“I would if it were that easy.” He pushed me back, and the wall caught me just before his mouth did.
The kiss was deep and impatient, almost punishing, and it stole the breath from my lungs before I could decide whether I wanted to fight it. His hand slid into my hair, holding me in place, and for a moment I forgot every speech I’d rehearsed about boundaries.
He broke away first, his jaw tight.
“Bend over and grab the desk.”
I hesitated just long enough for his patience to snap.
His fingers closed around my wrist and he turned me around, guiding me forward until my palms pressed against the coolsurface of the wood. The contrast between the cold desk and the heat of his body behind me made my breath hitch.
My skirt inched upward beneath his hands, slowly, deliberately, until cool air kissed the backs of my thighs. His palm slid over my cheeks first—almost thoughtful.
Then he slapped my ass.
The sound cracked through the room, and a moan slipped from my mouth before I could stop it. His hand immediately covered my lips, muting me, while his other hand struck me again—harder this time.
“I’ll show you some fucking boundaries,” he murmured against my ear.
The sting melted into heat, and that heat pooled lower, traitorous and immediate.
He shoved my skirt down my legs, my panties following, and before I could decide whether I should protest, he lifted me onto the desk and spread my knees apart with firm, unyielding hands.
“Don’t move.”
The command was quiet, but it wrapped around me like a threat.
Then his mouth was on me.
All the tension between us—the arguments, the power plays, the resentment—shifted into something physical and overwhelming. His tongue moved slowly at first, deliberate and controlled, as if he wanted to feel every reaction he pulled from me.
I gripped his hair when he increased the pressure, when his rhythm turned demanding, when he dragged his mouth over me like he’d been starving.
I should have pushed him away, should have reminded him that this was exactly why I was trying to leave, but my body betrayed me and I arched into him.
He looked up at me once—dark eyes steady, daring—and the challenge in his gaze sent me over the edge before I could brace myself.
The orgasm tore through me, sharp and humiliatingly loud, and he didn’t stop until my hands were trembling in his hair and my legs were shaking around his shoulders.
Only then did he rise.
He unbuckled his belt slowly, never breaking eye contact, and the promise in that look made my pulse spike all over again.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sudden sound shattered the room.
“Harrison!” a deep voice barked from outside. “Boardroom. Now.”
His jaw flexed.
For a second, I thought he might ignore it.
Instead, he exhaled sharply and re-fastened his belt, composure sliding back over him like armor. When he helped me off the desk and adjusted my clothes, his touch was steady—controlled again, almost impersonal.
At the door, he paused and glanced over his shoulder.
“Idosee you.”
