Chapter 17 - Andrea
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Andrea
It was late on a Friday afternoon, the floor emptied out, just me and Finneas and the hum of the building settling into the weekend.
I was wrapping up emails when the elevator dinged and a courier stepped out carrying a stack of document boxes.
Tall, mid-twenties maybe, easy smile. He set the boxes by my desk and leaned against it.
“Heavy stuff. You work up here alone?”
“Just me and my boss,” I said, signing the delivery form.
“Lucky boss.” He grinned. “You need help carrying those anywhere?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
“You sure? I’ve got time. Could grab a coffee after, if you want to-”
“She said she’s good.”
I looked up. Finneas was in his office doorway, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes locked on the courier like the man had personally offended his bloodline.
The courier glanced at him, read the room in about half a second, grabbed his clipboard and left without another word. The elevator doors closed behind him.
I turned back to my screen. “He was just being friendly.”
“He was leaning on your desk.”
“People lean on desks. It’s a thing desks are for.”
“Desks are for working.”
“You lean on my desk all the time.”
“That’s different.”
“How is that different?”
He didn’t answer, just went back into his office looking like he wanted to bite through something. I rolled my eyes and followed him in with my laptop to go over his Monday calendar because the man needed a distraction before he tracked down a courier and did something unhinged.
“You’ve got three conflicts Monday morning,” I said, pulling up the schedule. “The Henderson call overlaps with the board prep by twenty minutes, and someone put a vendor review at the same time as your lunch.”
His hand landed on my thigh.
I moved it off. “Pay attention. You’re in a mood and I’m not rewarding it.”
It came back.
I moved it off again. “Finneas.”
“I’m listening. Henderson, board prep, vendor review.”
“Your hand is on my leg again.”
“My hand is where it belongs.”
“Your hand is going to get us both fired. Well, me fired. You own the company.”
He turned his chair to face me and suddenly I was standing between his knees, which happened so fast I didn’t have time to step back.
His hands settled on my hips, warm through my skirt, possessive in a way that had everything to do with the courier and nothing to do with the Monday schedule.
He looked up at me with dark focused eyes and my brain went offline every goddamn time he did that.
“The door’s open,” I said.
“So close it.”
“If I close that door we both know what’s going to happen.”
“Then don’t close it.”
I stood there with his hands on my hips and his amber eyes locked on mine.
I could step back. Pull away, finish the schedule, be professional and responsible and all the things a competent assistant was supposed to be.
Monday conflicts were important. Time management was important.
Not having sex in an office with a glass wall while the cleaning crew was probably three floors below us was very goddamn important.
His thumbs traced slow circles on my hip bones through my skirt. Just that, just his thumbs, and my resolve crumbled like wet paper.
I walked to the door. My heels were loud in the empty office, each step echoing, and I was aware of him watching me cross the room.
His eyes on my back the whole way. I closed the door.
Locked it. The click was obscenely loud in the silence.
I turned around and he was still in his chair, watching me from across the office with dark eyes and an expression that said he knew I’d close it before I did.
I walked back. Stood between his knees again.
“You’re trouble,” I said.
“You closed the door.”
“Shut up.”
He grabbed my wrist and yanked me onto his lap.
The chair creaked under our weight and I bit my lip to stifle a gasp.
His hands were everywhere, sliding up my thighs, shoving my skirt higher until it bunched around my waist. “Friendly? That guy’s idea of friendly is bending you over the conference table.
” His voice was low, rough, jealousy wrapped in sarcasm.
One hand gripped my neck, thumb pressing just hard enough to make me arch, while the other worked my blouse open, buttons popping.
My internal snark was my armor but it was crumbling fast as his mouth latched onto my collarbone, teeth scraping skin.
He bit down, not gentle, leaving a mark that’d show under my shirt tomorrow.
I hissed, fingers tangling in his dark hair, pulling him closer even as I whispered, “We can’t, cleaning crew’s going to be here any second. ”
“Then we better make it quick,” he murmured against my skin.
His stubble rasped over my breast as he shoved my bra aside, tongue flicking my nipple before sucking hard.
