Author: Roni Loren
She stood, too disgusted to tolerate another second of this conversation. “I’m outta here. The average IQ level of the room has plummeted to prehistoric levels.”
But he hopped off the table, sliding in front of her path. His gaze raked down her new silk blouse and the pencil skirt she’d worn as Grant’s assistant. “I haven’t seen you since your vacation. That’s what you were up to, wasn’t it? Redoing your image? You’re worried you’re going to get passed over again so you’re going for the hot-piece-of-ass angle.”
“Dude,” Steven interrupted. “Shut the fuck up and get out of her way. You’re just being a prick now.”
She shuddered, feeling as if she needed to bathe in disinfectant after his perusal, but straightened to her full height, reminding him she had an inch or two on him. “I suggest you move or you’ll be talking in soprano for your next audition.”
“You’re kind of cute when you get mad, Beaumonde.”
As if acting on its own accord, her fist reared back and landed an uppercut square into Pete’s stomach. He doubled over with an oof. She put her hand on his shoulder and bent next to his ear as he gasped for air. “You’re lucky I’m wearing a skirt because otherwise your nuts would be in your throat right now. You say another disgusting thing about me or any other woman in this office, and I’ll report you for sexual harassment.”
She shoved past him and leveled a look at Steven, who raised his palms in surrender. “I really am sorry.”
She simply shook her head and left the two of them in the break room. By the time she made it to the other end of the building, the nausea still hadn’t abated. Pete was a dick, but what he’d said had rung a bell of truth inside her. Wasn’t what she’d been doing these past two weeks exactly what he’d said? She was trying to mold herself into something that would please the guys who only wanted to ogle some girl’s boobs on television.
She sagged in her desk chair, letting her head fall back. Was this the kind of thing she was signing up for? She wanted the on-air position more than anything, and knew her approach had needed some refining, but pretending to be something she wasn’t suddenly felt way too similar to her failed pageant days. Smile a little brighter, Charli. Flutter your lashes. Speak softly to the judges. Watch how your sister does it.
Without thinking too much about it, she followed her first instinct. She picked up her office phone and dialed Grant’s number.
After two rings, she almost chickened out, but then heard the click.
“Hey there, freckles,” he said, his voice like warm ocean water over her skin, soothing her. “I didn’t think I’d hear from you until you were done for the day. Everything okay?”
“I guess. Am I interrupting you?” she asked, feeling silly calling him in the middle of the day.
“You’re never an interruption.” She heard a squeak, as if he was leaning back in his desk chair. Even though she’d never seen the office he used in town, she could picture him there—tilted back, boot hitched over his knee. “How’s your day going?”
She looked behind her to make sure no one was standing near her cubicle and lowered her voice. “I punched a guy in the stomach already. How’s yours?”
Grant coughed. “You what?”
Somehow Grant managed to pronounce the h in what, his accent getting thicker when caught off guard. The simple little quirk managed to make the knot in her belly loosen a bit. “The guy I’m competing with for the job called me a hot piece of ass and then wouldn’t get out of my way.”
The chair squeaked again. “That motherfucker. I’m on the way over.”
“No,” she said, then realized she’d spoken too loudly. She took a breath. “I’m not calling you for help. I handled it. I just…I don’t know. I’m starting to think morphing myself into something I’m not is the coward’s way of getting this promotion.”
He was quiet for a moment. “I see. And what do you think you’re morphing yourself into, Charli?”
She twirled a lock of hair around her finger over and over again, a childhood habit that seemed to reappear when she was stressed. “I don’t know. The sweet, pretty girl who acts submissive and yielding around guys. I’m becoming that girl my mother always wanted me to be.”
Grant sniffed. “Darlin’, you haven’t changed into anything. You are sweet and you are pretty. Those things were there from the start even if you or your mother didn’t realize it. As for the submissive part, the fact that you punched that guy today shows that you’re still all tomboy. None of the training we’ve done has taken any of that from you.”
She stared at her screen saver, contemplating his words. “So all this time, you’ve known training wasn’t working?”
“I didn’t want to train any of that out of you, freckles. We’re only working on polishing what’s already there for your audition. Your feistiness is what makes you so fucking sexy. Makes the fact that you submit to me and no one else so damn hot.”
“Oh,” she said, her blood beginning to pump a little harder, and not from anger this time.
“Honestly, I’ve got to tell you, the fact that you punched that asshole has got me hard as rock right now.”
She bit her lip, holding back a smile. “Is that right?”
“Damn straight.”
She leaned forward in her chair, shielding her face with her hair in case anyone walked by. “Maybe you should take care of that.”
“Ah, naughty thing, you like the idea of me stroking myself to thoughts of you,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “Maybe I’ll do just that. If you were close enough, I’d order you to come over here and climb onto my lap.”
She crossed her legs beneath her desk, trying to fend off the dampness gathering there. “Too bad I already had lunch.”
