16. Reece
Reece
S kye’s been in and out of my office all morning.
Once to hand me the updated investor notes. Again to clarify calendar conflicts I don’t remember asking her to fix. Twice for printing issues she could’ve emailed about. And just now to drop off my coffee, even though I haven’t touched the last one.
She’s everywhere. And I hate how much I like it.
A week has passed since Boston. Since her skin was on mine. Since her mouth was hot and wet against mine, her slick cunt squeezing my cock. Since I told myself we’d go back to normal. That we could.
But Skye doesn’t need to chase. She doesn’t even need to flirt. She just walks. Moves. Breathes. And I unravel like a man who’s never had control to begin with.
I watch her now through the glass wall of my office as she leans over the admin station, one hand braced on the desk as she scrolls through the company directory. Her skirt pulls tight against her ass, and her heels click softly as she shifts her weight. She’s humming.
She doesn’t even glance in my direction. But she knows. She knows exactly what she’s doing. My fingers tighten on the edge of my desk.
I turn away and open my email, forcing myself to focus on the pile of things I’ve ignored all week.
M&A schedules, board approvals, legal briefings.
All of it easier than sitting in the same vicinity with her and pretending my mind isn’t wrecked by the memory of her legs around my waist and the feel of her warm body against mine.
My thoughts are interrupted by a soft knock. “Come in.”
She steps inside without hesitation, holding a folder. “The updated onboarding outline. I flagged the part you wanted added. Also…” She trails off, eyes flicking to my tie. “You’ve got a piece of lint on your shirt. Just here.”
She gestures to her own chest, then lightly presses two fingers just above my sternum. I go still. Her touch is brief. Soft but deliberate. She doesn’t pull them back right away, leaving her fingers there for a second too long. Her eyes lock on mine. And then she smiles.
“There. All fixed.”
She turns and walks out, hips swaying with a hypnotic rhythm that’s going to kill me.
I push away from my desk before I do something stupid.
I glance around to make sure she’s cleared the area.
The elevator is waiting when I step into the hall, thank God.
A few minutes alone to cool off. I need to get the fuck out of this building.
But of course, of course , when the doors open, she’s already inside. Alone. Holding a manila envelope and sipping from her iced coffee like she’s completely unbothered by my presence.
“Going down?” she asks, one brow lifted.
On you? I’d love to , I want to say but stop myself. I hesitate for half a second too long, then step inside. The doors shut.
She presses the envelope against her hip and leans against the mirrored wall, smirking at me through the reflection. Her perfume drifts in my direction, subtle and familiar. I could pick her scent out of a lineup.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” she says softly, without looking over.
“I’ve been focused.”
“Mm.” She sips again. “That what we’re calling it?”
I glance sideways at her. Her blouse looks soft, delicate, the curve of her breasts visible when she leans forward just slightly, shifting her weight to one foot. She knows I’m looking. She’s always known.
“I’m trying to keep this professional,” I say tightly.
“Adorable.” She laughs slightly, still not looking at me.
My jaw tenses.
She tilts her head then, finally glancing my way. “I’m not trying to be unprofessional, Reece.”
“That’s comforting.”
“But I do think it’s funny.”
“What?”
“The way you act like you haven’t been inside me.” She lifts her coffee to her lips again, her tone light. Casual. “You look at me like you want to devour me. And then you run.”
The elevator dings. I step out first, ignoring the burn in my throat and making sure I stay the hell away from her the rest of the day.
It’s after ten when I realize I’m the last one left in the building. Lights out down every hallway. Only the low hum of the HVAC system and the occasional ding of the service elevator echoing in the dark.
I stayed late to catch up. That’s the excuse I gave myself. But I haven’t touched the paperwork on my desk in over an hour. I’ve just been sitting here, staring at the door.
And then it happens. She doesn’t knock. Just opens the door like it belongs to her. And maybe it does. Maybe everything in this goddamn office does now. My attention. My restraint. My fucking pulse.
She walks in like she’s been summoned by the very tension choking this room. Like she could smell my restraint slipping from down the hall and decided to come collect her reward.
Her heels click softly on the floor, deliberate, like she knows each step winds me tighter. The curve of her hips moves in rhythm with the ticking of the clock on the wall.
I don’t move. I sit there behind my desk, sleeves rolled up, top button undone, tie discarded on the leather armrest behind me. There’s a half-glass of scotch in my hand, a cigar on the edge of the tray I’d been planning to light. Until she walked in.
