Chapter 17
RILEY
My heart is still racing as I snag the files from my office and leave them on Nick’s desk.
I wasn’t expecting him to do something like that in the middle of the workday, although considering the things he has done to me when we were still just texting, I probably should have.
It’s just different when it’s real. The texts—especially before I knew who he was—felt similar to journaling.
I was writing out my fantasies, just with someone else helping push my imagination to its limits.
I never thought the things I read about in sordid romance novels would be happening in my own life.
Hell, I never thought most of my fantasies would come true at all.
Every time I imagined my future, I assumed I’d settle down with someone kind and hopefully not boring, have 2.
5 kids, and live in an HOA. I figured I’d never have anything more than average, boring sex, and that I’d find enjoyment wherever I could.
Nick is not what I thought was in the cards for me.
Everything about him is thrilling. He’s hot as sin, predatorily obsessed with me, and while the power imbalance of him being my boss is kind of terrifying, it’s also unbearably sexy.
Regardless of how sexy it is, though, he is my boss, and I do have work to do.
I pat at my cheeks in a paltry attempt to beat back the blush on my face as I settle into my desk chair. The spreadsheets from today’s meeting need to be edited to conform with the changes we’re making, and I need to check in with the marketing team to make sure all the bases are covered.
Before I have a chance to do more than scan over the documents to refamiliarize myself, the conference room door slams loud enough that I can hear it from all the way down the hall.
The angry clip of high heels sounds shortly after, and I snicker under my breath.
Nick must have pissed Sloane off royally.
The thought of him laying into her about something with the taste of my pussy lingering on his tongue is more thrilling than I expected. I’ve never been all that possessive in the past, but something about Nick gets me worked up in every way imaginable.
I focus back on my work with a little more enthusiasm than usual, bolstered by the knowledge that I don’t have to deal with Sloane at all anymore.
She hardly even glanced at me when she walked into the conference room, and the dirty look she tossed my way was brief and easily ignorable.
If I’d known telling Nick about Sloane’s treatment would have gotten me away from her tyrannical reign, I’d have said something ages ago.
Just as I make it halfway through the first document I need to edit, my phone buzzes on the edge of my desk.
The notification comes in three short bursts, a pattern I set specifically for Nick’s texts.
Nick: You left something behind with the files that you might want to come get, Princess. Although I’m definitely enjoying the literature ;)
My brows furrow in confusion as I glance at the photo beneath his texts. What’s he talking about? All I left behind was the files.
I open the picture to get a better view, since the preview is cut off and shows little more than the tips of his shoes.
As soon as I do, my eyes blow wide and panic rushes through my bloodstream like fire.
I toss my phone down on my desk uncaringly and shove up from my chair, rushing toward the door.
He has my journal.
I must have accidentally scooped it up along with the files, too flustered after almost being caught to pay attention.
I’m going to die of embarrassment.
I charge into his office without even bothering to knock, sucking in a deep breath to—I don’t know… apologize? Beg for mercy? Ask if he thinks it’s hot. Before I can get a single word out, he clicks his tongue at me.
The noise stops me in my tracks like I’m a dog, and I blink in surprise at my own obedience.
“Lock the door, Miss Morgan,” he purrs, flipping a page without even glancing up at me.
I gulp as I take in the relaxed set of his shoulders and the smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he flits through the sordid details of my journal. He’s lounging behind his desk like a king on a throne, looking as smug as the cat that got the cream.
My gut flips when I realize how this is going to go.
With trembling fingers, I reach behind myself. The click of the lock echoes through the silent room like a gunshot. My breathing picks up when steely blue eyes flick up from the journal to meet mine.
Nick’s focus is like a physical touch, heavy and hot and pulling me in like gravity.
He pats his thigh wordlessly, arching a brow at me.
My heart pounds as I cross the room, slowly rounding his desk to stand in front of him. Our little tryst in the conference room earlier was exhilarating, but this feels totally different.
Walking up to him, knowing he’s going to take me apart, I’m surprised I don’t faint from how lightheaded it makes me.
He glances impatiently at his lap when I hesitate, and I take a seat on his thigh before the unspoken command even fully registers.
There’s just something about him that my subconscious can’t say no to.
