Ashlei
“So, are you actually going to come to happy hour tonight, or are you just saying that so I’ll leave you alone?
” Mykayla cocks a brow, tossing her lipstick in her purse before slugging it over her shoulder.
“Because this is like the eighteenth time I’ve asked you, and you’ve always said no, and I feel like you’re lying now that you’ve said yes because it’s just too good to be true. ”
I roll my eyes. “Stop being dramatic. I’ll be there, okay? Promise.” I move a hand over the stack of files on my desk. “I’m just reviewing a few things for the meeting Monday morning with our new client and then I’ll be right down.”
“Just come now. It’s almost seven, everyone else is gone. It’s Friday, for Christ’s sake.”
“I’ll just be twenty minutes or so. I promise.”
“Mm-hmm,” she muses. “If you’re not down there in an hour, I’m coming up to drag you down myself.”
I laugh. “Permission granted to do so, but you won’t have to.”
Mykayla smiles, waving a hand over her shoulder as she rounds the cubicles and swings through the front office door. When she’s gone, I sigh, kicking my heels off and stretching my sore arches out as I filter through the files.
It’s been a long week, and with Kimberly still on my heels and doing everything she can to outshine me, my competitiveness is in high gear.
Last week, I was slipping, falling behind on projects and just not feeling like myself.
But after my run in with Brandon on Sunday and a few more pole sessions, I’m feeling back to the old me — powerful, ready to take on anything.
Including a snobby, bitchy intern.
I feel her watching my every move, especially when I’m around Brandon.
After Sunday, I was hoping to steal a few glances in our meetings, or maybe pass sexy notes between the folders of our reports we passed back and forth.
But with Kimberly around, it’s impossible.
Any time I talk to Brandon in a meeting or pass him in the hallway, I’m guaranteed to find her eyes staring back at me in the next instant.
She’s like a hawk, trained on me as her prey, and she’s just waiting for one false step to attack.
A normal mouse might be a little weaker, a little quicker to relent. But not me.
I take notes on our new clients, making speaking points I want to be sure to remember for when we speak on Monday.
It’s more than I need to do right now, but if I give myself the weekend to think, I’ll be ready to shine on Monday, to grab their attention in a fresh, new way.
It’s my hope that they’ll want me as their event coordinator, the same way Bare·ly did last semester.
If there’s a full-time job opening up in the near future at Okay, Cool, it has my name on it.
I’ll make sure of it.
“Sore?”
My heart leaps into my throat, hair standing on end as I jump in my seat at the sound of Brandon’s voice. I don’t register that it’s him until after I’ve spun around in my chair, one hand pressed to my chest and eyes wide as I try to catch my breath.
He just smirks, amused.
Pushing out my breath in one long exhale, I drop my head on a laugh. “Jesus Christ. How about a little warning next time?”
“All I did was speak.”
“Yeah, but,” I argue, hand motioning to the otherwise empty office. “I’m supposed to be the only one here.”
“Actually, no one is supposed to be here — you included,” he points out, leaning against the side of my cubicle. His burnt orange dress shirt is unbuttoned at the top, his sleeves rolled to his elbows like usual, bottom him tucked into a pair of cream dress slacks.
So much for casual Friday.
“Well, looks like I’m not the only one breaking the rule.”
Brandon drags his gaze down my neck, following the line of my necklace to where it dips between my breasts in the loose blouse I’m sporting with tight, ripped-up jeans. “We do have a knack for doing that, don’t we?”
I bite my lip, ready to spout off a sassy retort when he drops to his knees, wrapping his strong fingers around one of my delicate ankles and tugging until my chair rolls toward him.
And then, he touches my foot.
I rip it back, but his grip is firm, and he eyes me from where he’s bent on the floor. It shouldn’t feel so right, seeing a man of that power kneeling beneath me, but damn does it turn me on.
“What are you doing? I’ve been sweating in these heels all day. Don’t touch.” I swat at his hand for good measure.
“Exactly. You’ve been in heels all day. Let me help.”
Brandon presses his thumb into the bottom arch, and I moan, eyes rolling up before I try to pull away again. “Seriously, don’t. They’re dirty. They probably smell.”
He chuckles. “They’re fine. Now, sit still and let me make you feel good.”
Our eyes catch, and he holds my gaze as his hands move to my foot again, this time digging deep into the arch before smoothing down over the aching ball. I moan, sliding lower into my chair and relenting.
