I want to slap him for that. I also want to drop to my knees and take him into my mouth. I hate him and want him in equal and violent measures. Those two things are at war inside me, and right now there is no clear winner.
I grip him harder and stroke, our mouths picking up right where they left off — biting, sucking, breathing each other in, the sounds of the city outside his window completely irrelevant to anything happening in this room.
He reaches up my skirt and when he realizes there's nothing underneath it; I feel a rush of his precum coat my palm. "Mother...fucker. Perfect fucking pussy." I use it to slick my hand and stroke him with his own arousal, and the sharp breath he sucks through his teeth is the most satisfying sound I've ever heard in my life. "Fuccckkkk, that feels good."
He slides two fingers inside me, and my other hand grabs his forearm, nails digging into his skin as he pumps them slowly.
"You like that?" His breath in my ear.
All I can do is nod frantically, mouth open, head hung back, completely unraveling and not even remotely sorry about it.
When he bites down on my shoulder and curls his fingers upward, I fold into him and bury my face in his chest to muffle the sound that tears out of me. "Bennet, yes. Ohgod."
"Claudia mentioned you canceled the board — holyfuck!"
Rosalie's voice from the doorway shatters everything at once.
Bennet quickly pulls back and crosses to the corner to adjust his clothing and tuck his cock back into his pants. I slide off the desk, yank my blouse up and smooth my skirt down. When we both turn around at the same time, Rosalie is standing in the doorway with her hand still on the handle, her expression moving rapidly from shock into something that looks a great deal like pissed.
"What the hell did I just walk in on?"
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
BENNET
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I am out of control. My will has been slipping since Friday night.
Rosalie's expression is doing exactly what I knew it would do the moment I heard her voice from the doorway. Bouncing between me and Blaire, assembling the scene she walked into, trying to reconcile the brother who has spent ten years hating this woman with the man she just caught with his fingers inside her in his office in the middle of a Monday morning.
The math is not adding up for her. I can see it happening in real time, and I have absolutely nothing to offer in my defense.
"I'll uh—" Blaire starts, her voice coming out with a crack of awkwardness that, under any other circumstances, might make me smile. "Yeah. I, uh, I need to make a phone call."
And before I can say a single word, she's moving past Rosalie and out the door, leaving me alone with my sister and the wreckage of the last twenty minutes.
The office is very quiet.
Rosalie looks at me.
I look at her.
"Rose—"
"Don't." She holds up one hand. "Give me a minute."
"You're back early."
"One. Minute. Michael."
I give her a minute.
She stands at the closed door with her arms folded, and I can see her doing what she always does — organizing her thoughts before she opens her mouth. When she finally speaks, her voice is controlled in the specific way that means she's working very hard to keep it that way.
"I won't even go into the fact that she's still legally married. Or that this arrangement was supposed to be fake." She tilts her head. "Let's set those two major red flags aside for the moment." A breath. "Sheruinedyou, Michael. I held you on the floor of our house while you fell apart. I watched you bury yourself and build someone new from the pieces." Her eyes don't leave mine. "So, what the hell are you thinking? Is this some kind of revenge situation, or should I be genuinely concerned? Because I'm an attorney. I know where to bury a body."
