Chapter 9
Ethan
What the actual fuck. In my fucking workspace!
I observe the carnage in my office with increasing discomfort. The torn, discarded boxes thrown haphazardly into a messy pile. My fists curl.
I walk to my desk to see what Bonnie has done, and my eyes snag on the discarded remains of a sandwich in the trash can. Fingerprints dot the desk like raindrops. And is that… a mayo smear? Fucking hell.
I want to smash something.
Ten years of therapy transformed an anxiety-ridden boy into a tightly controlled man. It also trained me to spot anything likely to upset that balance from a mile away and avoid it.
The thought of losing that control sends flashes of unspeakable pain and horror spearing through my head, making me grind my teeth to get through it.
First, Will was nowhere to be found, and then, I got into my office to find that all the lights were left on and the blinds up. I dimmed the lights until my eyes adjusted to the darkness, irritation settling in my gut, although I can't exactly blame her for leaving the lights on.
But this? How much of a mess can one tiny woman make in an hour?
“Bonnie,” I growl under my breath. My heart races, and I fist my suddenly trembling fingers. It’s crazy, but the sight of litter or disarray in my private space is like being repeatedly pierced in the back of the head with an imaginary blunt needle. The same way I feel when I can’t understand or control a situation.
This feeling is the exact reason I avoided her from the start, and especially since the night in the kitchen. I’ve denied myself the pleasure of seeing her and being near her. Hell, even the edge of her sharp tongue now leaves a delicious sting on my skin.
I’ve avoided all that because, with Bonnie, nothing is conventional or predictable.
Ever since she lifted that single, perfectly arched eyebrow and delivered her first jab, I’ve had an insane need to tear through that cold veneer of hers and drag out the sultry woman lurking underneath the surface.
The woman I caught a glimpse of three weeks ago in that kitchen.
Since that evening, the need for her has morphed into an obsession. A compulsion. The complete opposite of my need to put things together. This woman, I’d like to break open.
Which is why I’ve avoided her like the plague for both our sakes.
Until she starts to hound me to get a software update. She’s moved the senior executives to a new encrypted platform to exchange secure messages, and I’m the only one not on the platform. The new hardware looks sleek and nice.
I haven’t even had a chance to see what she’s done, but I know it’ll be brilliant. I have to admit, she’s one of the smartest people I’ve met—too bad she drives me fucking nuts.
I can’t even sit at the desk without getting a splitting headache from all the smudges on it.
In a fog of fury, I type a curt message summoning her.
It doesn’t take long. She comes in with her dark eyes flashing. I get that she doesn't like being summoned like a dog.
Well, I don’t like feeling like I’m wearing a torture helmet, either.
She lifts an insolent eyebrow “You barked?”
I can’t help the way my eyes rake over her. She’s wearing a black, long-sleeved top that ends in a knot above her belly button, which is adorned with a glittering ring. Her toned legs are encased in leather and her feet are in flat red loafers.
Christ . How is anyone able to get work done around her? I know she doesn’t dress any more differently than the other women on the tech floors dress, but everything about Bonnie is just obscenely sexy. Even her unruly pixie cut is such a turn-on.
But first, there are more pressing matters to address.
“What’s this?” I ask, looking around my dirty office.
“What’s what, Ethan?” she snaps.
“Did you, or did you not have lunch in here?”
“Yes, I worked through lunch. That’s what you wanted, right?”
“And so you thought it was okay to eat in here?” My bottom jaw is starting to hurt from grinding my teeth so much.
She looks at me like she would a slow child. “What, did you expect that I’d work through my lunch and also starve?”
“What I expect is that you clean up after yourself.”
She looks around, perplexed. For a moment I feel a need to explain to her why what she did here is a trigger for me. Why she needs to stay away and when I tweak her schedule to ensure she's far from me, she needs to work with me.
I wonder what nickname she'd come up with if I told her that.
I squash that need, determined to push her as far away as possible. I reach into the drawer, and pull out a perfectly folded square, pushing it across the desk. She collects it without thinking, then after a moment begins to unfold it. Her eyes widen in surprise when she sees that it's a trash bag.
I stand, getting right in her face, then point to the garbage can where she left the remains of her lunch. “Take your trash out.”
Her eyebrow lifts with disbelief. “You mean you called me in here, not because there’s a problem with my work, but because I dropped something in the trash?”
When I say nothing but continue to stare at her with belligerence, she walks to the trash, fits the bag to its rim, and upends the contents into the bag.
“Is that all?” I might as well be a piece of gum under her shoe from the look she gives me.
I pointedly take out a sanitizing cloth and wipe my desk down until it shines. She watches with interest like someone might observe a circus.
“That will be all,” I assert.
She comes to stand in front of me, and I’m satisfied with how her neck tilts upwards so she can maintain eye contact. When she’s inches away, she stops. And throws the bag on the desk. It lands on my new keyboard.
Don't get angry, I tell my curling fists . I flare my nostrils to take deeper breaths.
“You’re a weirdo, you know that?” The softness of her voice belies the anger behind it.
Something cracks inside me. My fingers itch for something. A stress ball, a fidget spinner, anything. I bend until my mouth is right next to her ear, and her smell hits me. Fuck.
It’s not perfume. It’s her skin, with a faint lingering scent of her shampoo. But it’s more of her own, unique smell.
I look down at the erratically throbbing pulse in her neck, and my cock twitches.
“Call me that again,” I warn, growling softly.
She draws back and looks up at me defiantly through her silky eyelashes. “You are a fucking sick weirdo, Ethan Hawthorne.”
