Bonus Scene
HE TAKES MY brEATH AWAY. STILL. The cut of his jaw.
His dark hair that’s grown to be a little unruly—just like him.
His perfect mouth, not just its shape, but the words that come out of it, the things he does with it.
The dimples that reach inside me and squeeze when they’re aimed at me.
The command in his voice, in every step he takes as he rounds his desk, his eyes, on his phone.
He exudes confidence. Pure, unadulterated confidence of a man who knows where he belongs, does what he loves, and has the world at his fingertips.
This is the man I fell for, married nine months ago, and get to work and live with every single day. I’m one lucky girl. I bite the tip of my pen, my eyes, trained on him as he moves with the grace of an athlete, every step bringing him closer…
“Sweetness?” The husk in his voice does dirty things to my girly parts.
I flash to his emerald eyes that see me in a way I never will. “Yeah?” I pluck the pen from my mouth, realizing I was sucking on it.
He stops before me, his crotch at eye level as I sit on the couch in his office—our office. He insisted I have a desk in here even though I have an office down the hall and my own assistant. He prefers me close. The impressive bulge in his pants, not really the reason, but not to be negated either.
Tipping my chin with a finger, he leans down till we’re face to face.
His crook of a smile with a barely-there dimple, alludes to his amusement and a knowing that my mind has drifted into a personal arena that has nothing to do with the new tech we were discussion moments ago as he read the latest update from one of our industry scouts.
“Did you hear any of the recommendations?”
Hear? Yes.
Remember? No.
“How can I concentrate when you look like that?” I motion to his suit he wears like a second skin, a body armor decked out to slay the day, take no prisoners, securing the future of MCI and its employees. He’s dedicated, but does he have to be so damn hot while he’s doing it?
He drops his phone on the couch beside me and sits on the edge of the coffee table, sequestering my knees between his long, powerful legs. He grips my thighs as he leans in. “Did you notice the bulge in my pants, Sweets?”
I nod, swallowing the saliva that’s pooled in my mouth.
“Then you know it’s no walk in the park for me. You in heels, a pencil skirt, and blouse…” He motions to my head. “Your hair up, looking like the hottest fucking librarian I’ve ever only seen in my fantasies.” He easer closer, his hands slowly sliding my skirt up as he goes.
Newsflash. “You fantasize about librarians?”
His chuckle does nothing to quell the need building in me. “I fantasize about you as a librarian. A teacher. A secretary. A flight attendant. Any stereotypical female role that makes me an asshole to think it, much less say it, has you in the starring role with my dick, my mouth, and my fingers.”
I shake my head. “Not my mouth?” I’m poking the bear, knowing he’s as turned on as I am. And that knowledge only makes me hotter.
His growl is immediate. His lips nearly to mine.
Put me out of my misery, Caveman. Kiss me. Then fuck me.
But he doesn’t. He licks his lips and whispers his thumb across my mouth, barely a touch. “Always about your beautiful lips on me in any way you damn well please.”
My heart hammering against my chest and erratic breaths seems so loud, I’m sure Teddy will hear from his desk on the other side of the door. “I want that.”
“I know. So do I.” He sits back, pulls my skirt down to a respectable position. “But we can’t.” He captures my hands. “We’ve managed to avoid office sex for four whole months since you started working here full-time.”
I arch a brow.
His jaw ticks before he breaks into a full-fledged smile. “Okay.” He stands, adjusting himself. “We’ve managed to avoid office sex during business hours.”
“I should just work from my office. Why are we putting ourselves through this day in and day out?” I stand to collect my laptop, but he stops me.
“I need you here.” Leaning on the edge of my desk, he pulls me between his legs.
“I want you here.” A punch of air cascades down my blouse as he leans his head against mine.
“This beautiful brain of yours works in a way mine doesn’t.
We complement each other. If you weren’t here, I’d be walking down to your office continually or booking you for hours upon hours of meetings.
It would be no different. We’ve got this.
” He kisses me softly. Passion simmers, but this is a kiss of love and a promise: I’m his wife, and I’m also as his partner at MCI.
He’s not my boss. I’m an equal. At home and work.
“We got this,” I affirm his conviction.
“Yeah, we do.” He kisses up my jaw to my ear where his breath sends chills down my spine. “But I’m going to fuck you senseless when the clock strikes five.”
