Baby for the Bosshole Page 5

  Except… Why would it be about Emmett’s penis?

  God, I need to see a therapist.

  My gaze drops again. Emmett is still erect. Really erect, showing off a daunting length and girth. But that isn’t all. His penis is so well shaped that it could serve as a dildo mold. If Emmett sent unsolicited dick pics, women wouldn’t complain. Hell, if Michelangelo had had Emmett as his model, David would be the proud owner of a much better-looking penis.

  “Oh my God, could you put that thing away?” My words come out squeaky.

  He pins me with a level look. “Why? It’s my office.”

  “Yeah, but they’re my eyes!”

  “Which currently seem to be glued to a certain magnificent part of my anatomy.”

  I wrench my eyes off the member in question and direct my gaze to the ceiling. “Well, I’m not looking at it now.” My face is so hot I feel like my makeup is melting.

  “Too late. I still feel violated.”

  Violated? I lower my gaze again.

  His hand is still wrapped around his dick, although it’s not moving anymore. He’s looking at me balefully. No, not balefully. I squint at him. It’s hard to think clearly when my emotions are churning, the gears in my head are stuck in the sludge of six—or was it seven?—coffees and way too much sugar. After a moment, I decide he’s gazing at me shamelessly. With a hint of God-I’m-hot arrogance.

  “Usually that’s reserved for the woman who’s getting flashed.” My brain is trying to sort out something he said that doesn’t quite add up. It’s material enough that I should worry.

  “You aren’t being flashed,” he corrects me in a tone he often uses to provide feedback on my work. “You’re helping yourself to the view.”

  “I am not!”

  “Yes, you are. You barged into my office, completely uninvited. I don’t recall you knocking, either. If you had, I would’ve told you to come back later.” His you-know-I’m-right look grows more pointed.

  I have absolutely no response to that because he is—irritatingly enough—correct. I did burst into the office, even if it was for reasons involving righteous anger. But now…

  Well, this is awkward. And… I sat on that couch when I came in to speak with him! As a matter of fact, that’s where I sat when I had my job interview…

  I should be disgusted. Outraged. But the emotions churning inside aren’t quite that easy to identify. It’s all Emmett’s fault that I’m too exhausted to sort myself out.

  “Can you, uh, cover yourself?” I say, tilting my head heavenward. Lucid dream or not, this is embarrassing.

  “What do you think I’m doing with my hand?”

  I look down. His hand is wrapped firmly around his still-erect penis, his thumb resting on the tip. This has to be a nightmare. It was probably caused by the dick-shaped Excel blot I saw when my vision got blurry.

  “Don’t worry,” he says magnanimously. “I won’t take anything up with HR.”

  I can’t even… I try to think of a response, but my brain just…fails. I focus on the fact that I’m in the office this late on Friday for a reason. It has nothing to do with Emmett’s act of self-love.

  No. It has everything to do with the fact that he’s being an unreasonable son of a bitch, and I’m tired of it. What’s worse is that while I’ve been working my ass off, he’s been having dirty fun in the privacy of his office.

  “HR? For what?” I snap. I’m the one who should complain!

  “For this.” He gestures between us. “You treating me like a sex object.”

  “You’re treating your dick like a sex object!” He still has his hand wrapped around it, like a child guarding his favorite toy on a playground.

  He puts the back of his free hand to his forehead. “I feel…cheap.” His mouth turns down in dramatic dejection.

  Cheap? A sex object? That’s it! That’s the last damn straw!

  “I’ll show you what being a cheap sex object feels like!” I snarl. Furious, I march over with my power heels punching the floor. I bend and fist the collar of his shirt, jerking him upward.

  He braces his free hand on the couch, his eyes registering a flicker of shock. It further fans my rage. Does he think he can stomp all over me and I’ll just take it meekly forever?

  I crash my mouth against his in a rough, punishing kiss. No gentleness, just hot, searing rage and frustration.

  But instead of pulling away like a properly stunned and chastised sex object, he kisses me back, his lips apart and his tongue licking, stealing a taste.

