Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 22583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
I leave the ladies’ room with my head high, striding past an admin who barely glances up. Back at my desk, I dial up the next conference call, ignoring the vibration in my bones.
The only thing more dangerous than working for Declan McDaid, I realize, is wanting him. And I want him so bad, I’m already counting the hours until I see him again.
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.