finally, and there's no going back.
Fuck.
She has no idea the fire she started in me. Ever since she walked in here with that pencil skirt clinging to her shapely thighs, heels accentuating the length of her legs. Her eyes, flashing with barely-bridled anger, boldly challenging me, verbally lashing me without a lick of apprehension.
Remembering it makes my cock harden even more, as my tongue plunges in deeper, conquering hers, my hands gripping her ass. I haven't kissed a woman in a while and I honestly hadn't planned on kissing this one. It just… happened.
She tastes like a storm. I feel her warm, feminine flesh beneath her clothing, and inhale the spicy-sweetness of her scent.
That scent has been teasing and tormenting ever since she walked in here.
I've always thought she was attractive, her striking features making it hard to look away from her.
her dark auburn-red hair flowing down her back, framing her delicately freckled pale skin, the flashing, jade-green eyes that are just a little wide-set, a straight Roman nose, and full, kissable lips that are on the thicker side.
In all, she has a face that deserves to be sculpted from finest white marble, and the kind of figure that poets write about.
Sure, I'd admired her as a woman, but I hadn't planned on doing anything about it. There are tons of women who I find attractive, and it usually doesn't go past that.
But then she had to open her damn smart mouth and talk in that sultry voice until all I could think about was kissing those lips into submission.
She had a tiny smirk when she said that last sentence. Her eyes dared me to follow through on my threat.
I couldn't back down then, couldn't resist.
My body was drawn like a magnet toward her, the raw need highlighting the animalistic part of my brain that demands I claim the worthy mate standing across from me.
It's rare to meet someone who doesn't cower before me, even rarer to meet someone who insults me with such impudence. Seems I might be some kind of masochist, because hearing her talk back to me turned me on more than I can imagine.
Maybe I could have ended it at a kiss if she didn't taste so fucking good.
But, soon enough, a kiss alone doesn't cut it anymore.
I lift her and spin around, simultaneously shoving everything off the nearest corner of my desk.
I hear a crash and a clatter, but none of that matters, as I perch her ass on the table.
I'm fucking starving, the feverish hunger making me feel hollow inside.
I need her. I need to consume her right now, so I can go back to feeling like a human being and not an animal again.
"Tell me you want this." I gasp, between kisses.
"Yes, take me." The words squeezed out of her in a strangled wheeze.
"Tell me again."
She looks up at me, directly into my eyes before replying steadily and almost unemotionally.
"Fuck me, you bastard. Fuck me."
Needing skin contact, I push my hands underneath her dress. I meet soft, malleable yet muscular thighs. I caress them as she shifts restlessly forward. My tongue plunges deeper, wanting more of her flavor in my mouth.
This isn't enough, but at the same time, it's too much. I don't kiss the women I fuck. Ever.
I tear my lips away from hers and rip open the top of her shirt, the sound of buttons popping giving me a sense of satisfaction.
I start tugging her panties down, and she lifts herself up so I can tug them off completely. I stare into her eyes for a second as we both pause, fire raging in their depths.
"You're such an asshole," she hisses in a gravelly voice before I trail my hand up her thighs and plunge my finger into her wet entrance.
"Oh God." She groans as her eyes roll back.
A groan rips out of my chest, too, because fuck she feels so tight.
Her soaked heat sucks at my finger, and she shifts her ass rapidly against the desk to get more.
I don't give it to her yet. I go slowly, watching her fight desperately, biting her lips.
Lust turns her face completely red, and she says, "Damn it! "
"Say it."
"Say what?" she spits.
"Say you're sorry." I don't know why it's so important for me to hear her say those words and admit that she did something wrong.
Maybe it's as simple as payback, or maybe it's because I like that curious mix of anger and desire in her eyes.
Or maybe I just enjoy the way it makes her clench around my finger when I give the order.
"You bastard."
"Grayson," I correct with a whisper in her ear, driving my finger deeper, making her gasp and shake while I suck and nibble on her earlobe. "You called me that earlier. Now say it again. Say, 'Grayson, I'm sorry.'"