  Something hot and needy explodes inside of me. My heart thuds as I take and take, trying to show him how cheaply I can treat him.

  Our mouths fused, he cradles the back of my skull, then slides his hand down to the back of my neck. The touch is possessive. It fuels all the rage burning inside me and something else—something far more dangerous and volatile.

  A low, thick moan tears from his throat, the sound muffled between our mouths. His naked need soothes some of the jagged edges I’m feeling, and shivers run through me. The tenor of the kiss shifts from anger to something else just as hot and raw.

  Desire, my mind whispers. Uncontrollable, scorching desire.

  It rolls through my veins, sends electric jolts along my nerves. My head spins as I strain for a control that keeps slipping out of reach.

  The kiss is lush now. Emmett devours me like he’s been starved for me since forever. And I devour him back, inhaling his sexy, masculine scent, feeling his hot, uneven breath on my skin. Lust grows until it seems to overwhelm what good sense I have left. I feel something snap inside. I want to kiss him until the world ends. Ease the ache between my legs.

  He pulls me closer. Or maybe it’s me who pressing against him. My breasts crush against his hard chest, my nipples puckering within the confines of my bra. The flesh between my thighs is slick. His warm, large hand slips under my skirt and pushes it up. I shiver and rock against him as the emptiness grows unbearable.

  He feels so good against me. But I know there could be more. The fire burning inside me could grow hotter and bigger. And Emmett is the fuel I need.

  I tug at his shirt, but there are too many buttons. Out of patience, I yank it apart, and those buttons fly. I breathe hard, my eyes on his naked torso. His chest is well developed, the abs tight and ridged. Holy cow. His physique is just as gorgeous as his face. And having it bared before my eyes makes me feel powerful. Utterly sexual.

  I run my hands down his taut skin. His muscles tighten and flex at my touch. I bite my lip, focused on the task of exploring his body.

  He tugs at my top, slithers his hand underneath the thin fabric and pushes my bra out of the way. My breast feels heavy as he cups it, brushing his thumb over the painfully tight nipple.

  Sharp bliss streaks through me, ending between my legs. I moan and arch against his hand. A monstrous lust is riding me now, taking control. A vague voice in my head says this is a terrible idea, but I’m feeling too good to care.

  He reclaims my mouth. Our kiss is brutal. He’s holding me so tight, and the pleasure from his mouth is so searing, that I feel like my soul is burning. I sense something tear and realize it’s my power thong, and then his clever fingers are touching my clit and the dripping flesh below. The starkly delightful sensation overwhelms me, setting every nerve on fire. And the torn thong doesn’t seem important.

  His fingers tugging and tweaking my nipple, his mouth fused over mine, he shifts until he’s positioned underneath me. And then suddenly, smoothly, he’s inside.

  I clutch his shoulders, lost in the pleasure of animal friction. I’m riding him, but he’s gripping my pelvis with his strong hands to move me up and down. He seems out of his mind with what’s happening between us, his breathing rough, his movements hard and desperate.

  Then he shifts a little, and his cock hits a spot I didn’t know was inside me. Lightning starts flashing in my head and an orgasm crashes through me, the intensity enough to make me black out for a second. Blood roars in my head, and I feel like I’m going to rip in half from the pleasure exploding inside me. Air catches in my throat; I can’t even scream.

  Emmett tightens, then jerks as he pulls his dick out fast. Something hot squirts over my thigh as a tortured groan tears from his throat.

  Collapsed over him, I struggle to catch my breath as my vision refocuses. Holy shit. That was technically a quickie, but it sure didn’t feel like one. I’ve never come so hard, so fast. My brain’s still sparking with lingering bliss. My muscles spasm in aftershock as my body recovers from the most intense orgasm of my life.

  I had no clue this was possible. I shiver again as my body demands another round. I’ve never understood why people became addicted to sex, but now…

  Emmett angles my head, then kisses me again. Tenderly at first, then growing more commanding. I let out a little whimper as heat pulses through me again, making me greedy for another orgasm.

  A buzzing sound cuts through the layer of renewed need. I feel torn as sanity tries to wriggle way its way back into my mind.

