15. Gavin #2
But even now—pulse still racing, jaw still tense—I know exactly what I need.
Parker. The only person who makes me feel like I’m still human under all this weight. I don’t hesitate. I reach for the intercom, press the button.
“Parker,” I say, voice steady. “Come to my office, please.”
There’s a pause. Then her voice, quiet but clear. “Yes, Mr. Thatcher.”
I sit in my chair and wait. The tension in my shoulders doesn’t go away, but it shifts. Refocuses. Becomes something heavier. Lower. A little darker.
When the door opens, she walks in looking exactly like she did earlier—sleek, efficient, guarded. Her heels are modest, her blouse tucked in neatly, her hands holding a tablet, like she’s prepared for a meeting that never got put on the calendar.
She closes the door behind her gently. “You wanted to see me?” Her voice is calm. Controlled. But I see it in her posture—the uncertainty. The caution.
She thinks this might be the conversation she’s been bracing for all week. The one where I tell her it’s over. That the board decided, or HR has questions, or she’s being reassigned for optics.
It takes effort not to go to her immediately. Instead, I stay seated. Watch her walk toward me. “You’ve had a hard week.”
She blinks. Her lips part slightly. That’s not what she expected. “Uh. Yes. A little.”
I nod. “People talking behind your back. Board members watching. My mother sniffing around your desk.”
Her throat moves as she swallows. “It’s not your fault.”
“It’s exactly my fault.”
She shifts her weight slightly. “I chose this. I knew what it could mean.”
“No,” I say, standing slowly. “You didn’t.”
She lifts her eyes to mine, and for once, she doesn’t look away.
“You thought this would be casual,” I say, walking around the desk toward her. “You thought we’d keep it quiet. That it wouldn’t touch anything else.” I stop just a few inches from her. “And now?”
She breathes in. Exhales slowly. “Now I’m not sure what it is.”
I reach for the tablet in her hands and set it on the table behind her, gently, before turning back to her fully. “It’s the reason I fired my mother’s best friend this morning.”
Her eyes widen.
“Heather is gone,” I say. “And Vivian knows exactly why.”
Parker opens her mouth. Closes it. Then, “What did you do?”
“Handled it.”
“Gavin—”
“She leaked your conduct review. She undermined the hiring process. She moved against me. And she thought I’d sit quietly while she did it.”
Parker stares up at me. “She’s been here for decades.”
“Then she should’ve known better than to come after what’s mine.”
And something breaks in her. The tension in her shoulders loosens. Her eyes soften. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes,” I say. “I did.” I close the space between us fully now.
“You’re angry,” she whispers.
“Yes.”
“At your mother.”
“At a lot of people.”
“At me?”
I blink. That catches me off guard. “No,” I say, voice low. “Never at you.” I reach up and brush a piece of hair behind her ear. She shivers. “I’m furious that you’ve been walking around all week like you’re something to be ashamed of. Like you’re a problem we’re all trying not to solve.”
She closes her eyes for a second. I see it in her face—the effort it takes not to break. “Are you sure I’m not?”
“You’re not the problem. You never could be.”
She breathes in again, sharper this time.
“And right now,” I add, stepping closer until my chest brushes hers, “I need something from you.”
She looks up. “How can I help?”
And just like that, I’m done pretending I don’t want her again. I slide my hand down her waist, my palm flat and possessive, and press her back until she’s flush with the edge of my desk.
She lets me. Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t move away. Doesn’t question the heat rolling off me in waves.
I palm the edge of her hip and dip my head to her ear. “Turn around.”
She stiffens slightly—but not from fear. From anticipation. “Gavin?—”
“I need this,” I say. “You want to help? Let me have you. Right now.”
Her eyes flare wide. But she doesn’t move yet. I step back just enough for her to move. And she does. She turns slowly, hands coming to rest on the desktop, her fingers splayed across the smooth wood. Her blouse rides up slightly, and I watch the curve of her spine as she breathes.
“You look beautiful like this,” I say, loosening my tie with one hand. “Obedient. Poised.”
Her breath shudders.
I step in behind her and lean over, pressing my chest to her back. I slide my hands up her thighs, slow and deliberate, until I reach the hem of her skirt.
“You want this?” I ask, low and rough.
She nods.
I grip her hair gently and tug her head back just enough to whisper at her neck. “Use your words.”
“Yes,” she says, her voice shaky and raw. “I want it.”
“Good.”
I push her skirt up and let out a low growl at the sight of her—black lace panties, damp already, thighs tense with need.
She gasps when I run my hand between her legs, teasing her through the fabric. Her body presses harder into the desk.
“You’ve been walking around all week trying to keep this in,” I whisper. “Pretending you don’t need anything.”
“I didn’t want to cause trouble.”
I chuckle, dark and amused. “You didn’t cause anything. They picked a fight, and I ended it.” I wonder what she’ll do when I do this.
I smack her ass hard once. She tenses and releases. Good. I do it again, twice. Her ass goes pink this time. One pink handprint. My handprint.
“I think you like this.”
She takes a beat. “Didn’t know I would. But I do.”
“Jack says you like your nipples pinched hard. What other pain do you like?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t played much like this. Just read about it.”
I smile. “Dirty girl.” I land ten smacks on her other side, and by the end of them, she’s wiggling back for more. I thought I could hold out, but knowing how much she likes it right out the gate, I’m done waiting. We can play more later.
I cup her pussy over her panties, and her hips rock against my hand. I slide the lace aside and push two fingers into her, slow and deep.
She cries out softly.
“Quiet, pet,” I say. “You don’t want anyone to hear, do you?”
She shakes her head, panting.
I curl my fingers inside her and press my mouth to her neck. “You’re soaked. So ready for me.”
She whimpers.
I pull back just enough to undo my belt, unzip my pants, and free myself. I don’t waste time—don’t want to. I want to feel her come apart for me, because of me, here in the office where they tried to humiliate her.
I push into her in one long, slow stroke, and we both groan.
She grips the desk, knuckles white, as I start to move—thrusting hard, steady, controlled. The desk creaks beneath us, her moans barely stifled behind bitten lips.
“You take me so well,” I murmur. “Like you were made for this.”
She gasps when I reach around and slide my fingers over her clit, rubbing in tight circles in rhythm with my thrusts.
“Gavin—oh god?—”
“Come for me,” I say. “Let go.”
Her whole body shudders around me, her cry caught in her throat as I push her over the edge. I follow seconds later, buried deep, groaning against her shoulder as I spill inside her.
We stay like that for a long moment. Breathing. Shaking. Together.
I finally pull back, adjusting her skirt with care, then tucking myself away. She’s still braced against the desk, chest heaving, lips parted.
I gently pull her upright, turn her to face me. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes wide. I kiss her softly, reverently. And for the first time all week, everything feels steady.
Settled.
Mine.