Page 6

CHAPTER 3

DECLAN

Wednesday hits me in the face like a flashbang. I’m five minutes deep in a conference call with a tech billionaire who treats human resources like a vending machine when Natalie walks in carrying three boxes. I notice every goddamn thing about her. If she notices the way I’m tracking her, she doesn’t let on.

She sets the boxes down on the table with a muted thud, then leans into my ear and whispers, “Client files for the security proposal. Also, your one o’clock moved up thirty minutes.”

Her warm breath brushes against my skin, causing my jaw to clench. My cock’s been semi-hard for days, ever since the first meeting, but now it goes from at-ease to full salute. I shift in my chair to hide it, trying to focus on the call, but my brain’s got other ideas.

As the arrogant asshole drones on about “synergy” and “horizontal integration,” I’m barely listening. Natalie bends over a side table, arranging paperwork, and I get a full view of her round, tight ass outlined perfectly by her skirt. My hands clench the edge of the table. She glances over her shoulder and catches me staring. No smirk, no raised brow, just a split-second of direct eye contact.

I grind my teeth and stab at the mute button. “Are we done with the setup?” I snap, more harshly than necessary.

She straightens and gives me this blank, polite look. “Two minutes.” Then she’s right back to work, hips swaying in a way that feels deliberate. Fuck. I’m going to have a goddamn aneurysm.

She finishes, slides into the seat next to mine, and flips her hair back so it brushes the side of my neck. It’s accidental, but my whole body reacts like I just got hit with a motherfucking cattle prod.

When my client finally hangs up, I kill the call. “We need to get through these files before lunch,” I manage to say, and she nods, laser-focused.

But all I can think about is the way her delicate perfume lingers. There’s a hunger flowing through my veins that refuses to fade. I shift again, try to will it away, but she uncaps a pen and starts scribbling notes with one hand wrapped tight around the barrel. I picture those fingers on my cock, nails scraping lightly up the shaft, and I bite down on my cheek until I taste blood.

“Mr. McDaid?” she says, catching me zoning out. Her face is innocent, but her eyes say she knows exactly what she’s doing.

“What?” I bark, then instantly regret it. “Sorry. Long week.”

She nods. “Do you want to lead on the scope of work or should I?”

“You do it.” I need to get myself under control, and the only thoughts going through my mind are fantasies of her curvy little ass naked on the conference room table.

She does, and it’s fast, efficient, and brutal. She tears through the spec sheets and vendor profiles, cross-referencing numbers with impressive speed. I barely track it. I’m staring at the line of her jaw, the way she bites her bottom lip when she concentrates. My hand drums out a rhythm on the desk, and it takes me three full minutes to realize it’s in sync with the motion of her legs crossing and uncrossing under the table.

At one point, she leans over to point out a highlighted paragraph, and her arm brushes my own, just a glancing touch, but it feels like a shot of electricity straight to my bloodstream. My cock jumps in my pants, so hard it’s physically painful. I suppress a groan and shuffle the files in front of me as a shield.

She doesn’t say anything, just glances at my hands, then back to the paper. I know she knows. I want her to say something, call me out, break the tension so I can at least yell, but she just keeps reading.

I look away, try to focus on the words, but my brain is shot. Instead, my fantasies kick into high gear. In my mind, Natalie kneels under this table and yanks my belt open with those quick, precise hands. The next thing I know, her warm, wet, and merciless mouth closes around my cock. She doesn’t look up, not even when I grab a fistful of her hair and hold her in place. I force her to take it, and she does. She smiles around my cock, and I can feel myself pulse, right there in the fantasy.

I realize I’m gripping the edge of the table hard enough to turn my knuckles stark white. I force myself back to the present, where she’s neatly stacking the finished reports.

“We can push the vendor call to tomorrow if you need time to review the notes,” she says. Her tone is neutral, but the set of her mouth is not.

“No, let’s do it now,” I say, just to prove I’m not totally fucked in the head. Which is a lie. I am one hundred percent fucked in the head.

She gives me the number and I punch it in. The call goes smoothly since she fields most of the questions, making the vendor rep squirm with the same polite aggression I once saw a sergeant use on a raw recruit. I don’t remember a word of it. I’m just staring at the way her throat moves when she talks and the faint shimmer of sweat on her collarbone.

As the call concludes, she rises gracefully and extends her arm toward the top shelf of the credenza, her movements fluid and precise. Her blouse shifts slightly, offering a brief glimpse of her pale, delicate skin and the elegant contour of her waist. The sight is so captivating that I find myself almost involuntarily reaching out, tempted to trace the gentle curve with my fingertips. To restrain myself, I press my hands firmly against my thighs, anchoring them in place.

To cool my jets, I grab my water bottle and drain it in two gulps. Still hot and thirsty for her.

She sits back down and starts organizing the next set of files. There’s a sticky note on one that says, “Needs boss approval.” She peels it off and sticks it to my shirt pocket.

“You’re the boss,” she says low.

I look down at the note, then up at her. Our faces are close. I can see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. I want to slam my mouth against hers, bite her lip until she bleeds, but I don’t. Instead, I take the note and crumple it in my fist.

“Anything else?” I ask, and my voice sounds like gravel in a cement mixer.

She smiles, small and sharp. “That covers the first review.”