“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.