It’s like he controls me more than I do.
Hot breath fans out along the back of my neck as Nick chuckles and yanks me closer, shifting until my back is pressed to his chest. He tucks his chin over my shoulder and rolls his hips up against my ass in a slow, leisurely grind, ensuring I feel every inch of his hard cock as he taps his finger against the page of my journal.
“I knew you were dirty, Princess,” he murmurs as he scratches a blunt nail down the paper. “But I had no idea how much of a little slut you are for me.”
My breath hitches at the heat in his voice, the way his free hand reaches up to rest possessively around my throat, sending arousal flooding my veins.
I never thought I’d enjoy being spoken to like this. The fantasies of it were fun, but I always thought it would make me feel dirty in a bad way if it happened in real life. This, though? This makes me feel sexy.
Powerful.
Even so, it does nothing to curb the embarrassment sitting heavily in my gut.
“I—you weren’t supposed to see this,” I whisper, humiliated. “I swear, Nick, they’re just fantasies. I never—”
He cuts me off with a disappointed hum, the fingers around my throat flexing just enough to stall my words.
“Is that so?” He drawls the words, disbelieving and teasing in equal measure, and turns his head to raise a brow at me. “So you don’t want me to make you clean your own come off my cock after I wreck your pretty pussy?”
That same mix of arousal and embarrassment floods me, but the embarrassment fades quickly at the hungry look in his eyes. The arousal, on the other hand, only mounts until I can do nothing but squirm in his lap, uncomfortably wet and needy.
I can’t manage to force words out, but Nick smirks, understanding my predicament immediately.
He snaps the journal shut and tosses it on his desk, and for a sinking moment, I think he’s going to let it go. Then he leans back in his chair and that filthy grin stretches even wider across his handsome face.
“Up,” he says, his hips twitching against mine to get me moving.
I spring up from my seat in his lap and turn to face him on shaky legs.
My mouth waters at the unmistakable bulge in his slacks and the dark, dangerous look in those blue-grey eyes.
Nick never really looks soft, but he looks sharper than ever right now, staring at me like he wants to eat me alive and leave nothing behind.
“Strip, Miss Morgan.”
My breath hitches at the casual, careless way the command slips from his lips.
I glance behind me at the locked door of his office, then back to him, where he’s drumming his fingers in a controlled rhythm against the glossy top of his desk.
“Here?” I ask.
“Here,” he confirms, arching a brow at me impatiently. “Strip.”
I shiver at the unyielding, expectant tone, and my hands move to obey before I can voice any further hesitation. This is much more private than the conference room was, and that knowledge only serves to pump more adrenaline through my veins.
“Yes, sir.”
His eyes never leave my body as I shyly tug my sweater up, baring my waist and then my lacy pink bra.
The way his lips twitch at the sight of it is enough to remind me of the fact that the matching panties are still in his pocket.
My sex clenches around nothing as I pull my sweater all the way off and let it drop to the ground beside me.
Nick watches intently as I reach for the clasp of my bra, his own hands reaching up to tug at his tie.
He loosens it a few inches and pops open the top few buttons of his shirt, just enough to show off a glimpse of his muscled chest, dark hair shadowed between his pecs.
I pull my bra off with trembling hands, my nerves only serving to make this whole situation even hotter. Nick hums a hungry little sound as my breasts are bared, dropping his hand to rub over his hard cock through his slacks.
“Keep going, Princess,” he urges, low and sinful as he flicks his belt open.
I step out of my shoes and reach behind my back to find the zipper of my skirt, watching as he tugs at the buttons and zipper of his slacks. By the time I get my own zipper down, he’s fishing his cock out, his thumb rubbing teasingly over the bead of precome pearling along the tip.
He stops there, grinning as I flit my tongue out to wet my lips in obvious desire.
It’s only as I start to slide my skirt down over my hips that I realize he doesn’t intend to strip any further, and a wave of need slams into me. He’s following the ridiculous little fantasy I wrote to the letter, just waiting for me to catch on.
When the scene comes to me, I pivot to face his desk, bending over slightly as I continue to work my skirt down. He groans low in his throat in approval, and I toss a grin over my shoulder. Now that I know the game we’re playing, I know exactly what comes next.