Chapter 22 - Ethan
Ethan
Margot and I agree on one rule: the office is strictly off-limits.
No kissing, no touching, not even a lingering glance. We don’t mention what’s going on between us within the confines of the True North building.
This was her idea as much as mine. Neither of us wants to deal with office gossip or the potential fallout from this situation.
Technically, we’re not doing anything wrong. There’s no rule against dating within the company, as long as the relationship is disclosed to HR. Good thing, too. If not for bosses falling for their assistants, I wouldn’t have this job, and my brother wouldn’t be marrying Margot’s best friend.
Not that I’m falling for my assistant…
I am, however, desperate to get my hands on her. It’s been five days of torture. More than forty hours of wanting to bend her over my desk. And now, that fantasy is actually coming true.
Margot’s elbows rest on the desk in the center of my home office.
She’s naked aside from the lacy black pair of panties stretched tight between her ankles.
Her copy of Punished by the Boss is tossed aside in a nearby chair after we decided that reenacting this scene would be more fun than me reading it to her while we lounged on the couch.
“Not too hard,” she says. “Pain isn’t really a turn on for me.”
“Me either,” I assure her.
Truthfully, spanking isn’t really my thing. I’ve had a few women ask for it. Even though I’ve been happy to oblige on occasion, it’s never done much for me.
Until now, that is.
Seeing Margot like this, both worked up and letting loose, is a truly spectacular sight. And knowing that she trusts me to help her explore all her kinky little fantasies, that does something to me too. Not just turn me on but twist me up in a way I haven’t felt in a while.
A very long while, if I’m being honest.
“Ready?” I ask.
Margot’s entire body tenses. Even without seeing her face, I know she’s biting her lip as she nods.
My palm connects with her right ass cheek, quick and firm.
Hard enough to make a satisfying sound but not hard enough to truly sting for more than a second.
Margot jumps a little, letting out the tiniest yelp followed by a laugh.
I smack her other ass cheek, eliciting the same reaction.
But when I slide my hand between her legs, I find her wet and ready.
“You can laugh, but I can tell that you liked it,” I say, pushing one finger inside of her.
“Maybe.” The word is coy but pleading.
I add another finger and Margot moans.
“Yeah, you do. That’s it. Come on my fingers,” I coax as her pussy starts contracting. “Good girl. Get yourself nice and soaked so I can fuck you as hard as I want.”
Margot moans and writhes on the desk, her orgasm stretching out so long that I begin to wonder if it’s more than one. When it’s finally over, she collapses onto the desk. Her bare breasts press against the wood, heaving as she catches her breath.
But we aren’t finished yet.
I take my time unbuckling my belt and ripping open a condom, giving her a chance to recover. Margot stays glued to the desk. Her legs are still shaky as she glances over her shoulder and watches me roll the condom over my length.
“Ready?” I ask.
She nods, her eyes hooded and her lips curling into a lazy smile. Leaning forward, I plant a kiss on her shoulder then move behind her. With my cock painfully hard, I rub the head up and down her glistening slit. But just as I line myself up, desperate to feel her slick heat, something stops me.
“Stand up,” I tell her.
Margot glances back at me with a furrowed brow. Planting her palms on the desk, she pushes herself up.
“Turn around and sit on the desk.”
She turns, meeting my gaze as she settles on the edge of the desk. I step closer, slide my hand around the back of her neck, and brush my lips over hers. Margot parts her thighs and pulls me closer, deepening the kiss.
When I push inside of her in one rough thrust, she gasps into my mouth.
I eat it up, all of it. This is exactly what I wanted.
Sure, bending Margot over the desk was a pretty sight, but I’m not going to miss an opportunity to watch her face as I move inside of her.
To memorize all of her expressions and all of her little sounds.
Because I don’t know how many times I’ll get to do this.
I meant what I said: I won’t make any promises to her I can’t keep. Commitment doesn’t come easy to me, not after everything that happened with Rachel. I tried so hard to get it right, if not for us then for Sophia, and everything still crashed and burned. It’s hard to trust myself after that.
I’m not sure how long I can pretend this thing with Margot doesn’t already mean more than it should.
All I know is that when I hear her moan my name, I already feel something I shouldn’t.
When I feel her clench around me and watch her eyes flutter shut as she rides out the waves, all I can think about is how soon I can make her feel that way again.
