Page 80 of Breeding Her: The Red Flag Edition
She scooped up my breakfast and coffee from her desk without looking my way, then marched into my office like she owned it.
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Today she wore a champagne-coloured blouse that, with just the lightest breeze, could have popped open.
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Another week of perfect servitude. There was nothing I could do. She’d trapped me in my own personal hell.
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Dear God, I need help.
I spilled my coffee—on purpose—just to make her bend down and clean it.
Right beside my feet.
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She knocked once, then stepped in without waiting. Her tablet was tucked against her chest, fingers scrolling, her brow furrowed with purpose.
“I just flagged the duplication you mentioned,” she said, coming around the desk. “But I think you meant the secondary folder in the global access list—here.”
She leaned over—uninvited—reaching across my desk to show me the location.
And that’s when it hit me.
Her scent.
That soft, unfiltered sweetness I’d started dreaming about.
And then the full weight of her breast brushed my shoulder.
I stopped breathing.
She kept talking. Completely oblivious. Or pretending to be.
My hands fisted beneath the desk. One twitch and I’d drag her into my lap.
I swallowed. Hard.
“Here,” she repeated, pointing again. “See what I mean?”
I saw nothing. My vision blurred. I could taste her perfume in my mouth.
How the fuck did she smell so good—all the fucking time?
Her hair brushed my face as she stood upright, and I shuddered.
“Get out,” I rasped.
“Oh,” she breathed, her mouth forming a perfect O, hands tightening around the tablet.
She turned and bolted.
I dropped my head into my hands. I needed to fire her.
Or fuck her.
