Page 36 of The Damaged Billionaire's Obsession
I stand, getting right in her face, then point to the garbage can where she left the remains of her lunch. “Take your trash out.”
Her eyebrow lifts with disbelief. “You mean you called me in here, not because there’s a problem with my work, but because I dropped something in the trash?”
When I say nothing but continue to stare at her with belligerence, she walks to the trash, fits the bag to its rim, and upends the contents into the bag.
“Is that all?” I might as well be a piece of gum under her shoe from the look she gives me.
I pointedly take out a sanitizing cloth and wipe my desk down until it shines. She watches with interest like someone might observe a circus.
“Thatwill be all,” I assert.
She comes to stand in front of me, and I’m satisfied with how her neck tilts upwards so she can maintain eye contact. When she’s inches away, she stops. And throws the bag on the desk. It lands on my new keyboard.
Don't get angry,I tell my curling fists.I flare my nostrils to take deeper breaths.
“You’re a weirdo, you know that?” The softness of her voice belies the anger behind it.
Something cracks inside me. My fingers itch for something. A stress ball, a fidget spinner, anything. I bend until my mouth is right next to her ear, and her smell hits me.Fuck.
It’s not perfume. It’s her skin, with a faint lingering scent of her shampoo. But it’s more of her own, unique smell.
I look down at the erratically throbbing pulse in her neck, and my cock twitches.
“Call me that again,” I warn, growling softly.
She draws back and looks up at me defiantly through her silky eyelashes. “You are a fucking sick weirdo, Ethan Hawthorne.”
I need to bruise those pouty lips. Badly. Crush my mouth against them until they’re swollen and tingly, then push her down to her knees and make her use them on my cock, which is now hard as stone.
I tremble with the need to throw her on the desk and fuck her until she’s a babbling, sopping mess, her juices running down her thighs and coating the glossy desk.
Jesus Christ! What the fuck? It's official. I’ve gone mad.
I blink the images away, but she’s already seen my control slipping, and I know she can’t resist taking control herself now. I’m not even surprised when she presses her body flush against mine until my erection nestles against her soft lower belly.
She feels so good.Why the hell does she feel so fucking good pressed up against me?
She raises her hands and spears her fingers through my hair, pulling hard on the strands.
“You're beyond weird. You're not only a fewnormalsandwiches short, but you've brought the whole alien buffet to the picnic, Harvard.”
My erection strains against my fly as lust spears through me as all reason evaporates. “Have I now?” I grab her by the waist and lift her onto my desk, wedging myself between her thighs, and pulling her flush against me. I keep her there with my hand on her ass and grind right against her. Her shocked gasp drives me crazy.
The office melts away, the mess forgotten. I push her onto the desk and give her my weight.
Fuck it. I'm making this woman mine. Body and mind. Barbed tongue and all.
I haven’t stopped looking into her eyes, so I see the moment they take on a far away and terrified look, even though sheremains soft and pliant against me. It feels like a door was brutally slammed in my face.
I freeze, incredulous because at the very same moment, she grows even bolder, grabbing at my now rapidly softening cock through my pants.
Abruptly, I step away, turning my back to her.
What the fuck. Something repulsed her. Or perhaps scared her.
I am angry. But surely she could tell I didn't put my hands on her in anger.
What horrifies me is that she carried on pretending just now.