“Well, then yes.” I glared at him. “I’ll save it for a night when my tyrant boss isn’t running me ragged or a night when I’m desperate for some much-needed stress relief. I’ll give him a call and ask him to help me.”
“So it’snothing…” He leaned close, close enough to kiss my lips—and I swear I was willing to give in, just to see if his mouth tasted as perfect as it did in my traitorous, late-night fantasies.
I shut my eyes, waiting, but his lips never met mine.
Instead, I felt something cold and silky against my right cheek.
My eyes fluttered open as he wiped the other one with his handkerchief.
Before I could ask him what the hell he was doing, he slipped his fingers into my jacket’s front pocket and pulled out James’s blue Post-it note.
He tore it in half. Then in half again.
The pieces fell into the trash like they’d never existed.
“You’re welcome,” he said. “You don’t need someone like that distracting you, and you can do a lot better.”
In disbelief, I glanced at the bin, then back at him.
“I’ll wait until you utter some appreciation.” He leaned in until his mouth hovered just above mine, his breath warm against my lips.
“Appreciation?”
“I didn’t stutter.”
“Mr. Cross…” My blood was boiling. “I honestly didn’t hate you before this moment, but now…”
“Now what, Miss Stone?”
“I fucking loathe you.” I hissed. “And I swear, I will make it my personal mission to see you fail.”
“While still collecting a paycheck?”
“I hate you.” I enunciated every syllable. “You’ve been an asshole since the day we met, and if you weren’t my boss?—”
“Don’t finish that sentence.” His lips crashed against mine, and my back hit the wall.
He gripped my hips to hold me steady and I wrapped my arms around his neck as he kissed me harder.
I moaned as he bit down on my bottom lip, as he whispered, “You don’t fucking hate me…”
“Yes. I. do…” I said through ragged breaths.
As if my answer offended him, he pushed me back against the wall with his hips, sliding a hand under my dress.
I gasped as I felt his cock hardening through his pants, his palm brushing against my thigh.
His tongue darted against mine, demanding me to submit. I tried to hold off, to cling to some sense of control, and then I felt him pushing aside my panties, slowly tapping his thumb against my clit.
As if he was counting down to my submission, I realized I must’ve missed the deadline.
He slid two fingers deep inside me, making me moan and open my mouth wider—giving him the angle of my lips he wanted.
His kiss made me forget every thought, every fiber of hatred, everything.
As his fingers slid in and out of me, his mouth demanded more.
“Tell me you want me…” he whispered. “Tell me you wanted me the first day we met…”
