Her eyes go soft as she gazes up at me, hand landing on my chest. Her touch burns through my shirt, and I slide my hand into her hair, tilting her head so I can slant my mouth over hers. All week I’ve fought not to touch her, save for the occasional brush of hands when no one’s looking, but there’s no way I can stop myself from kissing her now. I sweep my tongue into her mouth, desperate to show her how much I care. How I don’t want to let him hurt her anymore.
When we part, her eyes are dark and hungry, her hands inching down my abdomen. “Every time you stand up for me,” she says breathlessly, “I want to get on my knees for you.”
I swallow, cock jumping in my slacks. “That sounds fucking amazing, baby, but not here.” I turn and force myself back to my desk chair, willing my dick to get the message. I have a few more things to do, then I want to take her to dinner.
But Iris doesn’t want to play ball.
“No?” she asks innocently, perching on the edge of my desk. I lean back in my chair, letting my gaze trail across her, from the silver cupcake necklace she’s worn every day since I gave it to her, to the dress that makes her somehow look both professionalandsexy. The skirt rides up her thighs as she spreads them temptingly for me.
But I won’t touch her. We’ve fooled around in here before, but this feels different. The stakes are higher now. Not with my job, but with her. Withus.
“No,” I say thickly, turning back to my laptop. “Be a good girl, and go back to your desk.”
Her eyes flare with heat. “I don’t want to be a good girl,” she purrs, sliding off the edge of my desk, dropping to her knees on the rug beside my chair. “I want to be a bad girl.” She gives me a dirty smile, then crawls under my desk, shoving my knees apart forcefully.
Oh, fuck. She’s killing me.
“Iris,” I warn, fingers finding her hair under the desk. I glance at the door, unlocked. No one would see her if they walked in, not under my solid oak desk, and most of the team has likely left for the weekend anyway, but that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea. “Not here.”
She giggles, cupping my cock through my slacks. It thickens as she strokes it, in spite of me, and I tighten my fist in her hair. She sucks in a breath, but instead of stopping, it spurs her on. Her fingers loosen my belt, along with my resolve, as she slides my zipper down.
A sound outside my door makes my pulse trip. “That’s enough, baby,” I say, the roughness in my voice betraying me.
“I need you in my mouth,” she says huskily, biting my stiff cock through my boxer-briefs. It throbs, and I hold her head in place as I lift my hips to rub my aching erection against her lips. She wants to play? Fine. We’ll play by my rules.
“You’re being a brat,” I warn. “And brats get spanked.”
“Is that a promise?”
Fuck. Heat streaks through me at the breathless, desperate note in her voice. Like she can’t imagine anything better than me spanking her. She’s fucking perfection.
I open my mouth to say as much when my office door flies open, John striding in, coat on and briefcase in hand. My pulse lurches, and I go rigid in my chair.
Shit. I knew this was a bad idea.
“Where’s Iris?” he barks.
She freezes between my knees, fingers withdrawing quickly. I force myself to take a deep breath, to appear as calm as possible. Not like I’ve got his daughter under my desk, seconds away from sucking me off.
“No idea,” I grit out. Doesn’t exactly make her look good, but it’s the best I can manage under the circumstances.
“Typical,” John mutters, lifting his gaze to the ceiling. “Honestly, that girl is the bane of my life.”
I hear Iris huff quietly under the desk. My hand is still tangled in her hair, and I loosen it to stroke her cheek softly before placing it on the desk.
“She’s working her ass off,” I say, protectiveness rising inside me. Iris’s hands slide up my inner thighs, taking me by surprise, and I jump a little in my chair. John’s too preoccupied to notice.
He sets his briefcase down on my Chesterfield in agitation. “She doesn’t know the meaning of hard work.”
Anger blazes through me. I open my mouth to protest when Iris’s fingers inch higher. They brush my cock, sending a bolt of heat down my spine, and I force my gaze to my desk, not wanting John to see my face. I pretend to listen intently, even if listening to him rant about Iris is the last thing I want to do.
“I gave her this job to help her out,” he continues, “and she’s throwing it back in my face.”
Iris tugs my underwear down, making my breath catch as my dick springs free under the desk. What is shedoing? Her father is right there.
John paces in front of the sofa. “I’ve given that girl every opportunity.”
Heat pours through me as Iris’s cool hand circles my shaft. Why am I so fucking turned on right now? This is sowrong.