  Emmett pulls his mouth from mine a fraction, mumbles, “Ignore that,” and then resumes the kiss. He presses his still-hard cock between my legs and moves, the damp friction sending another wave of dazzling bliss through me. My head spins, and I can’t think of a single reason we should stop.

  The buzzing goes off again and sanity finally slices through animal desire, seizing firm control of my mind. It slaps me with cold, lust-killing reality.

  You just had sex with your boss. In his office.

  Holy shit!

  Nice going. Bet that really showed him what cheap feels like.

  I jerk upright as dread starts sinking in.

  Now he really can take it up with HR. For real.

  I immediately jump off him, shoving my skirt down, then reposition my bra properly. My face goes hot-cold-hot as embarrassment and horror battle for supremacy.

  I feel Emmett’s gaze boring into me. Horror wins. Panic surges through me, leaving me so cold I shiver.

  “Amy?”

  The buzzing. It’s his phone on the table. I keep my eyes on it so I don’t have to look at him. I simply can’t right now. “You should answer that. Must be important.”

  I run out before he can respond.

  Chapter Six

  Amy

  I trot to my desk and grab my laptop and purse before Emmett can come out of his office. Dad told me that when you need to, you can overcome any obstacle in your way. He’s right, because my wobbly heels are no match for my need to get the hell out of here immediately.

  I dash to the elevator bank and hit the button out of reflex. But when I check the car displays, I realize there’s nothing immediately available to take me to lobby. No way am I waiting here like a sitting duck.

  I head right, open the emergency exit door and take the stairs. I can reach the floor below and catch an elevator from there. Improvise. Adapt. Overcome!

  I reach the emergency door for the thirty-fourth floor and scan my employee badge over the security pad. The small light stays red.

  Weird. I try again. It still doesn’t turn green.

  What the hell? Why isn’t my badge working?

  I push on the bar on the door. It doesn’t budge. What’s going on here?

  Maybe the thirty-fourth-floor security pad is broken. I go to the thirty-third floor.

  Still can’t gain access.

  Finally, it dawns on me that maybe it’s because I don’t work on those floors. The building has a law firm on the thirty-fourth floor and a tax advisory firm on the thirty-third. I study my employee badge. It has my photo on it—me smiling with a hint of nervous excitement—and my name, Amy Sand, in all caps. Underneath my name, it states GrantEm Capital.

  Shit. If I want to get on an elevator, I’ll have to go back up. To the office.

  Where Emmett is.

  Time to decide which is worse—taking the stairs all the way down to the lobby or possibly facing Emmett. Just thinking about my boss is making my lips tingle. Both sets.

  Wait a minute… My thong! I left it in his office!

  I slap my forehead. How could I have been so stupid! Oh my God! I want it back, but I can’t possibly go up into his office again!

  I breathe in and out deeply. Think, Amy, think! You were overeducated for a reason!

  Okay, the thong is a loss. Even if I get it back, I can’t wear it again. So what if it was my power thong, and I wore it every time I had something important planned for the day? I can buy a new one. And if Emmett ever mentions the old one or brings it up, I’ll deny it’s mine. It’s not like it has my name on it.

  Problem solved.

  Taking a calmer breath, I move to the next issue: this endless rectangular spiral of stairs. Dad tells me I should exercise, but I never get the chance working in finance. I mean, I barely have any time to sleep. Maybe it’s time I make my father happy. It’s only thirty-three stories, not an eternity on a StairMaster. How bad can it be?

  An hour or so later, I’m finally in the lobby. My legs are shaking, muscles I didn’t know I had quivering like cello strings. Sweat is pouring out of glands I didn’t know existed. My lungs expand and contract unevenly, and my brain declares I’m an idiot.

  I agree. By the time I reached the twentieth floor, I realized I’d made a huge mistake. But it was too late. I didn’t have the energy to climb back up fifteen floors of stairs. Besides, it had to be easier going down than up.

  It just didn’t feel that way.

