Chapter 7 Paige
PAIGE
It's been two weeks since that night in my office, and I can't seem to wipe the stupid grin off my face.
Every time I see Alex, my heart does this little flip in my chest, like it's trying to do a gymnastics routine without my permission. It's ridiculous, really. I'm a grown woman, not some lovestruck teenager.
But try telling that to my hormones.
It's like something has shifted between us, some invisible line that we've crossed and can't uncross. The tension that was always there, simmering beneath the surface, has boiled over into something else entirely.
Something dangerous. Something addictive.
I know it's a bad idea. I know that getting involved with a coworker, especially one as infuriating and cocky as Alex Spencer, is a recipe for disaster.
But I can't seem to stop myself.
It's the little things that get me. The way he looks at me across the conference room table, his eyes dark and hungry. The way he finds excuses to brush up against me in the hallway, his hand lingering just a bit too long.
The way he pulls me into the supply closet when no one's looking, his mouth hot and insistent on mine.
I know it's wrong. I know it's unprofessional. But god, it feels so good.
"You're in a good mood," Jamie comments one morning, eyeing me suspiciously as I hum to myself while making coffee in the break room.
I freeze, feeling a blush creep up my neck. "What? No, I'm not. I'm just...you know. Caffeinated."
Jamie snorts, crossing her arms over her chest. "Please. You've been practically skipping around the office for days now. And since when do you wear makeup to work?"
I touch my face self-consciously, feeling the unfamiliar weight of mascara on my lashes. "I just felt like it, okay? It's not a big deal."
But Jamie isn't buying it. She leans in closer, her eyes narrowing. "You're seeing someone, aren't you? Who is it? Is it that guy from accounting, the one with the cute butt?"
I choke on my coffee, sputtering and coughing. "Jamie! No, it's not the guy from accounting. I'm not seeing anyone."
But even as I say it, I know it's a lie. Because what else do you call sneaking around with your coworker, stealing kisses in dark corners and having heated makeout sessions in your office after hours?
Jamie just shakes her head, a knowing smirk on her face. "Uh-huh. Sure you're not. But just so you know, if you ever want to talk about it...I'm here for you. And I want all the juicy details."
I roll my eyes, but I can't help the smile that tugs at the corners of my mouth. "Thanks, J. But trust me, there's nothing to talk about."
Famous last words.
Because as much as I try to convince myself otherwise, as much as I try to tell myself that this thing with Alex is just physical, just a way to blow off steam...
I'm starting to feel things. Things that I shouldn't be feeling for a coworker, for a friend, for Alex fucking Spencer.
It's the way he makes me laugh, even when I'm stressed out and exhausted and ready to throw my laptop out the window. The way he knows just what to say to push my buttons, to challenge me and infuriate me and turn me on all at the same time.
How his expression changes when he thinks I'm not paying attention, and he looks at me with this softness in his eyes that makes my heart ache.
I try to shake it off, to remind myself that this isn’t a relationship. We're just two people who happen to have great sexual chemistry, nothing more.
But it's getting difficult to believe that.
Especially when he starts picking me up for work in the mornings, his car idling outside my apartment building as he waits for me to come downstairs.
"You know you don't have to do this," I tell him the first time, sliding into the passenger seat and trying to ignore the way my pulse speeds up at the sight of him. "I'm perfectly capable of taking the subway."
He just grins at me, that infuriatingly sexy grin that makes my knees go weak. "I know. But I wanted to. Besides, this way I get you all to myself for a little while before we have to go into the office and pretend we're not fucking each other's brains out on the regular."
I smack him on the arm, but I can't help the laugh that bubbles up in my throat. "You're an idiot."
"Yeah, but I'm your idiot," he says, and something in my chest clenches at the words.
Because it's true, isn't it? He is mine, in a way. Mine to kiss, mine to touch, mine to argue with and tease and drive crazy.
But he's not really mine. Not in the way that matters.
I push the thought away, focusing instead on the feel of his hand on my thigh as he drives, the way his fingers trace idle patterns on my skin.
It's just physical, I remind myself. Just a way to scratch an itch, to satisfy a need.
But deep down, I know that's not true.
Because when he shows up at my apartment one morning, his hair still damp from the shower and his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, I don't just want to fuck him.