“Good girl.”
“Shut up,” I murmur, but another roll of his thumbs has me groaning again, each new pressure massaging away the aches. “This might be better than sex.”
“Liar.”
I cock one brow. “Okay, I said might, don’t get so huffy. Besides, if you were on the other end of this foot massage, you’d understand.”
Brandon is quiet, though he smiles at that, his eyes focused on where his hands are working.
I watch him, remembering what those hands felt like on Sunday, the way they lit me on fire with every touch.
Just like he promised, he was all business again when we walked through the office doors Monday morning.
Still, the energy between us has shifted.
Before, I wasn’t sure if he was still into me, if he still wanted me.
Now, there was no denying. I knew when we sat in the same room together that it was torture for him not to look at me.
And I knew when I wore a skirt that was a little shorter than business appropriate on Wednesday that he was going mad not being able to touch me.
And more than anything, I knew the next time we were alone — truly alone — he wouldn’t be able to resist me.
Power is a dangerous addiction.
“So…” I say when he carefully drops my left foot to the floor, cradling my right in his lap next. The first touch on that foot makes me groan again, the ecstasy renewed. “You taking the boat out this weekend?”
Brandon glances at me from under his brows, smiling as he turns his attention back to my heel. “I’ve thought about it. Why, you interested?”
“Oh, me?” I ask. “I could never go on my CEO’s yacht with him. I mean, that would just be inappropriate, to wear only a bikini around you, and get all wet.”
He pauses, his hands just cradling my foot as I continue.
“I mean, even if it has been a long, hard week… I couldn’t possibly ride my CEO…” I pause long enough to make him look up at me, his eyes darker, before I continue. “… ’s yacht.”
“I’ll give you something to ride,” he murmurs, but I don’t even have the chance to laugh before he grabs both ankles in his hands, tugging me to the floor with him and catching me when I tumble down.
His lips are on mine in the next second, one hand in my hair, the other palming my ass in my impossibly tight jeans.
“Oh, my,” I gasp the words between kisses as Brandon tugs my blouse over one shoulder, licking the skin stretched over the bone. “Mr. Church, we shouldn’t. We can’t. I’m the intern, this is wrong.”
“I know you’re making a joke right now,” he says, nipping my jaw before claiming my mouth again. “But if you haven’t noticed, there are consequences for every word you’re rasping out between those pretty, strawberry lips of yours.”
He thrusts his hips up, letting me feel his firm cock against the seam of my jeans, and I grin, crashing my mouth back on his.
“So, you’re saying these consequences are my punishment?”
Brandon growls, smacking my ass and lifting me off of him before he stands and pulls me up to join him. “I’m going to bend you over this desk and show you punishment.”
“Wait!”
“Oh, no, you asked for it now,” he says, smile wicked as he presses me against the edge of the desk. The pain of it shoots through me, mixing with want and desire in the best concoction.
“No, really,” I pant, pressing my hands into his chest. “Not my desk. There’s too much shit on it and we’re going to have to pick it all up after.”
Brandon pauses just long enough to let that sink in before he nods, grabbing my hand and pulling me through the office. We swing into the first empty conference room, not even bothering to shut the door behind us before he does exactly what he promised.
One of his hands grips my hair, the other hooking at the crease of my waist, and then I’m bent over, cheek to the cool, black metal of the long conference table. His hard on presses against my ass, his chest hot on my back as he sucks my ear lobe between his teeth.
“You’re going to pay for that little skirt you wore Wednesday,” he says. “Among other things.”
“Promises, promises,” I tease, but all laughter fades from my voice when one hand reaches around, flicks open the button of my jeans, and in the next instant, he pulls them down by the back loop, just enough to expose my ass.
He smacks it hard, and I bite my lip against the sting of pleasure, arching my back up into him. “Yes,” I breathe. “More.”
Brandon rears back, smacking the skin again before tugging my jeans down farther. One hand crawls between my thighs, the other pinning my wrists to the table as he slips just the tip of one finger between my wet, throbbing lips.
I gasp at the feel, my knees trapped by my jeans.
I can’t open wider for him, can’t give him better access, and he just teases me more — not fully entering, not filling the depth I ache for him to fill.
Instead, that fingertip just tickles my skin, building my desire, the feather-light touch not enough.