Chapter 8 #2
He catches my wrist. Gently. His thumb presses against my pulse point. “You’re lying.”
I yank free. “This is inappropriate.”
“So was kissing me.” His smile becomes something darker. “But you did it anyway.” His hand comes up. Fingers trace along my collarbone. “You’re avoiding me because you don’t want to admit that you want this. That you want me.”
I should move. I should tell him to stop. Instead, I grab his shirt and kiss him again.
Apparently, I’ve learned nothing from my mistakes.
This kiss is harder than the first one. His mouth is demanding, and it makes me pull him closer.
His hands find my waist, and he lifts me onto the supply shelf. I wrap my legs around him and bite down on his lower lip.
He groans into my mouth.
The sound makes me forget every reason this is a mistake.
My fingers twist in his hair. Pull. His hips press forward, and the friction makes me gasp against his mouth.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
I bite his lip again. Harder this time.
He pulls far enough away to look at me. His pupils are blown wide. “You trying to draw blood?”
“Maybe.”
His laugh is rough. “You’re mean when you’re turned on.”
I kiss him again before he can say anything else.
His hands slide up my ribs, and my body arches into the touch. Everything narrows to this: his mouth, his hands, the desperate edge of wanting something that I shouldn’t.
His hand moves to my thigh. Then slides beneath the hem of my skirt. His palm is warm against my skin, callused in a way that makes me wonder what he does outside of the office.
I should stop him.
I don’t.
His fingers trace higher, deliberate and slow. When they reach the edge of my underwear, he pauses. He looks at me with those blue eyes.
I can’t form words, but I give him a subtle nod.
He hooks his fingers in the fabric and pulls it aside. When he touches me, my breath catches. His fingers slide through wetness that makes my denial of what he does to me impossible.
“Fuck.” His voice goes rough. “You’re dripping. Have you been like this all week thinking about me?”
I pull him closer.
He groans. “Yeah, you have.”
His fingers find exactly where I need them.
The metal shelf is cold against my back, but Axel’s body is warm everywhere we touch. His free hand grips my hip, holding me in place while he works me with fingers that know exactly what they’re doing.
“Look how wet you are for me.” He drives two fingers inside, and my hips jerk forward. “Is this what you wanted? Me finger-fucking you in a supply closet?”
“Shut up—”
“Nah. You like it.” His thumb circles while his fingers move. “Your pussy gets wetter every time I say something dirty.”
He’s right, and he knows it.
His mouth drags along my neck, teeth scraping. “I want to feel you come on my fingers. Then you can go back to pretending you don’t want me.”
The pressure builds impossibly fast when his fingers find the right angle.
“Ah, that’s the spot you like.” His voice drops lower. “I want you to soak my hand.”
I can’t answer. I can barely breathe.
“Your pussy is so fucking hot. So wet.” His fingers move faster. Relentless. “Come for me, Addison.”
The orgasm slams through me. I bite down on his shoulder to muffle the sound, my body clenching around his fingers as pleasure rolls through me in waves. He doesn’t slow down, working me through it until I’m shaking and oversensitive and pushing weakly at his wrist.
His phone rings.
“Fuck.” Axel pulls his hand away slowly. Too slowly. Like he’s memorizing how I feel. He reaches for his phone. “What?”
Pause. His jaw tightens.
“Yeah. Five minutes.” He hangs up.
Reality crashes back.
I’m sitting on a supply shelf with my skirt pushed up and my underwear pulled to the side. Axel is standing between my legs, and I can see the outline of his erection straining against his pants.
I slide off the shelf. My legs barely hold me. I fix my underwear and smooth my skirt while he watches, making no effort to hide what he’s looking at.
He brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean, holding my gaze the entire time. “You taste fucking divine.”
Heat floods my face. I grab the printer paper and turn my back to him.
“Addison.”
I stop, but I won’t look at him. Hearing my name in that deep voice puts me dangerously close to another orgasm.
“Next time I’m going to fuck you, and you’re not gonna be able to walk straight for a week.”
My thighs clench at the thought.
But instead of turning around, I walk out and pull the door shut behind me.
I’m shutting down my computer, still replaying the supply closet in my head, when my office phone rings.
Liam’s name appears on the caller ID.
“Addison Archer,” I answer.
“Can you please come to my office?”
The line goes dead.
Is he going to confront me about Axel? Does he know about Axel?
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I take the stairs, slowly, and use the time to rebuild my composure. By the time I reach the forty-third floor, my breathing is even, and my expression is neutral.
Liam’s door is open. He’s standing at the window.
“Close the door.”
I do.
When he turns, his expression is unreadable. “The Harrison Luxe lawsuit was dismissed this afternoon.”
The words take a moment to register.
“Dismissed?”
“Completely.” Liam moves to his desk and picks up a document. “The case was thrown out. No settlement. No retraction required.”
Relief floods through me so suddenly that my knees weaken.
“How?”
“We made some calls.” He delivers the explanation like any other business update. “Harrison’s legal team withdrew the complaint this morning.”
I can’t believe it’s over. Weeks of stress, and the Palmer brothers made the lawsuit disappear, just like that.
“Thank you.”
Liam’s expression shifts slightly. “We agreed we would handle the lawsuit. That was part of the deal.”
“I know.” And I do. Protection in exchange for three years. “Still. Thank you.”
He nods once, and I turn to leave.
“Addison.”
I pause at the door.
“Whatever’s happening with Axel—” He stops. Reconsiders his phrasing. “He doesn’t have a claim on you. Your contract is with Palmer Capital. With all of us.”
Something about the way he says “all of us” makes my body warm.
“I understand the terms of my contract.”
“Good.” His voice drops slightly. “Then you know what you have access to here.”
I need him to clarify that. “Access to what, exactly?”
His eyes hold mine. “Resources. Support. Whatever you need.” He turns back to his desk. “Have a good night, Addison.”
I walk out before he can say anything else.
Back in my office, I can finally breathe.
The Harrison lawsuit is gone. Archer Media Group is safe. For now.
But now, I have something else that will consume my thoughts. I can’t stop thinking about what he said. What exactly do I have access to?