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“I’d like to take you on this counter,” Oliver murmured, his voice low and rough with desire.
I ran my hands over the smooth surface, a shiver running through me. “It’s too cold.”
“I didn’t mean now,” he said, his eyes glinting with mischief. “But I think we should go on a vacation soon.”
I sighed, torn between the temptation of his offer and my sense of responsibility. “I just started at Fox. I can’t do that. How would it look?”
“I really don’t give a shit how it looks,” he replied, his tone firm. “I can do anything I want. You don’t answer to anyone but me.”
“But I don’t want the other employees to think I’m just another pretty face,” I argued, my frustration bubbling to the surface.
“They won’t when they get to know you,” he insisted, his eyes locking onto mine. “You’re highly capable of doing what you are and more.”
“Yeah, fucking my way to the top,” I mumbled, the bitterness in my voice unmistakable.
Oliver’s eyes flashed with blue fire. “Don’t you ever say that,” he snapped.
“I’m just repeating what others have said,” I said, feeling a lump form in my throat.
“Who? I’ll fucking fire them right now,” he growled, his protective instincts flaring up.
“No one in particular, but I’m sure it’s been said before,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
He let go of me and ran his hand through his thick hair, tousling it into a bit of a mess. “My executives have commented on your competency several times. They think you’re doing a wonderful job.”
Despite his reassurances, I was filled with self-doubt about my position, and it was coming through at the worst possible time. “Because you’re the boss. They’re not going to tell you I suck.”
Oliver smirked as he stood between my legs, his expression turning playful. “And how would they know you suck? That’s personal.”
I felt my core clench at the thought of pleasing Oliver. It made me want to drop to my knees and repeat our earlier morning encounter. “Did I remind you of something?” he asked, his voice dripping with seductive promise.
“Would you like me to do it again?” I whispered, my breath hitching in anticipation.
His eyes darkened with desire, and he leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear. “Maybe later.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Am I wearing you out, Mr. Fox?”
“I’ve had more sex with you than I’ve had in the past two or three years.”
I’m surprised to hear this. Oliver was so handsome, I’m sure women were throwing themselves at his feet to share his bed.
“I find it hard to believe,” I said, skepticism clear in my voice.
“Don’t,” Oliver replied firmly. “I’m particular about who I sleep with.”
“How many partners have you had?” I asked, unable to keep the curiosity out of my tone.
“Is that relevant to our relationship?” He raised an eyebrow, clearly deflecting.
I twisted a strand of hair around my finger.
“I’m just asking,” I insisted, wanting a straightforward answer.
“How many have you had?” he countered, a small smile playing on his lips.
“Oh, answering a question with a question? If you must know, I’ve slept with four men, all of whom I dated.”
“When was your first?” he asked, leaning in closer, his eyes searching mine.