“Congrats.” Her voice is warm, syrup-slick. A little smug.
I glance up. “On what?”
She lifts a brow, walking closer. “Don’t play dumb. I manage your calendar, remember?”
Christ, even her snarky attitude gets me going.
She’s wearing that silk blouse again—the cream one with the deep neckline that dips just enough to expose the slope of her collarbone. Her skin gleams under the low light of my desk lamp, and there’s a soft flush on her throat, like she’s been thinking about this. About me.
Her hair’s down. Her lipstick is that reckless shade of red.
“What are you doing here? I thought you’d gone.” I sit up straighter.
“No, I was just in conference room B.” She holds a tablet in one hand and a bottle of water in the other like this is just another late-night check-in.
“I thought you might still be here,” she says, voice calm. “I needed your notes on the venture deck for Monday.”
“You couldn’t wait until morning?”
She shrugs. “I could’ve. But I had a feeling you wouldn’t sleep either way.”
I push up from my chair, walking behind my desk. “I don’t know what game you think you’re playing?—”
She stops, mid-step. Her head cocks to the side. “Game?”
“You stay late, you show up in elevators like?—”
“Like what?” Her voice is calm. Controlled. “Like your assistant? Who needs your feedback on something you asked for?”
She knows exactly what she’s doing.
“You’ve been cold all week,” she continues.
“But you watch me when you think I don’t notice.
Your eyes follow me every time I leave a room.
Every time I bend over to plug in your charger or set a file on your desk.
You’re quiet. Polite. But underneath that…
” Her voice drops a register, almost husky. “You’re wrecked, Mr. Blackwood.”
“You need to stop.”
She doesn’t flinch. “Stop what?”
“This… this game you’re playing.”
She blinks at me. Slow. Unbothered. “I haven’t touched you. Haven’t kissed you. Haven’t asked you to bend me over your desk.” Her lips curve as she takes a slow step forward. “So what exactly have I done wrong?”
I grind my teeth together. “You’re trying to provoke me.”
“No,” she says softly. “I’m trying to remind you that you don’t want me to stop. I see the way your hands clench when I walk past. How you swallow hard when I lean over your schedule. You have a very hard time keeping your eyes to yourself, sir.”
I inhale sharply. “Maybe if you didn’t purposely try to test my patience.”
Her head tilts slightly, her mouth a decadent little smirk. “Then why do you like it so much?”
I don’t have an answer. And fuck, she knows it.
She places the tablet on my desk and steps around it slowly, never taking her eyes off me. She leans against the desk with one hand and pulls herself up to sit on the edge, just a foot from my hand.
She crosses her legs slowly, the black skirt riding high on her thighs. Not indecent. Not yet. But intentional.
“You closed a major deal tonight,” she says. “That’s a $900 million asset acquisition. You should be celebrating.”
I stare at her. “Was planning to.”
“Alone?” she pouts.
“Preferably.”
Her lips curl. “Too bad.”
She leans back on her palms, the stretch of her body making her chest arch subtly. Her neck fully exposed now, the line of it delicate, impossible not to follow with my eyes. I know what that skin tastes like. What she sounds like when I kiss it. When I bite.
“Skye.” My voice is flat. Tight.
“Reece.” She mimics my tone, teasing. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
“For what?”
“Managing your calendar so thoroughly through it all.” She drags her teeth over her bottom lip.
I stare at her. “You want a bonus?”
She smiles. “No.” She reaches her hand out, dragging her fingertips gently down my tie. “I want to see how you celebrate.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
“Don’t,” I grit.
“Don’t what?”
“Whatever this is.”
She tilts her head, mock-innocent. “You said you were going to light a cigar.”
I glance at the tray. “Changed my mind.”
“Shame.” She shifts on the desk, lifts one knee up just slightly. “You know, I’ve never watched a man smoke one up close.”
“You need better hobbies.”
She laughs, breathy and low. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like watching you.”
Then her hand moves. Not quickly. Not brazenly. Just a slow, fluid slide down her thigh, to the hem of that black silk skirt. She gathers the fabric between her fingers, pulls it upward inch by inch.
And I stop breathing.
The first thing I see is the curve of her inner thigh. Then soft, bare skin where lace should be. No panties. Nothing. Just her deliciously bare, pink pussy. I don’t know how I manage not to shatter the glass in my hand.
“You’ve been walking around all day like that?” I manage to say.
She hums, dragging the skirt a little higher. “Not all day. Just since the deal closed.”