Misadventures with the Boss (Misadventures #12)(20)

She was soft and pliable in my hands, leaning into me as I slid deep and then deeper until I was buried to the hilt. Gripping her skirt with one hand, I pulled her still deeper, and she let out a little satisfied moan.

“Say my name, Piper,” I murmured.

“Jackson,” she moaned, arching back against me.

My shaft hardened to the point of pain, and she used her inner muscles to squeeze me even tighter, encouraging me to ride her faster. But I couldn’t. The second I lost my self-control, I would be bucking into her so hard and fast that everything would skitter from my desk and she’d be gripping the mahogany edges for dear life. We’d be done before we even started.

No, I had to take my time, working her body nice and slow before I took everything she had to offer.

So, with a firm grip on her skirt, I took my other hand and smacked the tender curve of her ass, loving the little yelp she let out as much as the moan of pleasure when I soothed her, kneading the skin gently with my palm.

“Do you like it, Piper?” I asked.

Smack.

“Mmm-hmm,” she murmured, arching her back into my hand as I massaged the space again.

With every playful blow, her channel tightened still more around me, but I held back, no matter how hard it was to continue my slow, steady rhythm.

Smack.

I rubbed her reddening skin, and she whimpered her approval.

“Please, Jackson, I want everything,” she said. “I’m so close. Just please, fuck me.”

Her words pushed me over the edge, and my balls went tight as hot liquid snaked up my shaft. Gripping her hips tight, I pulled back and plunged forward.

Instantly, her walls quaked around me, and she clutched the edge of the desk as her body writhed with pleasure. And then, when her voice broke into a chorus of whimpers, it was all over.

Gripping her skirt with both hands, I thrust into her harder and faster, ignoring the sharp squeaks of the desk as I took her in the deep, dirty way I’d been imagining all week.

“Yes, Jackson,” she cried, and I gripped her hair in one hand, pulling gently as she gasped and slapped the surface of the desk. Looking at our reflection, I could see the pure ecstasy in her eyes as I pushed deeper with every thrust until my cup of pens skittered to the floor and she knocked my papers down along with them.

“Lose control for me again, baby,” I ground out, and she did, squeezing me so tight that stars shot in front of my eyes while my balls drew up and the coil of tension low in my stomach expanded and, at last, collapsed, shooting waves of pleasure through my body with so much force that I let out a low groan as I pushed into her again and again.

Then it was over and I was shooting into her hard and fast, cursing the damn condom that separated me from her. It was so good, so hot, so intense that I knew this wouldn’t—couldn’t—be the last time.





Chapter Nine





Piper





I’d never look at mahogany the same way again.

Even now, walking home from the office, my cheeks burned with the memory of how Jackson had bent me over the desk and laid into me.

Swallowing hard, I straightened my skirt, irrationally sure that everyone who passed me on the street would be able to smell the sex on me. That they would somehow know exactly what—and who—I’d done. And if they could?

Then they would know, like I knew, that I was the biggest idiot who’d ever lived.

I fumbled for my keys as I reached my apartment complex and then made my way inside and ignored the unsteady click of my shoes on the linoleum floors as I headed toward the elevators.

What had I been thinking? Of course my natural inclination might have been to blame my alcohol-addled mind, but that was no use. The second I’d heard Jackson’s voice on the phone, I’d been stone-cold sober. And when I’d heard what he had to say…

I reached my door and made quick work of the lock before making a beeline for my bed. I needed to lie down, to sleep away what I’d done and forget it ever happened. Who knew? Maybe when I woke up tomorrow, all of this was just some bad dream.

Except, of course, it wasn’t bad.

It would have been better—ideal, even—if it had been bad.

Instead, it was perfect. Jackson had worked my body like a fine-tuned machine, and again I was left with another memory to haunt me as I tried to work side by side with him. How would I be able to look at his hands without remembering the way he’d held my hips, hard and commanding? Without the searing memory of his hips slapping against my ass, mingling the pain with my pleasure and heightening both in the process.

I couldn’t. Just like I couldn’t look at his lips without remembering the way they burned against my mouth, the way his tongue stroked mine and coaxed out every begging moan in my body.

Another ache rose between my thighs, and I squeezed them together, fighting the urge to call him and ask for round two—or was it three now?

No matter the number, it couldn’t happen again, no matter what kind of promises he made. When things like that happened in an office, it was only an amount of time before others in the office found out. I wasn’t willing to be the gossip around the water cooler, not for him and not for anyone.

My dignity was simply too important to me.

Breathing deep, I closed my eyes, grabbed a pillow, and shoved it over my face. I couldn’t undo what had been done. I couldn’t go back and force myself not to be swept away by his filthy, tantalizing promises. But I could promise myself that it wouldn’t happen again.