“I was reaching for the file.”
“The file is in my hand, Finneas.”
She stared at me. I stared at her. The floor was quiet, the door closed, and she was close enough that I could see the faint freckle below her left ear, the one I’d been thinking about for two years.
“Come here,” I said.
She raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“Sit down.” I pushed my chair back from the desk. “Here.”
“On your lap.”
“If you want to show me the numbers, I need to see them up close.”
“That is the worst excuse you’ve ever come up with, and you once told me a report was urgent at 9 pm on a Friday.”
“Andrea.”
She held my eyes. Then she walked around to my side of the desk, file still in her hand, and lowered herself onto my lap like she was accepting a dare. Her skirt rode up when she sat, her bare thigh warm against mine. She shifted to get comfortable, her ass pressing against me, and I stopped breathing.
She opened the file across my desk, leaning forward to point at the numbers. “As I was saying. This column doesn’t track.”Professional voice. Hands not shaking. Like she wasn’t sitting on my lap with her perfume filling my head and her thigh against mine and the heat of her burning through my pants.
I could play this game.
My hand settled on her knee. She didn’t flinch. My thumb traced a slow line along the inside of her knee, just above where the skirt ended, and I felt the muscle in her thigh tense under my fingers. Her breath caught, quiet, barely audible, but I heard it. My wolf heard it.
“Thirty-two percent,” she said, but her voice had changed. Lower. Rougher. “The margin is thirty-two percent and you need to fix it before the meeting.”
My hand slid higher. An inch. She didn’t move it. Her grip on the file tightened, paper crinkling under her fingers.
“Fix the margin,” she said again, quieter.
I looked at her profile. Her lips were parted, cheeks flushed, the dimple gone because she wasn’t smiling anymore. She was breathing through her mouth, eyes dark, still staring at the file like she could keep this professional if she just didn’t look at me.
She grabbed my tie and pulled me out of the chair.
Her fingers wrapped around the fabric, yanking me forward with that snarky glint in her eye. She was on my lap, skirt hiked up, and we’d been going at it over this revenue split for twenty minutes while my hand crept higher up her thigh. But the second she grabbed my tie the argument was done.
She slid off my lap and hopped onto the edge of my desk, pulling me between her legs, uncrossing them to hook one heel behind my calf. Her other hand fisted my shirt and she leaned in, breath hot against my jaw. “You gonna keep arguing, or are you gonna fuck me?”
I gripped her hips, thumbs digging into the soft flesh above her skirt waistband. The office door was closed but the glass wall, frosted low enough to hide our waists down if we stayed put, meant anyone could walk by on this floor, and the thrill of that hit me hard, my cock already straining against my pants. A week of this, sneaking around after hours, her in my bed, my mouth on her, and she still started it every goddamn time like she owned me. She did own me. That was the hell of it.
“You’re playing with fire,” I muttered, voice low and rough, my stubble scraping her neck as I nipped there. But I didn’t pull back. Shoved her skirt up higher instead, bunching it around her waist. Her panties were black lace, damp already, and I hooked a finger under the edge and yanked them aside. Christ.
She gasped but bit it off quick, her free hand flying to her mouth to muffle it. I unbuckled my belt one-handed, the clink loud in the quiet room, then freed my cock. Hard and thick, tip leaking as I lined up against her pussy. Soaked. Fucking soaked for me, on my desk, at two in the afternoon.
I thrust in slow at first, watching her face, those green eyes widening, dimple flashing as she bit her lip under her palm. Fuck, she took me so well, tight and wet, clenching around the head. “That’s it,” I growled, holding still to let her adjust. “Look at you, taking my cock like you were made for it. So fucking perfect.”
Her muffled moan vibrated against her hand, thighs trembling as she hooked her heel higher, the point digging into my ass. She wanted more. Always damn well did. I snapped my hips forward, burying deep in one go. Quarterly reports scattered off the desk, papers fluttering to the floor. Her back arched, blouse straining, and I grabbed her thighs, spreading them wider, nails biting into her skin.
I started pounding into her, desk creaking under the rhythm. Each thrust had her sliding back, her hand pressing harder over her mouth to stifle the cries. I tracked every reaction: the way her brows furrowed when I hit deep, the flush creeping up her neck, her pussy fluttering around me. Possessive heat coiled in my gut. Mine. She was mine, right here in my office, risking it all because she couldn’t wait and neither could I.
“Good girl,” I rasped, leaning over her, one hand bracing beside her head while the other slid up to pinch her nipple through her blouse. “So tight for me. You love this, don’t you? Getting fucked on my desk like the smart, greedy little thing you are.” Her eyes locked on mine, hazy with need, and she nodded frantically, heels digging sharper to pull me closer. Shit, the way she looked at me like that, wrecked and wanting and daring me to give her more.
The risk amped it up because the closed door might hold but footsteps echoed in the hall sometimes, anyone could interrupt, and it made me thrust harder, cock slamming into her, balls slapping against her ass. She was dripping, coating me, and I felt her tightening, close. So damn close.
“Come on, Andrea,” I urged, voice controlled but edged with gravel. “Show me how good you can be. Milk my cock. Fuck, you’re doing it so well.” That did it. Her body seized, pussyclamping down like a vice as she came, silent but shaking, hand clamped over her mouth while her eyes rolled back. I followed fast, grinding deep and spilling inside her with a grunt I barely swallowed. Filling her up, holding there, watching her come down: chest heaving, skirt a wrinkled mess, papers everywhere. Goddamn.
