If she was going down, she was taking Brody Kane with her.
“You don’t like things out of place, do you?” she goaded. “Your neat rows an undisciplined mess?” Her breathing had picked up, each word out of her mouth a provocation. “You especially don’t like when you don’t have all the answers, Brody.”
“Don’t test me, Emma. I’m taking you out of here. No one else will touch you.” Ever again, she finished in her head.
Old, bad-girl Emma latched on to the opening his threat presented. Welcome to the party, bitch. “I’m staying. Plenty of clients left who’ll pay top dollar for a chance to touch this ass.”
“Emma—”
“Frankly, you’re wasting the room, Mr. Kane. And you’re taking up valuable time when I could be earning so much more with my needier clients.”
Those gray eyes burst into supernovas. “That will happen over my dead body.”
“I wonder if Mr. Smythe-Osborne would enjoy some good old-fashioned American hospitality. Two girls are always better than one, and if Score Property is paying—”
His lips crashed down on hers, devouring, igniting a flame in every cell of her body. Yeah, this.
No kiss had ever tasted this good. No kiss had ever incited her in this way. His tongue swept through her mouth with possessive, velvety strokes that sent swirls of desire eddying in her gut. Her fantasy of kissing him had always been tame. Guy was a dweeb, after all. But this kiss… Brody Kane had skills in the mouth-to-mouth department.
He pulled back, shock on his face at what he had done. What they had done.
Torment tightened his brow. He really was suffering over this, but hell, so was she. And she suspected only one thing could ease it.
He was her boss, and she was dressed as a stripper in the back room of a strip club. But very likely, he would soon be her ex-boss because there was no unringing this bell.
She leaned in and licked the corner of his mouth. Oh, bad, bad Emma. “Make it better, Brody.”
Her desire reflected back at her in his eyes, his need a living, breathing animal between them. He couldn’t possibly deny her, could he? In case there might be any doubt, she coasted a hand down the front of his body. Oh, yeah, baby, just as she thought.
Packing.
He didn’t stop her.
She unzipped his suit pants, and outside the soft fabric of his boxers, cupped the hardest, largest cock she’d ever had the privilege to handle.
Your move, Mr. Kane.
…
Good. Fuck.
Brody had entered some sort of fever dream. East was west, up was down, and Ms. Strickland was a stripper who had just wrapped her typing fingers around his granite-hard cock.
His prim and proper personal assistant was neither prim nor proper, but he’d give her top marks on her next performance evaluation for personal. The hand stroking his dick was very personal indeed. No way in hell was he gifting sexy little Emma Strickland to whatever drunken louts remained out on the main floor. If he had to buy the damn club so he could stop her from working here, he would.
Right this minute, his gorgeous PA belonged to him.
His gorgeous stripper PA. All these contradictions were driving him mad with curiosity, confusion, and mind-wiping lust. He had to know more about why she was here.
He had to know her.
His mouth returned home to hers, teasing, dragging a frustrated moan from her throat. She chased his lips but he pulled back, then went in again with a nip of her lower lip. Soft and pillowy. He shouldn’t be playing this game with her. It wouldn’t give him information. It would only frustrate.
Them both.
“Brody—”
“Hush, now, I’ll give you what you need.” He ground his cock against her hand, and her shocked gasp almost undid him. “That’s what you want, right?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “That’s—yeah, that’s—”
No, this is. Though it killed him, he removed her hand and hitched her leg over his hip so he could rub his best parts against her best parts. A grinding thrust had her moaning, a sound so sweet he longed to hear it over and over. If he could hear it along with his name when she came, it would be revelatory.
The problem was he might shoot off first.
He had to get her off quicker. Still with one hand under her ass, his other found the zipper at the side of her shorts and pulled, creating a gap for his searching fingers.
They both moaned as he entered taboo territory. She was already soaked, her slick heat spilling over his fingers. Every stroke ramped up her moans, drove him to the brink. To feel her clamp down on his fingers as she rode them through her orgasm— The goal spurred him on. His mouth was so close to hers he could have kissed her again, accelerated the pace, but he didn’t want to miss her eyes, which had fluttered closed.
