My stomach drops. “What? No, I was—uh—just?—”
“—at my horns.” His mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile. “You’ve been staring at them for twenty minutes.”
Shit. I grip my scotch. “I wasn’t. Okay, maybe a little. They’re just… they’re beautiful.”
Beautiful? Did I just say beautiful? Out loud? About the horns of my very large, very powerful boss?
He blinks, caught off guard, then tilts his head, considering me like I’m somekind of puzzle. “Most people are either terrified of them or make bull jokes.” There’s a spark in his eyes. “You want to touch them, don’t you?”
I nearly choke again. “What? No. I mean. Yes. Maybe. I?—”
Magnus leans forward, forearms braced on the desk, his sheer size swallowing the space between us. My chair tilts back, and I suddenly realize I’m caged in by his stunning horns. His voice softens, not teasing now, but serious. “Go ahead. Please. You have my permission.”
My heart kicks hard.Permission. The word lands heavier than it should, like he’s testing me. Like this is a line, and he’s daring me to cross it.
I reach out. Hesitant at first but then bolder. My fingertips brush over one horn—smooth, cool, ridged near the base. Unexpectedly warm where it meets the skin under his fur. I swear the damn thing hums under my touch, alive and answering me in a way it has no right to.
“Mmmh.” He exhales—slow, deep, a sound I feel in my chest more than I hear. His eyes flutter shut, just for a second, and when they open again, they’re molten. Hungry.
That’s it. That’s the moment. The one where the air thickens and I know something’s about to happen.
And then I pull him closer, letting my hands glide along his horns to guide his long face toward mine. He exhales sharply, nostrils flaring, and for a moment, he looks like he could devour me whole. Fuck—I hope he does.
“Can I… kiss you?” The words tumble out before my brain can stop them. This has to be the height of unprofessionalism. I fully expect a summons to Amara’s office tomorrow, pink slip in hand. And I don’t even care.
He hesitates just a fraction, his warm breath brushing my cheek. “Are you sure?”
I can only nod, rising on my toes until our lips meet. Holy fuck. It’s happening. I’m kissing Magnus Trainor. After a year of asking everyone in the mailroom about him, stealing glances as I did my rounds, and feverishly jerking off in my apartment imagining his giant hands all over me, I’m kissing him. My legs wobble slightly, and I bump gently against his chest. He chuckles—a low, rumbling sound that vibrates through me—and I freeze, unsure if I should apologize or kiss him harder.
He pulls back, lips ghosting on mine. “Tell me to stop.”
“Why would I do that?”
Magnus kisses me again—hot and consuming—as I paw at his suit jacket, pulling him down, closer, before returning to caress his horns. He groans, a rumble that vibrates straight through my chest.
“Careful with the horns,” he mutters, half-grinning, half-growling, his voice teasing yet charged.
I can’t help a small laugh, brushing my hands along the smooth curve of one. “I’m… I’m trying,” I whisper against his mouth.
He leans in just a fraction closer, fingers grazing my arm, his touch feather-light but deliberate, guiding me like he’s both boss and partner in this little, reckless act. Ican’t stop smiling against his mouth, even as my brain screamsdon’t get fired, don’t get fired.
The kiss deepens, slow at first, testing boundaries, and I realize just how magnetic he is. His tail slaps against me, and I reach down and rub it right near the tip. He lets out a low groan at the touch, his eyes almost closing. Every inch of him is impossibly alive, warm, and commanding, yet somehow careful—like he doesn’t want to crush me or break this delicate, unspoken trust.
And just like that, the office, the late hour, the binders, the pasta—none of it matters. There’s only his lips on mine.
He’s careful at first, then not careful at all. His mouth is hot and insistent, mine eager and clumsy but desperate to keep up. His tongue is broad, long, a little coarse, and all I can think is how it might feel in… other places. And his hands—lord, his hands. Rough in the best way, immense and sure, like they’re ready to claim me.
He pulls back once, breath ragged, fuzzy forehead against mine. “Jamie,” he rasps. “Consent. You have to say it. I need to hear it. This—” His jaw tightens. “This can’t be about power. This has to be about you.”
It’s me. Gods, it’s so me. There’s zero hesitation. “I want this. I want you.”
That’s all it takes. The dam breaks, and he lets out a noise that makes my pants tight in all the right places.
“Holy hell, do you always growl like that?”
“Only when I want to ruin someone.”
Magnus grabs my waist and pulls me close, and holy crap, if that’s his cock pressing up against mine, they mayhave to take me out of here on a stretcher. It can’t be. There’s no way. He’s got to have something… large and, well, dick-shaped in those trousers. Maybe it’s his cellphone… or a sledgehammer.
