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Lochlan
Jeffery Mauldin’s office is sparser than I expected. I wonder if Clark cleaned it up after he died. There’s no diploma on the wall or framed pictures on a golf course or holding a big ocean catch. There aren’t even messy piles of paper on the desk. It’ll be curious to see what’s been cleaned off his computer as well.
Stella goes straight to his desk, walking much easier than yesterday. Luckily, it seems she didn’t sprain her ankle when she rolled it. Rest and ice seemed to do the trick. We spent most of the day keeping her off it and lounging around the villa.
Too eager, she doesn’t even sit down, rather shoves his leather desk chair to the side. She leans over the desk with one hand while waving the USB stick I gave her in the other. “Okay, how do we use this thing?”
I lean next to her, crossing my ankles. “Just plug it in and it will automatically bypass any passwords.”
She bends down to insert the device into the computer tower under the desk.1 My eyes fall on the swaying hem of her dress when she stands back up and where it hits the backs of her thighs. The fabric is a bold red that highlights the beautiful amber undertones of her skin.
I drum my fingers on the mahogany desk to avoid reaching for her, dragging my palm up the back of her leg and under her dress. Last night, I couldn’t sleep with her beside me in those thin silk pajamas. Instead, I stayed up watching YouTube videos until I finally passed out.
“Damn, that’s cool,” Stella says, impressed as she gets into his computer without touching a single key. She gets to work with laser focus, methodically going through every folder and document, searching for more people Mauldin was blackmailing.
Twenty minutes later, she groans. “If he ever had a folder of blackmail, it isn’t here anymore.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket but I ignore it, pushing off the desk and striding a few paces away. She rotates to face me, her back to the desk and her phone clutched in her hands. My eyes lazily travel up and down her body, my tongue tracing over my teeth.
“What are you doing?” she asks, popping her hip and cocking her head to the side.
“Enjoying the view,” I say shamelessly. “You’ve always looked good behind a desk.” Her lips part, and I take a step closer, my body buzzing.
“Everything about you is powerful.” Another step forward.
“You were born to lead, réalta.” I close the distance. Her breath hitches. Fuck me.
Her pupils dilate and my restraint crumbles. My hands land on her hips as if compelled by some outside force, demanding I worship this queen.
I lift her onto the desk at the same time she says teasingly, “If that’s true, then you actually have to listen to me.”
“Go ahead, boss me around.” I smirk and slide the phone out of her grip, setting it on the desk. “It turns me on.”
She lifts her chin defiantly as my fingers slip under the hem of her dress, spreading out on her thighs.
“But right now . . .” I lean forward and get a heady rush when she doesn’t pull back. Our mouths slant over each other, so close that when she licks her bottom lip, her tongue almost brushes me. Hunger knots deep in my stomach.
I flick my gaze from her lips to her eyes and see them blazing with desire. It makes me want to turn to ash right here with her. Instead, I dip down and brush my lips along the slope of her neck.
“I still have a few hours left to take care of you . . . .” She exhales a huff, and I laugh into her throat, the burn so much sweeter knowing she’s flustered. I lower to my knees. “In all ways.”
She presses her lips together as I slide her sandals off her feet. Her breath comes in slow, measured beats as I slip my hands back up her thighs and hook my fingers into the elastic of her panties. Heat licks up my spine as she offers no resistance when I pull them off. I still can’t believe I get to touch her like this, appreciate her like this. It’s like I’m expecting to be yanked from this dream any second.
Her teeth dig into her bottom lip, and there’s brilliant emotions in her fiery gaze.
“Heels on the desk, Stella,” I bite out, my fraying control evident in the sharpness of my tone. There’s a slight hesitation in her eyes, but not in her movements. Her legs lift obediently, like her body recognizes what she wants before her mind does.
“What’s the etiquette for fucking in a dead man’s office?” she hisses in a whisper, as if we aren’t the only people in here.
“I don’t really give a fuck who used to sit at this desk when you’re on top of it.” I growl then glide my hands up her silky inner thighs. My lips follow their path, just barely dusting her skin. She leans farther back on her hands when I reach the crease between her thigh and hip like she can’t decide if she wants to lean away or push forward.
“What if someone comes in?” she squeaks, and I am beginning to sense her reservations are less about being caught and more about blemishing her professional reputation.
I pause to look up at her. “Then they will see you right where you belong.” The corner of her mouth tugs in a warm smile.
“Don’t stop,” she decides confidently, and those two little words put me in a chokehold. Half-expecting her to change her mind, I’m now the one that hesitates. It’s only for a second, but it’s long enough for a loud ringtone to pierce the air.
“Fuck, it’s Clark,” Stella says, scrambling off the desk and swiping her panties off the floor.