I want to pull him inside and kiss him senseless, to wrap myself around him and never let go.
"Paige," he says, his voice low and rough as I open the door. "Can I come in?"
I nod wordlessly, stepping aside to let him enter. He's barely over the threshold before I'm on him, my hands fisting in his shirt and my mouth crashing against his.
He responds instantly, his arms coming around me and pulling me flush against him. His tongue tangles with mine, hot and insistent, and I moan into his mouth.
We stumble backwards, my legs hitting the edge of the couch. But he doesn't stop, his hands roaming over my body and his lips trailing hot kisses down my neck.
"Alex," I gasp, my head falling back as he nips at the sensitive skin behind my ear. "We're going to be late for work."
He chuckles, the sound sending shivers down my spine. "Fuck work," he growls, his hand slipping beneath the hem of my skirt. "I want you now."
And god, I want him too. More than I've ever wanted anything in my life.
He backs me up against the door, his body pressing into mine as he kisses me deeply. I wrap my leg around his waist, pulling him closer, desperate for more contact.
His hand slides up my thigh, his fingers brushing against the lace of my panties. I gasp into his mouth, my hips bucking against him involuntarily.
"Fuck, Paige," he groans. "You're so fucking wet."
I can only whimper in response, my brain short-circuiting at the feel of his fingers stroking me through the damp fabric.
He pushes my panties aside, his fingers sliding through my slick folds. I cry out, my nails digging into his shoulders as he finds my clit with his thumb.
"That's it, baby," he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear. "Let me make you feel good."
And god, he does. He works me with his fingers, pumping in and out of me as his thumb strokes my clit. The pleasure builds until I'm trembling on the edge.
"Come for me, Paige," he commands. “Come on my fingers."
I climax around him, my body shaking and my cries muffled against his shoulder.
He works me through it, his fingers slowing but never stopping, until I'm limp and boneless in his arms.
I feel the aftershocks of my orgasm still pulsing through me as Alex holds me close, his fingers still buried inside me. But as the haze of pleasure starts to clear, I realize that I want more. I need more.
I need him.
I reach down, my fingers fumbling with the button of his jeans. He groans, his hips jerking forward as I slip my hand inside, palming him through his boxers.
"Paige," he breathes, his voice strained. “We don’t have time…”
But I silence him with a kiss, my tongue sweeping into his mouth as I stroke him slowly, teasingly. He's hard and hot in my hand, the silky skin of his cock throbbing against my palm.
“Make time,” I murmur against his lips. "I want you, Alex. All of you."
He makes a low, desperate sound in the back of his throat, his hands tightening on my hips. And then he's lifting me up, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me towards the bedroom.
We tumble onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, our clothes flying in every direction. And then he's on top of me, his body pressing me into the mattress as he kisses me deeply, hungrily.
I arch into him, my nails raking down his back as he trails hot, open-mouthed kisses down my neck, my collarbone, the sensitive skin of my breasts. He takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, and I cry out, my fingers tangling in his hair.
"Please, Alex," I gasp, my hips rocking against his. "I need you inside me."
He groans, his forehead resting against mine as he reaches down to position himself at my entrance. And then he's pushing forward, his cock sliding into me inch by delicious inch.
I moan, my head falling back against the pillows as he fills me completely, stretching me in the most delicious way. He stills for a moment, giving me time to adjust, and I can feel him trembling with the effort of holding back.
"Fuck, Paige," he grits out, his voice tight with strain. "You feel so fucking good."
I roll my hips in response, urging him to move. And he does, starting a slow, deep rhythm that has me seeing stars.
He thrusts into me again and again, his hips snapping against mine as he brings me closer and closer to the edge. I can feel my climax building with every push and pull of our bodies, just out of reach.
"Harder," I gasp, my heels digging into his back. "Fuck me harder, Alex."
He growls, low and primal, and complies, his thrusts becoming more forceful, more demanding. The headboard slams against the wall with every movement, the sound mingling with our gasps and moans.
I can feel my orgasm approaching, the tension inside me winding tighter and tighter until I'm teetering on the brink. And then Alex reaches down, his fingers finding my clit and working it just how I like it.
"Come for me, baby," he commands, his voice rough with desire. "I want to feel you come on my cock."