It’s now after 6:00 p.m., most everyone’s left the office, but Rae just won’t leave. Right now, she’s very subtly swaying to whatever’s playing in her headphones and licking the frosting off something chocolaty.
I can’t tear my eyes away. From her neck, her back, and the flick of her tongue when she turns subtly to the side like she’s not flaunting every part of her soft, luscious body for my benefit.
Do nothing. Don’t react.
Not easy when the sight of her makes something inside my rib cage twisthard.
She stands and stretches, spins, catches me staring, and blows out a long breath, fanning herself with one hand.
“It’s so hot in here. Are you hot?”
“No,” I growl.
“My goodness.” She undoes a button at her throat and then another, while sashaying over to the printer, all rolling hips and lush ass and—
That’s it. The last straw.
The smoke clears from my brain. I know exactly how to handle this. I unbutton a cuff.
“Rae.”
Her eyes go straight to the sleeve that I’m carefully rolling up, one fold at a time.
“Yeah?” It’s a breathless whisper. The jig is up.
“Close the door,” I tell her, quiet, firm. I sound like myself again, which is reason enough to cross this line.
Her eyes widen briefly. “Excuse me?”
“We’re done playing games now, aren’t we, Sunny?”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“Oh, I think you do. You absolutely do. Whatever you’re about to say, don’t bother. You win. No more rules.” I finish rolling up my right sleeve, cross one leg over the other, and relax. “Once you’ve shut the door, go ahead and grab the list.”
A pretty pink flush, beginning somewhere below her neckline, has started to crawl up her throat to her face. I’m going to feel how hot that skin is today. Press my mouth to it. Taste it.
Her expression an almost childlike blend of eager and hesitant, Rae walks to the door at a stately pace and closes it. Then she locks it. The sound makes my cock pulse.
I watch the quick rise and fall of her chest as she makes her way to the closet for the list.
Thefuckinglist.
Once the door is open, she looks at me, waiting for instruction.
“Bring it here,” I tell her with a gentleness I can afford now that I know what’s coming.
Just as she tries to give the paper over to me, inspiration strikes. “Crush it. Make it into a ball.”
Her eyes stay on mine as she does it. This time, when she attempts to hand it over, I shake my head, slowly.
Calm. In control.
“Tighter. You’ll want it small.”
Her expression goes almost comically worried, so I ask, “You remember the club safe words?”
She nods so fast I can’t help but smile. “Good. Tell me.”