I wouldn’t want it any other way. Joseph and I have a connection that goes beyond our love for each other and flows into our love of MCI and all things techy.
He steps back, collecting his phone, and walks back to his desk. “Now try to pay attention when I read the update this time.” He winks before his gaze lowers to his phone and he starts to read. His voice pulls me to him like a siren song, but this time, I am listening.
When I sit on his lap, he wraps an arm around my waist, and I cuddle close. We may not have a typical working relationship. But what we do works for us, works for MCI.
I get to see him day in and day out at home and in the office. For some that might be too much. For us, it’s just right.
He’s always been the yin to my yang.
My husband.
My Caveman.
And now, my co-worker.
Life is good, especially when I get to work from his lap.
1 WEEK LATER
She’s crying. My wife, my everything, is crying, and it guts me. She left work early. Meeting Margot for some girl-time.
I’m going to rip someone’s head off if they hurt my girl.
“Baby.” My anguish is clear, but it’s my presence that has her head popping up, her eyes wide.
She didn’t hear me come in because she was crying.
Sobbing. “Sweetness, what’s wrong?” I charge across our apartment, scoop her onto my lap before she can even hide the evidence of her tears or reply to my question.
Her curling into me gives me a peace I don’t deserve, given she’s so broken up over something I’m oblivious of.
“I thought I was ready. I thought I was over it. Over her—” her last word comes out on a sob.
I rack my brain, trying to figure out who her is. “Ready for what? Over what? Who’s her?”
Samantha sniffs and takes stuttered breaths as she tried to calm down. I hand her a tissue from the end table and wait. She needs a second. I’ve promised her forever. I’ve got time.
Composed, she adjusts in my arms to meet my eyes.
Her blues, so full of love with an undercurrent of hurt.
She palms my cheek, like I’m the one upset.
I guess I am. Her pain is mine. I wipe at her tears, unconvinced that’s the last of them.
My girl feels things deeply. Happy or sad, her tears are never far away.
She was made to believe it made her weak.
But it’s her strength, her courage that allows her to be vulnerable enough to shed the emotions bubbling inside her.
Not everyone gets that. I do, and I love that about her.
On a productive breath she licks her lips and begins. “I thought I was over my mom. I was fine without her at our wedding. I’m fine without her in our lives. I’m over it. I’ve accepted it. But…” Her chin trembles.
“But?”
“I didn’t think I’d feel this way. I should be happy, but instead, here I am crying over her.
Still.” She hops off my lap, grabbing a few more tissues, and blows her nose with one hand and pats her face dry with the other.
She begins to pace. “And I’m angry that after all this time, she’s still hurting me.
” She stops at the window. “She’s tainting my good news. ”
I stand and meet her reflection in the floor to ceiling window, wrapping my arms around hers crossed over her chest. “What news?”
Her chin starts to tremble again, and I swear I’m about to join her. “Baby. Fuck. You’ve got to tell me. Please, you’re killing me.” I can’t help if I don’t know what I’m dealing with.
“Good news, Caveman. Calm down.” She turns in my hold, her hands landing on my chest, searing me through my dress shirt. “I’m pregnant.”
I nearly buckle.
I smack a palm against the glass behind her, leaning in, my head next to hers. “Say that again.”
I suck in air.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
“I’m pregnant.” She cradles my head on her shoulder.
Her touch is everything. Wrapping her in my arms, I take us to the floor before I fall.
We’ve been trying for six months, and once a month for every six months my girl cries when she finds out she’s not pregnant by either starting her period or by a negative pregnancy test. It’s three weeks of bliss as we fuck like rabbits, and a week of sorrow when her period comes…
All tinged with sadness that it hadn’t happening yet.
For six fucking months.
We said we were going to wait a few years, but once we got married and her graduation date neared, all bets were off.
“Are you sure? Were you late? Are you feeling okay?” Did I miss the signs like a selfish asshole?
She cups my face, her calmer state helping me find my center.
“I’m good.” My pleading stare gives her pause.
“Really, Joseph. I’m good. I’ve felt a little off in the mornings.
The smell of coffee makes my stomach churn.
That, and the fact that I’m late, prompted me to take a test today when I got home. ”
I move us back to the couch, positioning us with my girl’s legs across my lap and her back to the armrest. “And your mom?”
Twisting her lips, she shrugs a shoulder. “Yeah, my mom.”