“Don’t move,” I say, my voice steely, and she tenses, trying so hard not to move that she’s shaking as my fingers work her pussy.
Five minutes.
I slide two fingers into her opening and they meet with absolutely no resistance, she’s soaked. Her muscles immediately clench around them and I let out a short sharp breath.
I want to bury my cock in her up to the hilt, to fuck her with total abandon, to bottom out against the very limit of her and let myself go. I want to fuck her like I’ve never fucked another woman before and never will again. I want to make her mine, so totally and completely that she’ll never consider another man.
Three minutes.
When I withdraw my fingers she whimpers just a little, and I give her a light slap on the ass. “Who is in control, Ms. Schaffer?”
“Y—you are, Mr. Hunter.”
“Don’t forget,” I say as I glide my fingertips along her slit until they make contact with her swollen clit.
Two minutes.
She puts her own hand over her mouth to stifle the little moans that she can’t stop. I’m circling her clit with my fingers quickly, evenly, tiny targeted movements that are bringing her to the brink. Cate can’t escape it without disobeying me and the submissive side of her is on full display—she doesn’t make a single move to get away from the intense sensations, just clamps one hand over her mouth and curls the other over the edge of the desk, holding herself in place as she’s wracked with uncontrollable shudders emanating from her hips.
One minute.
I pick up the pace.
Faster.
Harder.
Faster.
And just at the perfect moment, just when I see that she’s about to explode on my fingertips, I take them off her clit and shove three of them back into her opening.
Cate cries out into her hand as the waves of her orgasm crash over her, my fingers getting the brunt of her pleasure, spasms of pure heat.
Time’s up.
Before I pull her upright, I lean down and slide her panties to her ankles, then tap one shoe, signaling that she should step out of them.
She does.
When she’s standing I help her straighten her skirt. Her face is pink, her breathing heavy. Her eyes go from my face to the red panties in my hand.
“Time’s up, Ms. Schaffer.”
“Are you going to—”
“Give you your panties back? No.”
A smile quirks the corners of her mouth.
I knew she’d enjoy herself.
“I’ll see you here tomorrow at five.”
Cate heads for the door, and I beat her there, unlocking it. She steps through, and turns back.
“Yes, Mr. Hunter.”
Chapter Eighteen
Cate
I’m not back to Sandra’s office yet when the walls start to close in around me.
My muscles are relaxed—it’s been forever since I got off by anything other than my own hand—but the warm, bubbly pleasure it gave me melts away ten feet outside Jax’s door.
This is dangerous.
Jax’s office isn’t soundproof. It’s impossible to see through the doors, but anyone standing outside would have been able to hear exactly what was going on. And Sandra would have no qualms about coming to interrupt one of our meetings.
What the hell was I thinking?
This is guaranteed to get me fired. Fired. How’s that going to look when I have to apply for other jobs? How’s that going to keep me from being forced out of my career before I’m ready?
It’s not.
And no matter what he says, no matter how he acts, Jax doesn’t really care about me.
The truth is that this is a game. This is an agreement. It’s something on the side to occupy the next month, and I was a goddamn idiot to agree to it. I cannot, cannot, let myself be overtaken by how much I want him.
Because I want more than sex, more than orgasming all over his hand while he bends me over his desk. It kills me to admit that the moment I saw Jax I started to picture him as my someday person. The person that I’ll have someday, when my career is stable, when my savings are on track, when I can finally let go a little bit.
He’s never going to be that man.
I thought I could play on his level. I said yes to his proposal on an impulse, in the heat of the moment, and now I see how shortsighted it was.
One meeting. A single meeting, and I’m torn in two.
Part of me wants to run back down the hall and throw myself into his arms, kiss his neck, nip his collarbone with my teeth, lower myself onto his cock and take him for a ride.
Most of me is sick with the risk I’ve just taken.
And it is all my risk. What happens for Jax if he’s caught with me in his office? Nothing. He’s a billionaire, with homes and cars and enough money to hush the whole thing up, if he wanted. His image wouldn’t be tarnished at all. But me? I’ve been working myself to the bone every single goddamn day for a year—more than a year, if you count the time I spent as an editorial assistant at Basiqué right out of college—to get where I am today.