“Look at me when I make you come, Emma.”
Those eyes flew open, fiery blue suns exploding with desire.
He resumed his teasing stroke below and kept his gaze on his target: those beautiful lust-stoked pupils. Little silver sparks seemed to light up when he stroked a little slower. She liked it languorous. All women were different, but his experience was that most preferred it quick, more friction, get it done.
Not his Emma. She rocked against his hand, her mouth parted in a silent plea.
He turned his finger so the callus glanced over her clit. Her breathing quickened. She tried to say something but nothing emerged, her words lost in the build to her orgasm.
Fascinating.
He had always enjoyed puzzles, working things out, moving pieces around until it made sense. Ms. Strickland did not make sense.
He would learn her.
He plunged two fingers in and thumbed her clit, spreading moisture over where she was most sensitive. She cried out and locked down around his digits.
“That’s it. Squeeze me tight, baby. Give me a preview of what my cock can expect.”
Shit, he needed to shut that down. Not chatty by nature, in Brody, lust seemed to open some conduit in his brain and tap into his basest desires, producing a torrent of dirty talk most women blushed to hear. A nice girl like Emma Strickland would not enjoy his trucker mouth, but then he recalled that he was no longer dealing with a nice girl.
His dick was still contained, and this was already the hottest fuck of his life.
“No. I want you in—when I—please.” She lowered her foot to the floor, the action expelling his fingers, and she pushed her shorts down. A skimpy scrap of shiny black fabric barely covered her sex. She kicked off the shorts and raised her leg around his hip, the heels giving her the perfect height to align his groin against her core.
It was wrong, so damn wrong, but the pleading in her gorgeous blue eyes kept him focused on making it right. Making it perfect. Frantically, he pushed his boxers down and freed his aching cock. There was a moment between them, an acknowledgment that nothing would ever be the same again if they didn’t call a halt to this. Still time to grasp at the last thread of his sanity… But then she guided his erection to the most heated, needy part of her and whispered, “Don’t stop, Brody.”
Sanity was overrated. He could no more stop this than stop his heart from beating.
That strip masquerading as underwear had to go. Moving it aside, he thrust into the sweet, pliant heat she offered. Jesus H. How could this pleasure have been sitting mere feet away from his desk forty hours a week? How could this even be happening?
But it was, and every pump into her made it both more real and more of a dreamlike fantasy. Worlds colliding, pleasure building, life-affirming. It was hot and sweet, wet and hard, filthy and pure, and so damn fine.
Gripping her sweet ass tighter, he lifted her flush against him, needing to seal their connection. Get closer, though it wasn’t possible. Know more, though he questioned if that was possible, too.
Dimly, he was aware of music playing, but everything narrowed to where their bodies connected, the slick suction of flesh, her whimpers of pleasure. Those whimpers turned louder, ratcheting up the coil of need in his balls. Her head fell back, the ecstasy of the moment etched on her beautiful face. She was close. He could feel it in the sounds, the way her hands clutched at his shoulders desperately, the clench of her walls as she insisted on her pleasure and then she stilled and buried her scream in his neck, muttering mostly incomprehensible words. Most of it filthy, and he strained to hear his name but either she didn’t say it or the roar in his ears heralding his own release drowned it out.
He jerked into her, emptied all he had. The frustration of the past six months, his anger at the notion of Emma performing for anyone else but him, his fury that she was here and that his life was upended because of it. He had never fucked angry before, and now he knew why. A fuck like this was the kind of experience a man doesn’t recover from easily. Finding pleasure in an unexpected place coupled with the raw emotions coursing through him was a dangerous combination.
Unable to break the connection, he remained inside her, absorbing those twitchy orgasmic aftershocks, the one and only place he wanted to be. Neither was she hinting that she had something better to do than bask in the glow of what they had just done.
Shit, what had they just done?
He had no time to examine that as a thunderous knock on the door ripped him back to the present.
Chapter Six
The loud rap sliced into Emma’s fuck-drunk daze and brought reality snapping back like a tree branch across her face.