Page 53 of Brassy Bigwig

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHLOE

It’s almost the end of my first week of knowingly working with D. I can’t believe the difference between this man and the one I dealt with via email. We’ve gone over almost every aspect of Okeanós, and I already feel like I know his company inside and out. D told me I was a quick study. He’s been so supportive, even going as far as asking my opinion on a few business decisions. I don’t know if he went with my ideas or not, but the fact that he was genuinely interested in my point of view speaks volumes.

Unfortunately, that’s where our conversations have ended. There’s been no more talk of this other side of me he’s supposed to help with. I don’t know if he’s changed his mind or if he’s not as confident about being able to help me as he thought he was. And I’ve been too chicken shit to bring it up to him again.

Don’t get me wrong, there have been many looks exchanged over the past few days. Slight brushes, skin grazes as we’ve exchanged folders, papers, or a pen. That time he stood right behind my chair at my desk, leaning over my shoulder to explain something to me—don’t ask me to tell you what it was now because I’d never remember. I silently begged him to take me on the desktop, then and there.

I barely recognize the person I’ve become this week.

The sexual tension between us is thick. I would be shocked if someone hasn’t picked up on it, but I sincerely hope they don’t. For D’s sake more than mine. I don’t know who on his staff knows about the incident with his previous assistant, but he doesn’t need someone finding out about us regardless.

And, god, the dreams I’ve had this week… Now that I know Trey is actually D, they’ve been getting even more depraved.

D is like a forbidden fruit, and I’m aching for a taste.

Last night, Shelby had to wake me up because she thought I was having a nightmare. She could hear me panting all the way from her room. It wasn’t until she turned the light on that she realized I was humping my pillow instead of trying to fight off the boogeyman.

I feel like I could come just from him looking at me. I don’t know what’s happening to me, I’ve never felt this out of control before. It’s scary, but I also kind of like it. When I got here on Monday, my clit started throbbing and didn’t stop until I got into the cab that afternoon. Tuesday, it was more of the same, but that’s the night my sex dreams really started ramping up. Yesterday, I woke up hornier than a frat boy, and nothing I did or thought about could help me quell the feeling. It still hasn’t stopped, and we’re nearing the end of the day again. I’m so wound up I could scream.

“Chloe,” D says from the doorway to his office, pulling me from my pent up, desire-filled trance. “I need to finish reviewing these semi-annual reports, but you can feel free to head home if you’d like.”

“No,” I answer, almost too quickly. “Um, I’ll stay and help so you can finish quicker.”

Quick finish, huh?

I swallow my lust and hope he can’t see the fire burning in my stare. Or maybe I hope he does. I don’t know.

“I’m not going to turn away your help, but I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

The way he rubs his hand over his chin, his five o’clock shadow scraping against his palm… I picture us together, back in Greece. His beard is scratching the skin between my thighs as he eats my pussy like it’s his last meal. The memory sends a gush of moisture to the silk between my legs. Taking a deep breath, I try to form words.

“I want,” I clear my throat, dislodging my voice that’s caught there. “I want to help. I’ll stay.”

“Okay.” He smiles.

He turns and walks back into his office. I haven’t seen that dangerous gleam in his eye since Monday.

He knows.

Or has it been there, but I’ve been too preoccupied to notice? No, I would have noticed it more feeling the way I have been. I stand and straighten my skirt before following him into his office.

“What can I do?” I inquire.

“Have a seat,” he commands.

I take a seat on the sofa and cross my legs. The pressure it puts on my clit has me uncrossing and recrossing them at the ankle instead.

I watch him at his desk, pushing papers around, looking for something. Finally, he picks up a stack of papers and brings them to me.

“Okay, if the number in column B of this sheet is greater than the number in column D on this one, just highlight it for me. This means the department didn’t stay within the budget they proposed at the end of last year.”

“Got it. Let me go grab a highlighter, and I’ll be right back.”

I hop up off of the sofa, but I don’t make it far before D grabs my hand and spins me back around into his arms. His lips crash into mine, and I feel like I’m going to come undone. His hands roam my body over my clothing, and I relish in every second they’re on me. After another lip-locked moment, he finally pulls away from me, and we’re both able to catch some air.

“I want you so fucking bad it hurts,” he confesses.

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