Page 101 of Maneater
The groan that leaves him moves through my body, making my pussy clench.
“Fuck, Josephine.”
I like it when he says my full name, even more than when he calls me his troublemaker. It feels intimate, like I’m some sultry version of myself only he gets to see. “I want to watch that.”
“I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” I whisper into the quiet room. He growls into my neck, his fingers moving to the hem of my wet shirt when his phone rings.
“That’s my two o’clock,” he says with a pained groan.
“Cancel it,” I whisper, moving my hips up.
“I can’t. It’s the call with the inspector that was cancelled the other night after the sauna. I don’t have to say much, since it’s mostly the building team ironing out issues, but I have to be present.”
I pout before I step back and smile.
“Party pooper. Well, do you mind if I hang in here while you’re on your call? I have some stuff I could do in here.”
He looks at me skeptically before shrugging.
“I don’t mind.” His hand cups my center, a finger sliding up my skirt and against my pussy, pushing my panties inside of me before he steps back, an obnoxious smirk on his lips. “You’re soaking wet,” he says when he moves to his desk.
“Yeah, I really wish you would take care of that,” I grumble, and he smiles, shaking his head.
“I meant your shirt.” I look down at the wet tank, my nipples even tighter in the cold air conditioning of his office.
“Oh, yeah. That, too.”
“In that closet, I have some shirts if you want to change. Let your stuff dry on the balcony.” I nod, then move to the closet, happy to find an oversized T-shirt that reads “Daydream Resorts” on it. I will be stealing that, thank you very much. Shucking off my wet tank and bra, I slide the shirt over my head, then shimmy my skirt down, leaving just my underwear. When I look over at him, his eyes are taking me in, and I smile before moving to the balcony at the back of his office and laying my skirt, tank, and bra on the ground. It should dry quick, with the sun high and beating down hard. When I enter again, I move to where he’s sitting and press a kiss to his cheek. He grabs my waist to hold me in place, then turns to get my lips on his before speaking.
“I’ll be muted most of the time, but my camera will be on,” he says. “So if you don’t want anyone to see you, stay over there.” My gut sinks as I nod, then I move to sit in the comfy chair and pull out my phone.
“You…don’t want anyone to see me?” I ask, trying to sound casual but feeling unsure. He shakes his head and smiles, like he senses my concern.
“I figured you’d want that to stay between us for a bit longer, and maybe you’d like to be in something other than my tee and your panties. Not that I’m complaining.”
“I guess it makes sense, we haven’t, you know, had that conversation?—”
He looks at his watch, then groans. “Fuck it,” he says low before quickly moving to me, tugging me up until we’re chest to chest. “I want everyone to know you’re mine, Josie. That’s what you are, conversation or not. You’re mine. If you’d like me to take this call with you on my lap, I’ll be happy to. It’ll cause a stir, but if that’s what youneed or want, then we’ll do just that. I’ll show everyone you’re mine.”
His hand moves to my hips and tucks me in closer. I can feel he’s still hard from teasing me before. “Is that what you want, troublemaker?”
I bite my lip because in a way, I do. The idea of sitting on his lip in his shirt while big, bad Rowan Fisher does his big boy job is incredibly attractive.
But also, so iswatchinghim do his big boy job. So I shake my head.
“No. I’ll sit here and wait for you to be done,” I say in a whisper.
“When I’m done with my call, do you want me to take care of you?” he murmurs against my neck, his hand moving up under his shirt and then under my underwear to cup my ass. The tip of his middle finger moves, drifting until it just barely grazes my entrance, and my breathing goes ragged.
I’ve had Rowan Fisher more times than I can count, and yet I still want more. I’m unsatisfied and needy anytime I go more than a few hours without him inside of me.
“Next gala or black-tie event, you’re on my arm. Preferably in that orange dress or something similar.”
“You liked that one?”
“I’ve jacked off thinking about peeling you out of it more times than I should admit.” The visual pulls a mewl from my lips, and his tip up in a satisfied grin.
“I have a lot of others,” I whisper, moving to my tiptoes and grazing my lips against his. “All of them are very pretty. All of them are very tight.”
