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“That makes sense. Can’t make a baby without that.” I point in the general direction of his pants and my hand brushessomething hard. And long. I yank my hand back like his penis might bite. “Oh God, I’m—I’m sorry.”
Have some class, Laila. What is this, your first time having sex with your boss for business-oriented procreation? Jeez, get a grip.
Arsen continues unbuttoning my shirt. “Don’t be.”
His hand slips around my waist, pulling me against his body so I feel every inch of him hard against my stomach. It’s a preview of how we’ll fit together, and as heat surges through me, I decide maybe I don’t want to be unconscious for this part of the business meeting after all.
Arsen runs his hand down my neck, peeling my blouse open until my ratty cotton bra is visible. Novels could be written on why, on today of all days, I chose to wear my least-flattering undergarments.
If he needed a sign that I didn’t think this would actually happen, this bra is it. It’s lumpy and misshapen and I had to remove the underwire last week when it tried to shiv me between the ribs during one of Mom’s doctor’s appointments, so there’s no support to speak of.
But Arsen trails his fingers over my collarbones and lower, curving over the slope of my breasts until his palm is pressed over my racing heart. I glance down to make sure my heart isn’t really breaking through my chest, and I see a flash of gold.
His wedding band.
Immediate guilt crawls up my throat, and words I don’t mean to say shoot out of my mouth. “Your wife.”
I don’t know why I say it. Maybe just to remind him he has one—in case he forgot. I certainly did there for a second.
But Arsen yanks his hand back like I electrocuted him. “If you’re looking for the fastest way to kill my erection,roza, you found it.”
“Won’t she be upset that we’re…?” I gesture to the miniscule space between our bodies. “I mean, we have to do this, but we don’t have to do it likethis. It doesn’t have to be…”
Sexually charged. Erotic as hell. Panty-meltingly hot.
I can’t even finish the sentence. The fear that this isn’t any of those things for him is far too real.
He bends low, his deep voice a rumble in my ear. “It’ll be more successful if we both enjoy it.”
I lick my lips. “Successful… sure. Business.”
If I keep saying it, maybe my body will get on board. Maybe my legs will stop shaking and my heart can stop overreacting. Arsen isn’t doing this because he wants to; it’s a transaction. I’m here for the money, not him.
For Mom.
Suddenly, Arsen spins me around so my hips are pressed against his desk. I can see the city below—people so tiny they look like ants, cars zipping by with no idea what’s happening thirty floors above them.
Strong hands bunch my skirt above my waist, and I stare at the traffic as cool air hits the back of my thighs.
This is normal. I signed a contract. We’re being professional.
Arsen’s hand strokes over my ass. What my bra lacks, I made up for with a pair of black lace panties. I was annoyed they were the last clean pair in my drawer, but maybe Lady Luck was finally shining down on me, after all.
“I’ll take these,” Arsen remarks.
Before I can understand what he means, there’s a sharp tug. And a rip.
I look over my shoulder just as Arsen is sliding something black into his front pocket. “Did you just…?”
“Something to remember our deal by,” he explains with a smirk.
“Who would have a hard time remembering this?”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize I might not be the first woman he’s bent over this desk.
Like his brain is on the same wavelength as mine, he strokes a hand over my ass. “Has it really been two years since a man last touched you?”
“That’s what I told you when I signed the contract. I wouldn’t lie.”
