“Look at the numbers.” I attempt to move over, allowing him the room to look at my computer with the document he provided versus the one I printed out this morning. Mr. Invading-my-personal-space isn’t moving though. One of his hands goes to my hip, the other is on the table as he leans in close to my body. I glance at his face, the pinched expression, and the tightening of his hand on my bare skin he somehow managed to find tells me he wasn’t prepared for this either.
“Goddamn it, you’ve done the reports every month now, right?” he asks me, finally giving me a reprieve from him surrounding my every sense.
“Yes, and I have them saved on my laptop. Didn’t you get all of these before the acquisition?” I ask, genuinely concerned. Mr. Hodges may have been flighty and his business skills subpar, but he was an honest man.
“Yeah, but the numbers not lining up is a concern. If this is what’s being reported to my accounting department, heads are going to roll.” He points to my laptop.
“I can pull the reports for the last twelve months and have them ready for you. Then you can ask for the accounting department at the office to do the same. Maybe they messed up?” I question, but I’m thinking there’s something else happening here.
“Can you do that and have it ready by tomorrow morning?” This guy and his demands.
“Sure, Mr. Maxwell.” I pack everything up, knowing I’ll be running on no sleep tonight, and if I’m going to be burning the midnight oil, it’s going to be at my own place, where I can mainline coffee into my body.
“Thanks, and I think we can do away with the formalities, Dylan.” The way he says my name, thick with a rasp to it, has me almost melting into a puddle. The jerk that was him earlier today seems to all but have disappeared.
“Okay, Wesley,” I try out his name. His eyes are locked on mine, and I don’t know who moves first, him or me. We were both standing there, in the middle of his overpriced penthouse apartment, and the next thing I know, his hands are in my hair, my own fingers are massaging his firm chest, our lips fused together, tongues entwined, and I want to strip our bodies bare. All the thoughts about this being the dumbest idea ever are gone out the window. That palpable need between us is so thick, the only thing on my mind is the taste of him, the smokey flavor from his drink, mixed with a hint of mint. It’s a heady feeling.
“Damn,” Wesley groans, and just like that, the spell is broken and I’m the biggest fucking idiot. I just kissed my boss. What the hell did I just do?
“I’m sorry, I’ve… umm. I have to go.” I throw everything haphazardly in my bag, not caring that things are not put in their place like I normally would. The only thing I care about is getting the hell out of here, and fast.
“Dylan, calm down,” I hear Wesley say, but I’m already moving away from him, pressing the elevator button, thanking that his luxuries make it so I don’t have to wait, but also as I turn around once I stepped inside, that he’s not coming after me. I need time to think because if I just fucked up my career over a kiss, I’ll never forgive myself. Even if it did make me see stars and my body weep with so much need that I know I’ll be using more than my fingers later on tonight.
Six
Wesley
Dylan’s soft pillowy lips, sweet sighs, and the way she dug those nails of hers into my chest, leaving marks on my chest… Yeah, my hand fisted my cock a couple of times last night, reimagining that kiss and how she’d feel naked against my skin. It’s also why I’m at the office at seven o’clock in the morning, sitting in the space Dylan has set up for me, after we went over the reports and I have my accountants do a much more thorough check of everything. I guess it’s a good thing my office is the way it is right now. There’s nowhere for Dylan to escape or, really, retreat. Sure, I could have gone after her last night, but something held me back from doing just that. It was the deer-in-the-headlights look, the oh-fuck-what-did-I-do. It sucked to let her go after that one-time, all-consuming kiss. That’s why I’m here so goddamn early in the morning.
I’m looking at my emails, seeing everything that needs to be done this week before the real shit show begins next week, when the woman of the hour, hell, the past twenty-four hours walks in.
“Oh.” My eyes are glued to her, taking in the look on her face, one of shock. Those lips of hers are formed in an O-shape, giving me a ton of ideas about what I could do to them. Her long hair is in a low ponytail, tied on the side, lying flat with a soft wave to it. Dylan’s makeup is subtle and subdued. The only color is on her high cheekbones. I’m willing to bet it’s me who’s causing her to blush. She’s in another form-fitting outfit, and I’m mourning the loss of her not being in a dress or skirt. Instead, she’s in a pantsuit. The fabric shows off her lower half, her blouse is loose and not even giving me a glimpse of her pretty breasts that I felt molded against my body last night.