Then he began to move, a shallow, tentative rocking of his hips. Just as the ache began to recede into a dull throb, his thumb found my clit again. The touch was gentle, circling, reigniting the fire inside me.
“God, you feel incredible, Sutton,” he breathed, his gaze raking over my breasts, my face, drinking in every reaction. “So tight. So perfect for me.”
His words, combined with the slow press of his thumb, changed everything. The sting faded, replaced by a deep, steady heat that built low in my stomach. The sound of us filled the room—real, raw, and close.
He was watching me, eyes dark and tense, his jaw tight like he was fighting to stay in control. That was when it hit me—he was holding back for me. The realization sent a rush through me, sharp and dizzying, and something in me broke wide open.
That did it.
A third, shocking orgasm ripped through me, my body convulsing around his. “Jameson,” I cried out, his name a prayer and a surrender on my lips.
The sound of his name seemed to shatter his control. With a guttural, helpless groan, he drove into me one last, deep time.
We finally went still, breathing hard, the room quiet except for the sound of us trying to catch our breath. He leaned into me, forehead against my shoulder, heavy and warm.
For a minute, neither of us moved. When he finally slipped out, I felt the loss more than I wanted to admit. He brushed a strand of hair from my face, fingers soft, almost shy.
Then he grinned—slow, lazy, the kind of grin that made my stomach flip.
“Maybe we should order dessert,” he said, voice rough. “Rest up before round two.”
I couldn’t help laughing, the sound low and easy. That smile and his teasing edge melted something in me faster than anything we’d just done.
6
JAMESON
Monday morning hit different when you’d spent the weekend falling for someone you shouldn’t have touched in the first place.
I’d been at my desk since six-thirty, staring at spreadsheets I wasn’t actually reading, my mind replaying the weekend on a loop. The way Sutton had looked, seated on that table. The sound of her laugh over breakfast. How she’d curled into me on the flight home, half-asleep, her head on my shoulder like it belonged there.
Every moment was burned into my memory in perfect detail.
But now, sitting in my office with the fluorescent lights humming and Monday stretching out ahead of me, reality was a cold slap to the face. She was my employee. I was her boss. There were policies. Power dynamics. A dozen different ways this could blow up in both our faces.
What the hell had I been thinking?
The answer, of course, was that I hadn’t been thinking. Not with my brain, anyway. I’d been so caught up in her—in the way she made me feel alive again, like I had a purpose beyondquarterly earnings and investor calls—that I’d ignored every red flag waving frantically in my peripheral vision.
And now I had to face her in a staff meeting and pretend everything was normal.
I dragged a hand through my hair, my stomach churning. We hadn’t talked about what happens next. Hadn’t discussed whether this was a one-time thing or something more. I’d kissed her goodbye at her apartment door, watched her disappear inside, and then spent the entire sleepless night wondering if I’d just ruined everything.
What if she regretted it?
What if she walked into the office today and realized sleeping with her boss was a colossal mistake?
What if I’d taken advantage of the situation—the fancy hotel, the private jet, the whole romantic setup—and she’d felt pressured?
The thought made me feel sick.
The reminder that flashed on my phone seemed to taunt me.Monday morning team meeting—nine a.m.I grabbed my laptop and headed for the conference room, my tie feeling too tight around my neck.
The team was already gathering when I walked in. Monique was showing Derek something on her phone. A couple of the junior developers were grabbing coffee from the carafe in the corner.
And then Sutton walked in. My breath caught.
She looked professional. Hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. Crisp white blouse. Black slacks. Heels that clicked purposefully against the floor. She carried a leather portfolio under one arm and her phone in the other hand, scrolling through something with a focused expression.