“Mmm.” She could picture him spreading those muscular thighs of his and unzipping his pants, sliding his hand along his shaft. “That is a damn shame, freckles. My fist is a poor substitute for that sexy body of yours.”
A thick file folder landed on her desk with a loud smack. She jumped, so engrossed in the conversation, she hadn’t even heard anyone approach. “Hold on a sec.”
She spun her chair to find Pete glaring at her. “Trey wants you to work on the Valley High School story. The information is in there.”
“Fine,” she spit out, hoping her cheeks weren’t as flaming red as they felt.
He tilted his head, his gaze darting toward the phone and then down to her shirt. She glanced down. Of course, her nipples were standing at attention against the soft fabric of her shirt. He dragged his lips together, as if smoothing invisible Chap Stick. “He wants the story by the end of the week.”
“Got it.”
She feared he was going to linger, confront her about slugging him. But he turned around and was gone. She released the breath she’d been holding. Annoying ass. She put the phone back to her ear. “Sorry. Work stuff. Where were we?”
“Imagine those bastards expecting you to actually work,” Grant mused. “And I’m about halfway to coming, where are you, sweet Charlotte?”
“Wishing I was there,” she said wistfully. “Touching you.”
“Are you wet for me?”
“Perhaps.”
A soft groan slipped from him. “How much privacy does your office allow? Any security cameras?”
She peeked over her shoulder. “I’m in a back corner cubicle and my neighbor is at lunch. No cameras. The office is loud, but I have no door.”
“Look in your purse, Charlotte. Inside pocket. I put a present in there for you,” he said, mischief in his words.
“Uh-oh,” she said, wary but intrigued. She reached into her bottom file drawer and pulled her purse out. Inside was what looked to be a tube of lipstick, but when she twisted the base, it started to quietly vibrate.
“Found it?”
“Yes,” she said, her heart starting to hammer.
“I thought I’d be the one to call you one day this week and tempt you into some phone play, but lucky me, you called first.”
“Grant, I can’t—”
“Shh, you will because you want to,” he said, his words like a stroke to her skin. “I’m taking a risk, too. My secretary is right outside, and my door isn’t locked.”
She rolled the lipstick tube between her fingers, so tempted, the sound of Grant’s breath in her ears making her sex throb. Fuck it. With one last check over her shoulder, she quickly put her hand beneath her skirt and tucked the vibrator into her panties to hold it in place.
She gasped softly at the sensation, the vibration nestling right against her clit. “You’re a bad, bad man.”
“You love it,” he said. “Now I can picture you there while I stroke my cock. All prim and proper in your little business outfit, your hips rocking ever so slightly to rub your pussy against the vibe, your scent filling that little cubicle. Ah…”
“Jesus.” The dirty talk alone was going to put her over. She pressed her fingers into the edge of her desk, her knuckles going white, as she tried to keep still in her chair. “I’m not going to last long.”
“Mmm, then let go with me. My cock is hard in my hand for you, the tip already slippery.”
She wet her lips, wishing she was there to lick that salty taste off him. Her pussy clenched and she squeezed her thighs together, aligning the vibe to the sweet spot on the side of her clit. Sensation pinged through her, orgasm rushing toward her sharp and fast. “Grant.”
“Ah, fuck yes…” he groaned on the other end, lost in his own release.
She closed her eyes, breathing fast, imagining his come spilling over his fist, and rode the wave of her orgasm. It took everything in her to not make a sound, to not call out his name.
Another flood of moisture coated the vibrator and soaked her panties as the last shudder went through her and she drifted down from the orgasm.
With lightning-fast movement, she pulled the vibrator from her panties, turned it off, and dropped it in her open purse. She clutched the phone to her ear, feeling a bit light-headed. “Whoa.”
There was a click on the phone, and she thought she’d lost him, but then she heard him let out a satisfied sigh. “Ditto. Thanks for that, freckles.”
“Believe me, the pleasure was mine.”
She could feel his grin through the line. “Now get back to work, slacker. I’ll pick you up at six, and I guarantee that won’t be your last orgasm of the day.”
With that, he hung up.
And as she walked to the restroom to get cleaned up, she came to terms with one foundation-rattling fact. She was addicted. Downright, no denying it, addicted. No matter how often she saw Grant, she couldn’t get enough of him.
And that scared the ever-loving shit out of her.
Because this thing had an expiration date. And it was thundering toward them both.
TWENTY-THREE
Charli stepped out of the steam-filled bathroom, feeling refreshed after her long walk on the grounds this afternoon. In the heat of the shower, her muscles had loosened, but the remnants of last night’s session with Grant remained. Phone sex had definitely only been the appetizer in his plans yesterday.
She unwrapped her towel and turned her back to the full-length mirror in the bedroom, peering over her shoulder. He’d used a whip on her for the first time. The angry welts had mostly faded, but a few bruises now colored her skin. For some odd reason, seeing those marks made her feel lighter, buoyant. She glanced down at her wrists and rubbed the faint pink rope burns, the brush of pain tightening something low in her belly.
“God, I must be freaking losing it.”
