Beautiful Bastard(7)

Oh shit . . . if she was wearing those shoes, there was a good chance . . . No, not that dress. Please, for the love of God, not that dress. I knew for a fact there was no way I had the willpower for that shit today.

I glared at her as she hung her jacket in her closet and sat down at her desk.

Well, f*ck me running, that woman really was the biggest tease in the entire world.

It was the white dress. With a neckline that dipped down to accentuate the soft smooth skin of her neck and collarbone, and white fabric clinging perfectly to those gorgeous tits, the dress was the bane of my existence, my heaven and hell wrapped in one delicious package.

The hem fell just below her knees and it was the sexiest thing I had ever seen. It wasn’t provocative in any way, but there was something about the cut and that goddamn virginal white that had me hard practically all day. And she always left her hair down when she wore it. One of my recurring fantasies was of taking all of the damned pins out of her hair before I grabbed a handful and f*cked her.




God, she pissed me off.

When she still didn’t acknowledge me, I turned and stormed into my office, slamming the door behind me. Why was she still affecting me this way? I’d never had anyone or anything distract me from work, and I hated her for being the first.

But part of me relished the memory of her victorious expression as she turned and left me gasping and practically begging her to suck me off. The girl had a spine made of steel.

I bit back a grin and focused instead on hating her.

Work. I would just focus on work and stop thinking about her. I walked over to my desk and sat down, trying to direct my attention to anything but thoughts of how amazing those lips felt around me last night.

Not conducive, Bennett.

I flipped open my laptop to check my schedule for the day. My schedule . . . shit. The bitch had the most up-to-date version in her computer. Hopefully I wasn’t missing any meetings this morning, because I was not calling Ice Queen in here until I absolutely had to.



As I was going over a spreadsheet, a knock came at my door. “Come in,” I called out. A white envelope was slammed down onto my desk. I looked up to see Miss Mills staring down at me with a defiantly crooked eyebrow. Without an explanation, she turned and walked out of my office.

I glared at the envelope, panicked. Likely it was a formal letter detailing my conduct and indicating her intent to file a harassment suit. I expected letterhead and her scribbled signature at the bottom of the page.

What I didn’t expect was a sales receipt from an online clothing store . . . charged to the company credit card. I shot up out of the chair and raced out of my office after her. She was headed for the stairwell. Good. We were on the eighteenth floor, and nobody, besides maybe the two of us, ever used the stairs. I could scream at her all I wanted and no one would be the wiser.

The door closed with a heavy clang and her heels echoed their way down the stairs just in front of me.

“Miss Mills, where in the hell do you think you’re going?”

She continued walking without turning back to look at me. “We’re out of coffee,” she hissed. “So as your office girl, I’m going down to the café on fourteen to retrieve some. Can’t have you missing out on your caffeine fix.”

How could someone so hot be such a bitch? I caught up to her on the landing between floors and grabbed her arm, pushing her against the wall. Her eyes narrowed contemptuously at me, her teeth clenched in a hiss. I whipped the receipt up in front of her face as I glared back at her. “What is this?”

She shook her head. “You know, for such a pompous know-it-all, you really are a stupid son of a bitch sometimes. What does it look like? It’s a receipt.”

“I can see that,” I growled through my teeth, crumpling the paper into my clenched fist. I pressed the sharp tip of it into the delicate skin just above her breast and felt my cock twitch when she gasped and her eyes dilated. “Why are you making clothing purchases on your company credit card?”

“Some bastard tore my blouse.” She shrugged her shoulders and then leaned her face closer to me and whispered, “And my panties.”

Well, f*ck.

I took a deep breath through my nose and threw the paper to the floor, leaning forward and pressing my lips against hers and digging my fingers into her hair, pinning her body against the wall. My dick throbbed against her abdomen as I felt her hand mirror my own and grip my hair, fisting it roughly.

I pulled her dress up along her thighs and groaned into her mouth as my fingers once again found the lace edge of her thigh highs. She did this to torment me, she had to. I felt her tongue run over my lips as my fingertips brushed the warm and wet material of her panties. I clenched my hold around the fabric and gave it a rough tug.