Chapter Seventeen #2
“Benjamin completed the vendor-access comparison, and Ainsley is reconciling payroll permissions with HR’s role classifications.
There are inconsistencies there, but nothing unusual for a company that has grown through acquisitions.
The larger issue is still cultural. People are treating access like status.
If they lose permissions, they feel demoted, even if the access was never relevant to their role. ”
“Mm.”
The sound shoots straight between my legs.
I shift in my chair. “So next week, I want to start framing the changes as protective rather than punitive. We’ll need executive backing on that. Clear messaging. Preferably from you or Lorenzo.”
I stop and he makes that sound again.
It’s a caress against my breasts, and I pray to God that my nipples are not obvious through my shirt.
I look down at my tablet, though the screen is dark and I do not need it.
“I also have a draft schedule for the temporary access protocol. The biggest challenge will be enforcement. If someone can get a manual override by simply calling a senior director, the policy is useless. So the approval chain needs to be strict and documented. No informal exceptions.”
“Of course.”
“Which means family included.” I glance up. “I realize that may be difficult.”
“No.”
“No?”
“If family is the exception, everyone will expect to be the exception.”
I blink.
I expected resistance, even mild obstruction.
I definitely didn't expect cooperation.
It throws me off, and I take a moment to get back on track.
“Right,” I say. “Good. Exactly. So I’ll draft that language Monday morning.”
He watches me quietly.
I can feel myself filling the silence with nonsense.
“I, uh, reviewed the incident archive structure, and there are legacy categories that need to be separated. Some of the older reports include personal identifying information that should have been redacted before being visible outside security.”
Still nothing.
Only that unreadable look.
I swallow.
“And the department heads are mostly adjusting, though several are still irritated. That’s expected. People dislike losing access, even unnecessary access.”
His mouth shifts again.
I stop because I realize, all at once, that I have been talking for several minutes without taking a proper breath.
My face heats. I’m babbling.
But he’s still not saying anything.
“That’s the operational summary,” I continue cautiously. “Did you have any specific questions?”
He leans back in his chair slowly, still watching me.
The kind of watching that makes my skin feel too tight.
“No specific questions,” he says. “It all sounds like it’s going to plan.”
My fingers curl around the edge of my tablet.
“It is,” I say, breathless.
His eyes drop briefly to my hands.
Then back to my face.
“Victoria,” he says.
Just my name on his tongue, in that gorgeous accent, backs my lungs up.
“Tell me what you dreamt.”
The room falls completely silent.
For one second, I am certain I misheard him or that I’ve gone deaf.
Then heat rushes through me so fast I nearly grip the tablet hard enough to crack it.
“What?” I say, my voice a little higher than I’d like.
He does not move a muscle.
“You heard me.”
My mouth opens.
Nothing comes out.
His gaze stays on mine, dark and steady and impossible to escape.
I should stand and remind him that we are in his office and that I came here to discuss access protocols and executive oversight and all the many professional reasons I should absolutely not answer that question.
Well, no. That’s what I assumed I came here for.
He might’ve had a different idea altogether.
Then, my mind gives me exactly what he asked for.
The dream from the first night after we met.
The conference room we had sex in.
How we had been standing near the door, the table between us.
Then I was on it, spread-eagle, his body between my thighs.
One finger buried inside me.
Two.
I was shaking, and he was murmuring something in Italian, something dirty and filthy and sweet.
My back arched, and I opened my eyes to find him watching me, and—
Then another. This one in his office, which I hadn't been in yet, and he had me pressed against the wall, arms pinned above my head with one hand, the other between my legs.
Then another. His chair, his lap. My skirt bunched around my hips as I ground against him desperately.
I inhale too sharply.
His eyes darken.
"Tell me."
The command hits me like a fist.
I stand abruptly, because sitting has become impossible.
“Mr. Conti—”
“Don’t,” he says, “hide behind formalities."
He stands, too, his gaze turning predatory, his hands resting on the edge of his desk.
"Tell me what you dreamt."
I know he's playing a game, and I am about to lose.
I set the tablet on the chair because I no longer trust myself to hold it.
“That is wildly inappropriate.”
“Yes.”
He looks me up and down.
I fight the urge to cross my arms over my breasts.
Or rip my blouse off and let him have his way.
I'm not sure which at the moment.
"I-I originally told you about the dreams because I was trying to make a point," I manage. "I never intended to… to elaborate."
He tilts his head slightly. "Why not?"
"Because it's personal."
His mouth curves, and my knees threaten to buckle.