She bites her lips, trying to keep the words in as she fucks my finger. A solitary tear appears at the corner of her eyes when I start pulling it away. I know exactly how she feels. Pleasure so intense it becomes pain.
My balls are so tight right now, my cock steely and veined, with precum at the top.
I lean over and lick off the tear, savoring the bite of saltiness in my mouth.
I explore her walls around her entrance, finding the bundle of nerves up there.
Stroking a finger over it makes her entire body quake violently.
She grips my shoulder, her mouth open, pained surrender all over her face.
But she refuses to say it. She's too damn stubborn.
I want to break her, take her to the edge, and fling her off just to see what she looks like when she falls apart.
But it's taking everything inside me to wait.
"Say it, damn it."
"I'm sorry, you asshole!"
I smirk and take my hand away.
Then, I undo my belt with quick, harried movements, pull out my cock, spread her thighs as far apart as they will go, and drive it into her, hard.
Punishment or reward, I can't tell. She screams like it's both and throws her arms around my neck, holding tight. Her flesh clenches around my cock, and I groan again, biting her shoulder as she contracts and vibrates around me.
She's coming. I can feel her coming around me, and it draws a rough hiss out of me.
It's heaven and hell.
Her orgasm seems never-ending, and I start fucking her through it, clenching her ass and lifting her off the desk so I can do it more thoroughly.
It's not going to take long for me. She feels too fucking good.
I can already feel the pressure at the base of my spine, my cock full and thumping with its own separate heartbeat.
But I want to see her come again before I do.
Her little mewls of pleasure tell me she's close. As I fuck her, she holds on, sweat slicking her neck.
I lick it savagely, savoring the pulse at her throat. I grab her hair, tugging it back to expose the line of her neck, and nip the juncture of her shoulder.
She comes again, and this time she drags me with her. My cock pulses and explodes inside her, and I hold her tight as I shudder at how mind-blowingly good that was.
I've had dirty sex before, but nothing like this.
And then… silence.
As we both descend from the heights, the silence becomes even more deafening, and the gravity of what we just did comes with the post orgasm clarity. Fuck. Regret lines my spine as I back away and tuck myself back into my pants without glancing at her.
I hear her doing the same.
The atmosphere is so painfully awkward that every little sound in the silence is magnified. She hops off the desk, and I look over in time to see my sperm trailing down her thighs before she wipes them off with her panties.
As a fresh wave of desire awakens within me, I also realize something dire.
I just fucked her without a condom. Shit. Unprotected sex. I should know better than that.
"I assume you have protection." My voice sounds cold, mostly because I'm mad at myself for making such a rookie mistake. I've been so careful all my life, despite the many attempts to baby-trap me. I could have just fucking done it to myself, all because I wasn't fucking thinking.
She glares at me. "I'm not on the pill if that's what you're asking. But I can grab a Plan B on the way out, and if that doesn't work, I'll take care of it."
"Good. I'll reimburse you."
"Keep your money, asshole." She looks just as angry with herself as I am with myself, and that gives me a sick savage pleasure. I'm glad we're in the same boat. Neither of us wanted this to happen, but it happened anyway.
It can never happen again.
"Just to be clear, you're off the showcase."
"Yes, Mr. Grayson Wolfe. But you're not firing me. I've already dropped you as my client. That's what I came to tell you."
My lips kick up. Glad she hasn't lost her snark. I don't know why that pleases me as much.
"You'll be recompensed for all the work you've done so far, and for the lack of a three-week notice period. Additionally, you can keep the deposit."
She buttons her shirt, or what's left of it, and doesn't say another word.
Probably can't afford to argue about the money.
Almost certainly wants to. There are definite pluses about being wealthy, and being able to do and say what you want without worrying about the consequences is one of them.
She heads to the door, letting herself out.
I imagine she must be pretty embarrassed right now.
Lucky for her, my office is pretty much soundproof, so no one will have heard anything.
That said, her disheveled nature will definitely clue Carissa in on what just happened. If she's out there.
I sigh and run my hand through my hair, wondering what the fuck just happened. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I've always taken great pride in my level of control over my emotions. Most of all though, I am thinking to myself…
Why am I so damn sad to see her go?