I moaned, too loud, and slapped a hand over my own mouth, eyes darting to the glass wall.
The lower half was frosted, thank God, but from the waist up we were basically on display for the empty hallway.
He flipped us then, standing and dumping me onto the desk.
Papers scattered, reports fluttering to the floor, and my ass hit the wood with a thud.
He loomed over me, belt buckle clinking as he undid it one-handed, his free hand pinning my thigh open.
“Quiet, Andrea. Or do you want the whole floor hearing how wet you get for your boss?”
“No,” I whimpered.
“No, what?”
“No, sir.”
Nothing says professional like the CEO eating you out on company time.
I couldn’t help the thought even as my body betrayed me, legs spreading wider.
His mouth was on me in seconds, hot, insistent tongue lapping at my pussy through my panties before he ripped them aside.
No patience, just raw need. He sucked my clit, fingers digging into my hips, leaving bruises I’d feel for days.
I bucked against his face, one hand fisting his hair, the other clamped over my mouth to muffle the whimpers.
The clock on his wall ticked louder than it should, each second a reminder we were racing the cleaning crew’s master key.
He didn’t let up, tongue thrusting inside me, then circling back to the spot that made stars burst behind my eyelids.
“Taste like mine,” he growled between licks, voice vibrating against me.
Possessive bastard, daring me to deny it.
I came hard, thighs clamping his head, biting my own palm to stay silent as waves crashed over me.
But he wasn’t done. Not by a long shot. He rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, that sharp jaw set.
His cock was out now, hard and thick, straining against his open pants.
I slid off the desk to my knees before he could take over, the carpet rough under me, my hands wrapping around his shaft.
“My turn,” I muttered, glancing up at him with a smirk, even as my heart hammered from the risk.
Because fair’s fair, and nothing shuts up a jealous wolf like a good suck.
He groaned low, hand cupping the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair, not pushing, just guiding.
I licked the tip, tasting the salt of his pre-cum, then took him in deep, lips stretching around his girth.
The desk edge dug into my shoulder as I bobbed, tongue swirling along the underside, sucking with just enough pressure to make his thighs tense.
His belt buckle dangled cold against my chin, a metallic tickle with every shallow thrust of his hips, controlled, but fuck, he was thick, filling my mouth until I gagged softly.
“Fuck, Andrea,” he rasped, voice strained.
“That’s it, suck your boss’s cock like you mean it.
” His words were crude, possessive, thumb brushing my cheek as I hollowed out, taking him deeper.
I hummed around him, the vibration pulling another curse from his lips, my free hand stroking what I couldn’t fit, twisting at the base.
Papers crunched under my knees, the clock ticking like a bomb, but I didn’t stop, spit slicking him, my jaw aching in the best way.
He pulled me off with a wet pop after a minute, too long for our timeline, hauling me back up to slam his mouth against mine. I tasted myself on his tongue, mixed with him, as he rubbed his cock against my slick folds, teasing. “Fifteen minutes? Plenty of time to remind you who you belong to.”
I wrapped my legs around him, heels digging into his ass, pulling him in. “Shut up and fuck me.” No time for banter, but my brain supplied it anyway because nothing fixes jealousy like desk sex with a side of HR violation.
He raised one eyebrow, and he stopped moving.
I moaned at the anticipation, and he looked at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“Say what you want, Andrea.” I bit my lip, tightening my hold.
But he wouldn’t put his damn cock in. “Please, put it in, sir,” I groaned out.
He smirked, and he thrust in deep, filling me completely, and I arched, nails raking his rolled-up sleeves, those goddamn forearms. The desk groaned, more papers sticking to my sweat-damp skin as he pounded into me.
“Good girl,” he said, and the words just undid something in me.
“Does it feel good, baby? Do you like this?” he asked while keeping his rough pace.
I could barely answer. “Answer me, Andrea,” he said.
“Yes! Yes! I love it!” I screamed. “Now you won’t flirt with another man again, will you?
You’re mine, aren’t you?” he asked. I tried to shake my head.
But he wanted an answer. “Yes, sir,” I croaked out.