I need to bruise those pouty lips. Badly. Crush my mouth against them until they’re swollen and tingly, then push her down to her knees and make her use them on my cock, which is now hard as stone.
I tremble with the need to throw her on the desk and fuck her until she’s a babbling, sopping mess, her juices running down her thighs and coating the glossy desk.
Jesus Christ! What the fuck? It's official. I’ve gone mad.
I blink the images away, but she’s already seen my control slipping, and I know she can’t resist taking control herself now. I’m not even surprised when she presses her body flush against mine until my erection nestles against her soft lower belly.
She feels so good. Why the hell does she feel so fucking good pressed up against me?
She raises her hands and spears her fingers through my hair, pulling hard on the strands.
“You're beyond weird. You're not only a few normal sandwiches short, but you've brought the whole alien buffet to the picnic, Harvard.”
My erection strains against my fly as lust spears through me as all reason evaporates. “Have I now?” I grab her by the waist and lift her onto my desk, wedging myself between her thighs, and pulling her flush against me. I keep her there with my hand on her ass and grind right against her. Her shocked gasp drives me crazy.
The office melts away, the mess forgotten. I push her onto the desk and give her my weight.
Fuck it. I'm making this woman mine. Body and mind. Barbed tongue and all.
I haven’t stopped looking into her eyes, so I see the moment they take on a far away and terrified look, even though she remains soft and pliant against me. It feels like a door was brutally slammed in my face.
I freeze, incredulous because at the very same moment, she grows even bolder, grabbing at my now rapidly softening cock through my pants.
Abruptly, I step away, turning my back to her.
What the fuck. Something repulsed her. Or perhaps scared her.
I am angry. But surely she could tell I didn't put my hands on her in anger.
What horrifies me is that she carried on pretending just now.
I'm literally shaking with desire for her and for some reason, she stopped feeling me. And rather than tell me to stop, or slap me, hell, scream… anything, she grabs my cock and pretends to like it.
What kind of asshole does she think I am?
What kind of assholes has she been with? The kind she couldn't say no to?
Did she think she couldn't stop me just now? I'm her boss but Bonnie isn't a simpering wallflower. She has a mouth on her and a mind of her own.
A memory of her interview flashes in my head, where Bonnie went timid instead of taking the offensive. Is this one of those situations that make her retreat and let herself be walked all over?
“Ethan?”
Her voice draws me out of my reverie and I realize I'm back to trying to figure her out. With a raging erection in the middle of the day no less.
“Bonnie, you should go.” I say softly.
I hear her soft gasp. Then, a pause. I imagine she’s frozen in disbelief. But she doesn’t wait to be told again.
“Unbelievable. You’re an asshole.”
I hear her footsteps recede quickly, and in moments, I’m alone.
I sit back heavily in my chair and hold out my hand, watching the faint tremors with fascination. Then, I’m up again, picking the offending plastic trash bag off my keyboard with my finger and thumb and carrying it to the garbage can. I violently suppress the urge to start flattening all the cardboard packaging one by one until I can put them in a neat stack.
Ten minutes, Ethan. Surely, you can suppress it for ten fucking minutes.
I make myself sit back down and turn on my computer, taking the opportunity to assess what she’s done.
It’s no use, as my mind keeps wandering to the chaotic area. So, I try another tactic: thinking about Bonnie, because I know what a powerful distraction she can be.
How is it possible that her eyes and lips are saying different things? Just now, she was terrified of something. Me? Yet, she blatantly egged me on and seduced me. The same thing happened in Cancun. And in the kitchen three weeks ago.
Who is this woman?
And who the fuck was I five minutes ago, getting off on the thought of debauching Bonnie on my desk? I’m shocked.
I almost got drunk on her scent. She smelled good enough to eat. My cock hardens again, and I press the heel of my palm to it, stroking.
Fuck, her pussy is bound to smell and taste like heaven.
I imagine my head between her thighs, lapping at her dripping core, coating my tongue on her essence while she moans lustily, giving me more of her juices.
My door flies open, and Will rushes in looking harried and apologetic, effectively ending my fantasy. He looks horrified at the state of my office.
“I am so sorry, Mr. Hawthorne, I mean, Ethan. I was called away urgently by Mr. Waldrow, because he wanted me to get this to you.” He hands over a mobile tablet. Mike had a deadline to hand over some figures to me today.
“I've already asked housekeeping to get here ASAP” Will starts picking up the packaging that Bonnie left around the office.
I say nothing but shrug off my jacket and tie and walk towards the adjoining bathroom, aiming for a cold shower. I know what I need to do if I’m to be of any use today.
Will is too distracted looking around the office that he doesn’t notice the very obvious bulge in my pants, and he’s used to me taking showers during the day, so me heading to the bathroom doesn't strike him as unusual.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll have everything back in place before you’re out.”
“Thank you, Will.”
Not sparing him a backward glance, I shut the door behind me and take off my clothes. The moment the spray hits, I lean a hand against the wall, letting the icy water work on my heated neck and shoulders.
It’s not enough, because I can't stop thinking about how perfect her body felt against mine. I find no respite, not until my hand wraps around my length. I stroke tight and fast, imagining sinking into Bonnie's hot, wet core, stuffing her full with my cock. I stroke faster, groaning as I come blindingly hard in record time, panting and shaking.
But the moment the fog clears, I start to think about her again. This time, with her sassy mouth around me. My cock starts to harden again.
Christ. I might be more fucked up than I thought .
I leave the bathroom unsatisfied and pretty much still in a state of semi-arousal for the rest of the afternoon.