Page 52 of Texting the CEO's Obsession
I’m here because this breach is serious. I can tell by the tense lines around Julie’s eyes that I’m pushing the limits of her patience. She won’tdoanything about it, of course, but she’s just trying to do her job. We both want to get out of here.
I drop my eyes to the files in her hand and nod for her to continue, not offering any apology or explanation.
“These are the highest risk.” She holds out the files for me to take, and I flip through them as she speaks. “They’re highlighted in the email as well. I’m working my way through the mid-level breaches.”
She only hands me four files from the larger stack. Whoever was snooping around was obviously looking for something to do with the top of the food chain—they attempted to get into my personnel file along with Marcus’s, and Thomas’s donation records were accessed. The Fourneaux file is the only thing that seems odd among them. Sure, they’re a big client, and the data is sensitive, but the only reason I have any direct involvement in it is because it’s an excuse to loom over Riley’s shoulder.
Guess I don’t need excuses anymore.
I brush those thoughts off to be dealt with later, nodding and snapping open the first of the files.
“Set your laptop up in here,” I tell Julie as I plug in my passwords to access my own personnel file to ensure that nothing was changed. “You can move the coffee table close to the couch, but it’ll be easier to have you in here if we find anything.”
Julie nods sharply and steps out to gather what she’ll need without a word, leaving me to glower at my computer screen. A day of cross-referencing personal data and paper trails is just what I wanted to do. If I could sneak Riley in to set up residence under my desk for a few hours, it might be more bearable, but I’d really rather spend the day bending her over every flat surface at home.
Like she knows I’m thinking about her, my phone buzzes on my desk with another text.
Riley: This was a lot more comfy to go home in than my dress from last night, but I promise I’ll wash it and give it back to you.
Below is a picture of her, chestnut hair tossed into a sloppy bun and her sweet doe eyes smiling at me from behind the frames of her glasses.
She’s wearing one of my shirts.
Fuck.
I sink my teeth into my bottom lip to stifle a groan at the sight of the fabric draped over her tiny frame. The hem of it reaches all the way down to her mid-thigh, navy blue contrasting perfectly with the golden hue of her skin.
If I could get my hands on her right now…
Nick: You’re killing me, Princess. I’m supposed to be working.
I don’t give a shit if I should be working—yeah, it’s important, but so is the way my cock is insistently reminding me of just how good the tight heat of Riley’s pussy feels.
Another text comes in, anotherpicture, and I grip the edge of my desk so hard it creaks under my fingers.
Riley: I’d hate to distract you ;)
She has the hem of my shirt lifted up over her hip, high enough to show off the curve of her waist. High enough that I can see she doesn’t have any panties on beneath it. The top buttons are undone low enough to let the collar gape open and giveme a glimpse of the swell of her breasts, perky nipples showing through the fabric.
I want to eat heralive.
Nick: You’re going to get yourself in trouble, Miss Morgan.
My hand falls to the bulge of my cock beneath my desk and I huff out a breath as I grind up into my palm.
Nick: You’re keeping that shirt. You look perfect in it. Like you belong to me.
I’m going to order a hundred more of those shirts so I can keep her dressed up and ready to take my cock whenever I want. I’d kill to bend her over my desk right now, have her scratch marks over the glossy top that I can look at every time I remember her screaming my name when I’m supposed to be working.
Like now.
Riley: Didn’t expect you to like it that much lol
I chuckle under my breath at the reminder of just how shy my little vixen can be. She’s probably blushing and hiding her face behind her hair while she smiles so sweetly it’d rot my teeth.
With a quick glance at my still-closed door, I scoot back and point my phone camera down.
My hand frames the bulge of my cock where it strains against the fabric of my pants, my thumb brushing against the buckle of my belt. If my assistant wasn’t going to be joining me sometime soon, I’d pull myself out and give Riley arealshow, but she’ll have to wait for that.