  But now I’m finally, thankfully, rejoicingly in the lobby! I put my hands on my knees and suck air. If we ever have an earthquake and need to evacuate, I’m taking the elevator. I don’t give a shit what the emergency manual says.

  Once my breathing evens out a bit, I go to the garage across the street—the GrantEm building is great except for the lack of parking within the structure. As I start my car, I realize I’ve been a complete moron.

  Running solved nothing. I’m still going to have to see Emmett. If not over the weekend—it’s very possible he’ll text me about the adjusted Excel model I didn’t turn in—then definitely on Monday.

  Covering my face, I let out a scream. What the hell am I going to do? Driving off a cliff sounds really good.

  Except it wouldn’t be practical. Besides, I love my dad too much to do that to him. And why should I die? I might’ve started the kiss, but Emmett put his dick in me.

  Okay, Amy. Stop thinking. You’re sleep-deprived, your blood sugar’s too low and you can’t be rational right now.

  First things first. Go home. Sleep. Then come up with a strategy.

  I drive home. It takes less than half an hour to reach the two-bedroom apartment I share with Sasha. That’s almost magically fast in L.A. But then, the streets aren’t crowded at one thirty-six a.m. on a Saturday. People are already clubbing and partying or staying home and doing productive things, like sleeping.

  I slip off my shoes as I walk into my room and let out a sigh. If my feet could talk, they’d be groaning right now. Being stuck inside a pair of high-heeled sandals—even if they’re my power shoes—for hours on end is a bitch. So is doing an unplanned cardio session in them. The bra’s next to go. So much better. I don’t know how ladies in the past functioned wearing corsets they couldn’t get out of alone. Thank God I wasn’t born back then.

  After tossing my purse and laptop bag on the armchair near my bed, I check my phone for missed messages, just in case I didn’t hear the notification pings or ringtone over the sound of my loud, desperate wheezing the entire time I was struggling on those damn stairs.

  A million texts from Rick. I don’t want to deal with him right now, so I ignore them.

  How about Emmett, though? I wonder if my boss texted or called—and dread the possibility. He has reason to, and not just because of the sex. He could be thinking about the Excel model. After all, the man’s a workaholic slave driver.

  But—nothing from him. Something cold slithers its fingers along my shoulders and neck. What does this silence mean? Is he busy filling out an HR complaint form? Did he decide to take the call and then treat himself to another orgasm? He was hard when I ran out on him.

  I press the heels of my hands against my temples and choke back a scream. Sasha’s undoubtedly sleeping in her room, and I don’t want to wake her up. For my own sanity, I’m just going to pretend that everything after eleven fifty-nine p.m. never happened. No matter how surreally weird and inappropriate it was, it’s true that I did barge in, so it isn’t one hundred percent Emmett’s fault I got to see his penis…and everything else that happened.

  On top of that, he spoke to me like he always does when he has his dick tucked appropriately away in his pants: annoying and sexy at the same time. So I’m going to assume he didn’t particularly care about the whole…impropriety of the incident. In the nearly two years I’ve known Emmett, I’ve never seen him do anything inappropriate. Not a single whisper of a scandal or interoffice dating talk. The only thing I know is he is a workaholic, and since he spends almost every waking minute in his office, he probably does a lot of personal tasks there. It even has an en suite shower.

  Yeah, but you had to kiss him!

  I had to show him…then things got out of control. Oh my God. I can’t think about that right now. The only thing I’m clearheaded enough to do is stick my phone into the charger and make a mental note never to sit on that couch in his office ever again.

  I go to the bathroom and reach for a makeup wipe. The mirror shows an exhausted woman. I didn’t bother to freshen up my makeup after Emmett asked me to redo the model, and my foundation and concealer no longer hide the dark circles.

  Ah well. At least Dad won’t know. As far as he’s concerned, I’m super happy, super healthy and super awesome—enjoying life to the fullest.

  Dad thinks not having a mother around left a mark on me, some kind of hole he can’t fill. I know the idea gives him anxiety, which is why I date even though my life would be easier without a boyfriend. I want to show Dad that not having a maternal figure hasn’t done me any harm.