The last word landed as a breathy whisper—right as her hand hovered for a fraction of a second, a tiny flicker of hesitation—courage or sanity—before she pressed her palm against me, stroking upward with agonizing slowness.
She glanced at the door—making sure.
My body reacted before my brain caught up.
"Now show me my office, Mr. Holt." She punctuated the order with a squeeze that made my vision blur at the edges.
Then she pulled away.
I willed my pulse to settle as she smoothed her dress—the one I'd chosen for her this morning. It hung off her frame like something I wanted to tear free and worry about later.
"You're going to pay for that," I muttered.
She glanced over her shoulder. "Is that a threat or a promise?"
"Both," I answered, adjusting myself.
I took a moment. Straightened my jacket. Rebuilt the mask. The hallway stretched ahead, fluorescent and indifferent. Back to performance.
I opened the door, ushering her forward before following.
"It's further down the hall. Right next to Ms. Chen's," I instructed, sliding the composure of CEO back into place.
I watched her walk ahead, mind circling—her tease, the ache in my slacks, the way her hips moved like she knew exactly what she was doing to me.
She probably did.
And that made it so much worse.
"Here it is," I announced, pulling the door wide.
Her face lit up immediately. A gasp. "Dam—" She cleared her throat. "Mr. Holt, this is wonderful."
She moved through the room like a fairy—if fairies moved like sin wrapped in silk.
Taking in the large lacquered desk in the center of the room. The one I wanted to tie her down to and take apart piece by piece.
The faint scent of leather and fresh flowers from the arrangement on the credenza.
The moody wallpaper I'd like to press her against, the way I had moments earlier.
The armchairs I'd like her to kneel on, ass and pussy bare, waiting for—
Jesus Christ.
I shook my head, trying to clear the images before they took root.
Then—
"You didn't!"
She ran toward the far wall, to the monstrosity she'd loved at the antique shop.
"Something we had lying around on one of the lower floors," Isaid, keeping my tone light. "I figured this room needed a bit more storage, so I had it brought up."
If storage was even what this thing was meant for.
She crouched beside it, fingers tracing the wood—then stopped at the leg. The one Garrett had splintered in his childlike rage.
