Chapter Six #2
A physical blow couldn’t have insulted me more.
My judgment is just fine, thanks. I’m good at my job—good enough to have bigger branches in better cities bidding for me.
Offense doesn't even cover it; I’m mostly just floored by his audacity.
What the hell does he know about my relationship with Morgan?
“Clearly, I need to get it said once more: I am here for that judgment, Mr. Tomford.
It helped build this bank, Mr. Tomford. I make million-dollar decisions every day—none of them involves falling for a man's 'charms.' Don't confuse my gender with a weakness, and never question my professional integrity again.”
Pushing to my feet, I turn to go. Turning back, I snatch the coffee and croissants off his desk.
None for you, sir. I’m out the door in a blur, tossing it all in the nearest trash can.
I pause by Liah’s desk long enough to tell her I'm out for the day.
She takes one look at me and wisely stays silent.
My hands are shaking as I grab my keys, my heels clicking a frantic rhythm against the marble as I head for the street.
Before I even get behind the wheel of the Rover, I know where I am going.
I need to see Morgan. He needs the same reality check I just gave Tomford: whatever is happening between us cannot blur business lines.
Period. I won’t let him or anyone else risk making me look a mess.
Hooking up with your first big client is messier than I have ever been.
Driving in circles to calm down, I pass first the hotel they were working at, before I recall him in that suit earlier.
Damn, he looks fine in a suit. Turning back, I head for his office, a little anxious.
Once I get inside, I become a hell of a lot more anxious. I have not seen him in this world yet.
“Uh....I was uh...I am looking for...well, I was hoping to see Mr....”
“Ms. Carter,” his unmistakable husk booms behind me, making me jump. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
I turn, cocking my head at him. His eyes widen—he reads the storm on my face in a single glance.
Good. He needs to know how to read me, because I don’t have his gift for words.
Before I can speak, he catches my hand, tosses a quick word to the clerk, and pulls me inside his office.
Before I have a chance to explain myself, he cages me against his door with his body.
“Talk to me, honey. Who do I have to hurt?”
I can’t help it—I smile. Tilting my head back, pressing against him because I love the weight of him, the warmth of him, I shake my head. “No one. I just needed to see you. Nothing else calms me down,” I admit—which I think surprises us both.
“Good. Good girl coming to me,” he hums, lowering his head to brush his mouth over mine. “Still be glad to hurt someone for you, honey. Come here, talk to me.”
Crossing the room, he pulls me along, sitting down with a thud behind his desk.
Before I can object, he pulls me down to settle me on his lap.
I go to scramble off, but his powerful arms circle my waist to refuse me.
I flush, taking stock of his dark, masculine office.
Huge mahogany desk, big leather executive chair.
...my breath catches as my gaze lands on a painting.
“Bouquet Quadro,” I breathe the title of the Degas work.
“Yes, my favorite,” he murmurs behind me, his lips brushing the side of my neck. I shudder but do not move away. “Degas’ ballerinas always enchanted our mother. This one...I don’t know, it suits me. Suits my space.”
Turning on his lap, I bring a hand up to cradle his face.
He is not wrong. It is dark, warm, with the wide, deep strokes that seem almost intimate.
Just thinking this has me turned on so I shift to straddle him.
His hands slide beneath my blouse, hitting that switch inside of me that I talked about earlier.
“Morgan,” I whisper, shocked by the need in my voice. “I cannot let you distract me. I came here to...to figure life out for myself.”
“Came here, you met me...life figured out honey. I am no distraction, Maren. I am inevitable. We’re fated by something bigger than either of us.
You know I saw you before that day at your office?
I had no idea it was...you. No idea this beautiful creature I saw glimpses of, felt moving in the same spaces even when I couldn’t see you. We’re destined, Maren.”
Morgan moves fast, twisting me on his lap, bending me forward until I am sprawled over his desk.
His hands ruck my skirt up and I gasp when he bares my backside to him.
I moan into the leather blotter on his desk when he strikes my left cheek hard, sending a vibration of pleasure to my clit.
Then the other side. Left, then right, sending currents of pleasure to my pussy.
“Oh, God, Morgan,” I whimper, glancing back over my shoulder.
“Sometimes I need to prove myself to you. I will do it gladly. Take your panties off, let me see your pussy, honey,” he urges. He could rip them off, push them out of his way—but he needs me to do it. To submit to him.
I do not even hesitate. Reaching back, I hook the scrap of lace thong I am wearing, pulling it aside. It clings to my skin because I am soaked and he groans, smacking each cheek again. My arousal drips down my thighs when he gives me two more spanks, my body shaking.
“Good girl,” he hums, making me recall that day I touched myself in my office, thinking of him. “Do you want me to let you come, honey?”
“No. No, I don’t want to come.”
Two more smacks echo in the dark of his office.
“Little liar. Now I might deny you. Take your top off. I want you skin to leather, honey,” he commands, his hand reaching up to knock at the top of his desk.
“I want to do all my deals knowing your pretty tits were on my desk while your pussy begged me to let it come.”
Falling back against his chest with a soft thud, I tear at my top, tossing it aside. My skin is so hot as his hand slides up my front, his fingers rough as they yank at my bra. My tits spill out, and I moan as his deft fingers pluck each nipple. More currents of pleasure. I am drowning in it.
This is why I came. Not to pout over my dustup with Mr. Tomford.