It’s quickly becoming an addiction—one I don’t want to quit, no matter how much I remind myself that we’re supposed to be taking this slow.
The one thing I do know is this: I’m trying. For the first time in a long time, I’m trusting myself and listening to that voice that says maybe this isn’t just a fling. Maybe it could be more.
But the truth is, it scares the hell out of me. If I let this go on only to realize I’m still not capable of giving her what she deserves, it’ll be Margot who suffers. And the thought of her getting hurt because of me? That wrecks me.
Afterwards, we shower and crawl into my bed. Margot is drowning in one of my t-shirts. Her hair is piled into a messy updo on top of her head, and she’s still wearing her glasses. The book splayed open in her hand has a couple almost kissing in some sort of field on the front cover.
“No more Punished by the Boss?” I ask, quirking a brow while I crawl into bed beside her.
“That book is mostly for research purposes. This one I’m reading for the plot.”
“Well, I’m just relieved that your taste in fictional men has taken a brief detour from big, blue aliens. Saves me from having to figure out how to apply body paint and fashion a loincloth.”
Margot lets out a soft laugh, the sound low and warm in her throat. She nestles closer, resting her head on my shoulder without taking her eyes off the book in her lap.
“Not to mention finding two other men willing to participate in my weird little fantasy,” she says casually, like she’s talking about weekend plans instead of a sci-fi ménage à trois.
The laugh that I manage to produce is tight, caught somewhere between my chest and throat. Apparently, jealousy is a new hobby of mine, and so far, I’m excelling at it.
“Do you remember what happened the last time I thought that another guy might touch you?”
Margot lifts her head and rolls her eyes dramatically. “You mean when you almost torched a business deal to interrupt my date?”
“Exactly. So you should know that I don’t plan on sharing you.”
I reach over and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Margot smiles, but the mood shifts. I feel it in the way her body stills and the way her smile dims just a little before she looks down at the bedspread.
When her eyes find mine again, I can see the question in them before she speaks it out loud.
“And what about you?” she asks quietly. “Am I sharing you?”
I knew this conversation was coming eventually. Honestly, I wish it would have come sooner. Before the doubt crept into her voice or the apprehension took root in her eyes. Before I gave her a reason to wonder.
“No, Margot. You’re the only person that I want. I haven’t been with anyone else in months.”
“Really?” she asks, a twinge of disbelief in her voice.
“Not since before your breakup.”
Margot blinks. Her head tilts slightly, brows lifting in quiet surprise. She doesn’t say anything, but her gaze lingers on mine—searching, maybe, or just trying to recalibrate what she thought she knew.
Then, slowly, she nods.
Margot knows me well enough to know that I’m telling the truth. And I know her well enough to know that even though she relaxes in my arms, there’s another question running through her mind.
If we both only want each other, then why can’t I give her more?
But that answer isn’t as simple.
***
Once a month, I hold Pitch Fest, an all-morning meeting in one of the conference rooms where any employee is welcome to stop by and pitch a new idea. It can be a product, a service, a marketing campaign, whatever they want.
It was an idea to reinvigorate the team when I took over as CEO. When my brother ran the company, productivity was at an all-time high, but the same can’t be said for morale.
It all boiled down to Garrett loving this company but hating his job.
My brother lives for the great outdoors.
Being stuck in an office all day was chipping away at his soul, so he left to start a new company that combined the two things he loves the most: hiking and Emma.
He’s happier now, and so am I. As much as I also appreciate the great outdoors, I’m happy enough to get my fill of it on the weekends.
When I mentioned Pitch Fest to Garrett, he scoffed. And I can’t say that he was wrong. Over the past few months, I’ve had to sit through pitches for floating tents, Bluetooth bug zappers, glow-in-the-dark camouflage, and something called a multi-terrain vertical nap tube. And now…
“See? It’s a hammock, but also a poncho!” Sid from the mail room declares.
A prototype of his invention hangs in the conference room, strung up between two chairs. It’s a regular nylon hammock with a hole cut in the center.
Honestly, it looks more like It’s a hammock, but also a toilet! but I can’t tell Sid that.
Rubbing a hand over my jaw like I’m pondering something (and I am—I’m pondering cancelling Pitch Fest), I say, “So the hole is…”
“For your head. Here, let me show you.”