"More personal than what transpired between us one week ago?"
I open my mouth. Close it.
He pushes off his desk.
"More personal than being inside you and feeling you come on my cock?"
I gasp.
His expression is ruthless.
He walks around the desk but stops before he touches me.
I want him to touch me.
Desperately.
"Or having my mouth on you, your taste on my tongue, your legs around my neck, your cunt clenching around my fingers, Victoria? What could be more personal than those things?"
My thighs are shaking.
"I didn't think so," he murmurs.
I don't move.
Can't move.
He steps forward and runs his knuckles down my cheek.
"Tell me your dreams."
I stare at him, heart pounding.
“You avoided me all week,” I say.
I do not mean to say it.
It comes out anyway.
He caresses my bottom lip with his thumb.
“I did not avoid you, cara," he says in that deep, dark voice. "You were there every day. In your office, in the conference room, just like this, looking beautiful and untouchable and making me remember how good it felt to have my hands on you."
I am breathing too hard.
"I wanted to bend you over the conference table and fuck you in front of everyone at our meeting," he says.
"Mario..."
He brushes his mouth over mine.
"Now." His thumb on my lip turns into a hold, just a little bit too tight. "Tell me your dreams."
Heat floods between my thighs, and I have the sudden, terrifying sense that I will never deny this man anything.
Not a single thing.
"Your office."
It's barely a whisper.
But he hears me.
A wicked smile curves his mouth, and the look in his eyes should be illegal.
"Tell me more."
My face is hot. I cannot believe I'm going to tell him this.
"We..."
His hand shifts, two fingers resting under my chin, his thumb pressing against my bottom lip.
"Say it."
My entire body is vibrating.
"Against the window," I breathe.
His eyes turn molten.
"And then?"
I'm going to pass out.
"You...you were behind me, and we were..."
I cannot make the words happen.
"Oh, Victoria."
God, his voice.
He pushes his thumb gently between my lips, and I taste him.
"I can see you're having a hard time explaining, sporcacciona," he murmurs.
I have no idea what that means but... Oh, my God, is it hot.
"Maybe we implement a different tactic. Yes?"
His thumb pulls free, and I nearly chase it with my tongue.
"Show me."
I blink.
"What?"
"Show me," he says.
He nods toward the windows.
I stare at him.
"Show me what we did," he says again. "Now."
Oh, Jesus.
I swallow, hard, and step past him.
The windows are the length of his office, floor to ceiling. They stretch from one corner of the building to the other, looking out on the city. It is nearly dark outside now, the lights from the neighboring skyscrapers and the streets below glowing faintly.
I walk over to them, painfully aware of the heat of his gaze following me.
My palms are sweaty.
This is insane.
Utterly insane.
And the craziest thing is, he is not forcing me.
I could say no.
I could turn around and walk out of his office right now, and he would not stop me.
I keep walking until I'm directly in front of the windows.
Behind me, his desk sits between the door and the window, a lamp on the edge casting a warm circle of light.
I can see our reflections, ghostlike, through the dark glass.
"What now, Victoria?" he says behind me.
The way he says my name should be illegal.
It sends a shiver up my spine.
I look at him, and he meets my gaze, his hands loose at his sides.
"I...um..."
He takes one step closer.
"Go on."
My face is burning.
I take a deep breath.
"You told me to lean against the window, so I did."
"Show me," he snaps out the command.
My heart flips, and I lean forward until my palms are flat on the window, the cold glass against my cheek.
He is quiet for a moment.
"Just like this?" he asks.
I nod.
"And you were fully dressed like this?"
My pulse picks up.
"N-no," I whisper.
"Mm."
Another step closer.
"So, what were you wearing?"
I swallow, hard.
"Um..."
"Victoria," he says softly.
His fingers slide into my hair, and I feel it all the way to my toes.
"Show me what you wore in your dreams. Now."
I close my eyes for a second.
Then I pull away from him and unbutton my blazer.
He lets me go, his eyes fixed on mine.
I slip the jacket off and let it drop to the floor.
My heart is racing.
My hands are shaking.
But he's watching me like he'll never look away.
I reach for the top button of my shirt and pop it.
He inhales, and I can feel his gaze like a physical caress.
Then the next one.
And the next.
The air feels charged, the tension between us so tight it's painful.
His hands are still loose at his sides, but I can feel the power in his body.
It's like he's restraining himself.
Restraining himself from reaching out and tearing my clothes off.
And oh, God, does that thought turn me on.