Page 50 of Kisses and Paperclips

Maybe getting caught is what makes it worth it.

My thighs pressed together instinctively, heat pooling in all the wrong places for a man I should’ve blocked the second he texted.

I stared at the screen. Smirking. Flustered. Tempted as hell.

And fully aware I was in trouble.

Big, smooth-talking, temptation-in-a-tailored-suit trouble.

I snorted under my breath, typing without thinking.

There’s nothing exciting about getting caught by your mom. She’d probably snatch my edges and fire me on the spot.

I wouldn’t let her lay a finger on you, but his reply came fast and sure. No one touches what’s mine.

My breath stilled.

Mine.

One word, and it sat heavy in my chest, warm and dangerous. The kind of word that made promises I wasn’t sure I could afford. My fingers hovered over the screen, frozen by the pull of his words, by the way they made something deep inside me stir.

Julien was trouble. The good kind. The kind that made you forget rules, warnings, and all the reasons why you should walk away.

I didn’t reply, hoping he would take it as a hint, but instead, my phone pinged with another message.

Too bad. A beautiful woman like you should be spending the night coming on my dick, not by her hand and the memory of me.

That arrogant jerk has my pussy immediately clenching at his words.

It’s not happening, Julien.

My Fairy loves to punish me, and herself, doesn’t she?

His response buzzed onto my screen, smooth, cocky, and entirely too self-assured.

I couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped out, shaking my head. This man was something else.

He must have noticed I took longer to respond, so he left it with. You have my number now, so hit me up if you change your mind.

He was right; I would be using our memories for comfort tonight. And I’m pissed about it. I wanted him to keep going, trying to convince me until I caved. But it was probably for the best he stopped when he did; this back and forth wasn’t going to happen. I know better than sleeping with someone I work with. The situation is complicated enough as it is.

All that was left was the ache.

Low, steady, and annoyingly persistent.

I shifted on the couch, adjusting a pillow between my thighs like that would help. It didn’t.

Julien Brooks was not a man you forgot. Not a man you filed away under “bad decisions” and moved on from. He was the kind of trouble that lingered in your mind, in your body, in the tiny pause before you answer a text you shouldn’t be answering.

My screen lit up again.

Meet me first thing in the morning. I want a tour from my C.O.O.

I stared at the words, feeling heat crawl up my spine. He made it sound innocent. Professional, even.

But we both knew better.

My fingers hovered over the screen. No clever reply. No witty comeback. Just a quiet breath and the press of power behind my ribcage reminding me who I was.

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