Not to get off or to be dirty. Not to test boundaries—because clearly hooking up in our offices is not one for either of us.
I’m here because I need to stop. I need to quit thinking about the things that consume my days: being perfect, being 'better' because I’m a woman in a man’s world.
“Morgan, please,” I whimper as he twists my nipples in his blunt fingers, my thighs soaked from those currents crashing inside of me.
“I need...I need you to...make me let go,” I cry out, my hands slamming on the desk, knocking some pens over, the sound of them skittering over the floor almost making me laugh.
We’re bound to get caught in one of our offices.
“Hmm, I know honey,” he whispers against the back of my neck, sliding his hand to my throat.
His other slides down between my thighs as he pushes me forward again, bending me over the desk once more.
“One look at you, I knew what my girl needed. Knew why you came to me. Because I let you be soft. You let me take over. It is why this is going to work, Maren. Tell me you understand.... that you know what I said earlier is true. Say it.”
Glancing back at him, I nod as I clutch at the desk, vibrating with need. “Yes, honey. Inevitable. We...are inevitable,” I gasp, crying out as he smacks my aching sex with a swat the echoes in the office
“That’s my girl,” he humhs, his praise washing over me. Now my only instinct is to please him. I find myself hungry for his praise, desperate for it. He’s the first man to ever make me feel truly soft—to make me want to lean into a neediness I’ve denied for so long.
Morgan grasps the back of my thighs, pushing them open as he keeps me prone over the desk.
My nipples rub against the leather blotter he has me laid out on.
I claw at the edge of the desk, whimpering as wet, hot pleasure thrums between my thighs as he licks me.
The warmth of his mouth covering my sex, his tongue pushing inside of me, the pressure of my clit pressing against the edge of the desk shoves me towards an orgasm.
“Morgan...I’m going to...I am...” I cry out, reaching back to fist his dark hair.
“Not yet,” he barks, startling me as he stops eating me, smacking each cheek again.
All that does is turn me on more, pushing me closer to climax.
“No coming before I give permission.” His words vibrate against my pussy and I shout with pleasure, heat racing up my spine.
He moves, my head is yanked to the side, and I glance up to see him towering over me.
Oh my God. Not just towering over me—he is at the edge of the desk, cock out, the swollen crown pressing against my lips.
I do not even hesitate, I open for him. “Ah, that’s a good girl.
Might let you come after all. That’s it, take me down that pretty throat.
Show me how good you will be for me, honey.
Show me how needy I’ve made you for my cock.
Just as needy as I am for your pussy,” he grunts, his hips jerking to shove him down my throat.
I open wider, clawing at his desk, letting him push so far I can’t breathe.
Who needs to breathe? His big body bends over me and I moan with him stuffed down my throat.
He smacks my ass again, my need dripping down my thighs before his fingers push inside of me.
The dual pleasure of pleasing him with my mouth as he touches me with those magic hands has me so close to coming, I know I can’t hold off.
Still, part of me wants his permission—to be told I can come.
“Jesus, such a good girl,” he groans, pumping his hips to choke me as his fingers curl inside of me.
My clit rubs against the desk and I am spiraling.
I am going to come. I can’t stop it. I try.
I try so hard, but I’ve never been so turned on, I have never felt anything so good.
Just as I can almost touch it, he pulls from my mouth, moving again.
“Greedy girl almost came from sucking me down that silky throat, yeah? Should I let you come on my tongue?”
“Please, please, I don’t.... I won’t come before you tell me to,” I pant as I glance back to watch him take his seat. Fuck, he’s beautiful in that suit, his thick, wide cock jutting out, his fist wrapping around it. Sitting there a moment, he strokes himself, gaze fixed on my aching pussy.
“Fuck, you’re so beautiful. Not just because I’m about to make you come on my desk so I can suck down your pleasure. Because the way you look at me when you need me... it gives me a sense of manhood that swinging a hammer or closing a deal could never touch.”
“Oh, fuck,” I pant, my thighs trembling as I wait. Wait for that permission, for his words to tell me I can let go at last.
Morgan does not use words. Watching me with hooded eyes, he bends to suck noisily at the pleasure slicking my skin.
He pushes on the small of my back, and I shout because it puts perfect pressure on my clit against the desk.
His tongue pushes inside of me, wiggling between my folds, then back inside again.
He gives a jerk of his head, and I shout again, no longer caring about boundaries or offices or propriety.
“Oh fuck! Morgan, I’m coming! Don’t stop, don’t stop!”
Lost in the whirlwind of pleasure, I give in. I let my climax take me over. I vaguely feel him moving. Then the delicious weight of him presses inside me—just a tease, just the way we did that night at his place. Only this time, he comes with me, jerking inside of me as we share an orgasm.
Once I come to, I am enveloped by him. Holding me close, he rocks me a little in his big leather chair, his fingers brushing through my hair. I cling to him, breathing in his scent, the warmth of his body, the smell of leather, and his musk. It is the single most intimate moment of my life.
Cuddled together, we sit there until the skies darken outside.
Then he reminds me of our date. I hardly need a date after what we just shared—but I want it.
I want to do all the soft, needy things you do with someone you’re falling in love with.
I might not have much experience with men, I may have had one gentle, safe romance before, but it doesn’t make a difference.
I argued about my judgement earlier, and I was right—it is intact. I am absolutely falling in love with Morgan Brant.