Page 42 of Breaking His Law

When I curl my tongue at the corner of my mouth to get it, he leans over at the same time and runs his finger over my bottom lip, unexpectedly causing the tip of my tongue to hit the tip of his finger, and I swear he growls, which sounds so good.

Holding a prolonged gaze, the intensity of it burns through my soul, destroying any fragment of logical thought out of my brain. I have no control over my senses and before I realize what I’m doing, I’m sucking his finger into my mouth and licking the topping off the same finger that was buried deep inside my pussy last night.

With my lips firmly sealed around his finger, he swallows a deep groan, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in an audible gulp when I swirl my tongue around his digit, once, then twice. Tasting his intoxicating cologne on his fingers makes my brain glitch, neither of us attempting to end our connection.

“Arianna.” He draws out the four syllables of my name, which sounds like a warning that if I keep tasting him, he won’t be responsible for his actions. His breathing grows heavier, his chest moving in and out like he’s trying to control himself.

What the hell am I doing?

I push his finger out of my mouth with my tongue and shake my head, confused with the effect he has over me.

Why can’t I resist him?

“Nothing can happen between us,” I whisper, disappointed in myself for allowing things to go too far yet again.

He bares his teeth, almost snarling at me, as if annoyed that I drew a line in the sand, bringing an end to us. Whateverusmeans. There can never be anus.

He remains silent, and his movements are jerky when he sits back in his seat, picks his laptop back up again and returns to work.

“Email the settlement agreement, waivers, and confidentiality forms to me,” he demands, speaking deeper, his words clipped. Then he bolts on a “Please” at the end.

“Okay.”

Well, this is awkward.

Welcome to another day in hell.

15

NATHAN

Another four horrifically painful weeks have passed of working alongside Arianna, the woman who is hell-bent on making my life and my dick as hard as possible.

From her spellbinding perfume to the way she sashays around the place in her tight little dresses that I want to shred from her body. Every night I’ve jerked off in the shower, but the relief never feels like it’s enough.

It’s her I crave, every inch of her.

I told her she wouldn’t last the week, but now that I know her, I’ve learned just how stubborn she is. She’s going the distance working for me, and I’ve been forced to watch her every move, and every man who walks by through the doorway of my office which has a direct view of her desk flirt with her.

How can you not like her? She’s captivating and beautiful.

Efficient.

Happy. Which irks me because she can barely bring herself to smile at me but with everyone else, she’s different. Herself, I think.

With me, she schools her emotions and retreats into herself.

Everyone loves her and for reasons I still can’t figure out, she’s the person everyone comes to for advice when she’s only worked here for a couple of months. She knows everything about everyone, pays attention to the in-depth details about the cases I’m working on, what lawyers are representing who and why. She’s memorized their court dates and knows when negotiations are taking place. She even knows who Gloria had lunch with last Wednesday and when Keith from marketing is getting married. She remembers the names of everyone’s spouses and children.

How is that even possible? And where has she been hiding for so long?

She’s fucking perfect.

Annoying.

But perfect.

Every day I arrive at the office to discover a coffee sitting on my desk, alongside a detailed schedule of tasks that need my urgent attention. My desk is always cleared of any files and paperwork I may have left on it from the night before and for the first time ever, I never need to ask if all the required court documents are prepared, reviewed or filed electronically and physically, because I know they will already be done.

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