Chapter 27 #2
It’s weighed on my mind since she told me days ago.
A hundred thousand-dollars? I asked a friend who owes me a favor to look into her ex-husband and dig around a little bit.
Apparently, the guy was doing business with very bad people.
The word on the streets is that his car accident was more of a case of someone not wanting him alive.
“I’m paying you your due diligence,” I say. “You don’t think it looks suspicious that I’m paying you—”
“Oh, shut up. That is not my due diligence, and you know it.”
Woman, just take my help. Trust me.
I can’t tell her that I snooped around—not yet. I’m afraid it’ll send her running. And I know damn well that she’ll reject any attempts I make, any suggestions, to pay off the debt for her—which is what needs to fucking happen.
I’m just trying to figure out how to do that without sending her into a rampage.
“Come here,” I tell her.
“I’m not coming there.”
“You did yesterday.”
She almost smiles. Almost.
I sigh. “Shaye, I’m sorry. I just—”
“You’ll just call Toni now or I quit.” She crosses her arms over her chest again. “Now, Oliver.”
Dammit.
I consider taking a stand, but is this the hill I want to die on? No. I can find a workaround to helping her without making things worse.
“Oliver …”
“Fine.” I stick out my bottom lip like she’s won, and I’m pouting. “I’ll email Toni.”
Her face breaks out into a smile. “Really?”
“I can’t let you quit.”
She seems satisfied with herself. “Call her now.”
“She’s gone for the day.” I look quickly at the time and am relieved to see that Toni is probably gone. “I’ll email her.”
“I’ll help you.”
I scoot back from my desk. “Oh, will you?”
“Yup.”
She comes around the corner of my desk and sits on my lap. She wiggles my mouse.
I notice that she pulls up my email and clicks on new. Her fingers fly across the keyboard.
I, on the other hand, bury my face in the crook of her neck. Scents of amber and oranges flirt with my senses. My hand goes to her thigh.
She gasps a quick breath as I cup her breast with the other.
I plant kisses behind her ear, feeling her body shake with a chill in response.
“How does this look?” She turns to check my reaction to her draft, but I capture her mouth with mine.
Her hands drape over my shoulders as she twists around to face me. I stand both of us up and sit her on the edge of my desk.
Eyes wide, lips parted, she looks up at me with a grin.
“You’re sending that email,” she says.
I slip my hand between her legs until I find the thin strip of her panties.
“Oliver,” she moans as I run a finger under the fabric.
She’s wet—always so wet. She leans back, propping her upper body up with her hands. I bend forward and kiss her, rubbing her clit in small circles with my thumb.
My phone buzzes. Shaye breaks the kiss.
“Yes, Kelly?” I ask, continuing my assault on Shaye’s swollen bud.
“Hello, Mr. Mason. I have Greg on the phone for you.”
Shaye moans again, arching her body to try to maximize contact with my hand.
“Shh.” I hold a finger up to my mouth. “Put him through, Kelly. Thank you.”
“Of course. Hold just a moment.”
The line clicks as Kelly connects Greg to my office.
“Hi, Greg,” I say, watching Shaye’s eyes flutter. “What’s going on?”
“A few things, but I’m mostly concerned with the Greyshell project today. I got a call …”
He rattles on about an issue that I’m already aware of. I let him talk.
I insert a finger into Shaye’s body. She whispers a moan. I shake my head back and forth but don’t ease up.
“We’re issuing an addendum to their contract,” I tell Greg. “Legal is working on it today and the purchasing department was instructed to order the correct material.”
“Good.” Greg sighs. “That should save me a fight come Monday.”
Shaye holds one of her breasts through her shirt as she bites down on her bottom lip. Her legs spread farther apart as she reaches for my hand and slides it to her clit again.
“Greg, can I call you back in ten?” I ask, already unbuckling my belt.
“Sure, boss.”
“Awesome.” I punch the speakerphone button on the phone and then engage the Do Not Disturb function. “Your little moans nearly got us busted.”
“You were the one doing it.”
I take her hand and help her off the desk. Then I spin her around.
“Bend over,” I say, my cock ready to explode, not helped by the taste of her on my finger as I suck it into my mouth.
She hikes her dress up to her waist and leans her torso flat against my desk—facedown.
Damn.
I drop my pants, roll on a condom, and line my cock up to her opening. I’m fully inside her in one smooth motion.
She moans again, louder this time, and I remind her to be quiet.
“This one is going to be quick,” I say as I bury myself deep.
“Good. Make me come, Oliver.”
Those words are enough to put me over the edge. It’s embarrassing how fast this woman can make me lose control, but I can’t stop it.
I palm both ass cheeks, giving one a quick slap before massaging it with my hand. Her back arches, the globes of her behind up in the air, as her juices coat my length.
“There you go,” she whispers, her body bouncing against mine. “There you go. Shit.”
We climax together—her muscles constricting against me and my body flexing against hers. A shot of bright white light flashes across my vision as I pulse so hard that I think I might pass out.
Finally, after what feels like both an hour and only thirty seconds, I slip out of her. She falls against my desk before standing.
I chuckle. “We’re going to have to figure out how to control this.”
“Be less attractive.” She kisses my cheek.
“I’ll try.”
She straightens her dress and glances at the clock. “I need to get to the bathroom and then run by home before I go to work.”
Irritation sweeps over me like a hurricane over warm waters.
She ignores it.
“Want me to call you when I get off work?” she asks, heading toward her office.
I dispose of the condom and then find a wet wipe in my desk buried under the panties. I give myself a quick cleanup.
“Yes,” I say, trying not to focus on her being at a bar all evening.
“Good. Talk to you then.”
“Talk to you then. Love you.”
My head jerks up at the same time she whirls around. Her eyes are wide—maybe wider than mine.
I drop the wet wipe in the trash and slowly refasten my pants.
Love you? What the fuck?
I don’t know what to say because I didn’t mean to say that. Do I mean it? Do I tell her it was a joke? Do I admit it was a mistake?
My brain flips into overdrive in its attempt to fix this monster of a fuckup.
“You’re funny,” she says, flashing me a nervous smile. “I’ll talk to you tonight.”
She flees from the scene of my crime.
But is it a crime?
I’m not sure what makes me feel worse—that I put her on the spot? Or that she didn’t say it back?