Page 69 of My Beautiful Sin

He brushes my words away. “Just a series of issues spreading out from Nevada like a spiderweb.”

“Oh, no.” Anna had mentioned the security breaches to me the day Devlin went to Vegas, but I’d gotten so lost in my own drama that I’d forgotten to ask Devlin if he needed to vent. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Eventually,” he says, “but not now.”

“I’m here whenever you need me,” I promise. “But that reminds me. I was checking my phone in the elevator and I saw this.” I reach into my bag for my phone, then scroll to the news bite I’d seen after I’d left Brandy. “Some up-and-coming crime boss into drugs and trafficking was killed while you were there. Or later, actually. I guess you would have been on your way back to me. Anyway, his name was Adrian Kohl. Did you hear about it?”

“I did.”

“Did you know about him? Through the foundation, I mean?”

“The foundation and my father.” His expression is as hard as his voice. “I need to go back Vegas tonight. Will you be okay? I’ll be back tomorrow evening at the latest.”

“I’ll be fine,” I assure him, feeling both guilty and special about the way he left Vegas to come to my side. I’m sure he expects new residents at the rehab facility, victims of Kohl’s enterprise. Devlin’s very hands-on about the work The Phoenix does, and I assume he wants to greet the incoming survivors. I almost ask if I can come with him and help, but DSF volunteers go through rigorous training. I’m afraid I’d just be in the way.

So instead of asking to come, all I say is, “I hate that you have that kind of thing in your head all the time.”

“Not all the time,” he says, looking at me with such exaggerated heat that I have to laugh, lightening the moment for both of us.

Then again, why only laugh when I can play the game instead. “Poor you,” I say, making my voice low and sexy. “Maybe I can make it better?” I move to sit on the edge of his desk. I’m wearing a flowy skirt, leather thong sandals, a tank top with a built-in shelf bra, and a light jacket. I kick off the sandals and shrug out of the jacket, pushing it off the desk behind me.

He cocks a brow, the one with the scar, and it’s such a deliciously sexy look that I feel myself melt. I put my hands back on his desk blotter and spread my legs in what can only be interpreted as an invitation.

He moves closer, and as I arch back to emphasize my breasts, he puts his hands on my knees and pushes my legs even further apart.

“I never thought I’d be a cliché,” he says, as he slides one hand slowly up my inner thigh, pushing up the material as he goes, “but right now, all I want to do is fuck you on my desk.” His voice drops to a whisper as he says, “Want to pretend to be my secretary?”

I squirm a bit, my pussy already throbbing as I spread my legs even wider. “You are being a cliché. How about I be the boss? You can be my assistant. If you get the job, that is. I only hire the best. You’ll have to prove yourself. I have a lot of applicants for this position.”

“I bet you do.” He slides his hands off my legs and repositions them on the desk at either side of my hips. Then he bends forward so that his mouth brushes my ear as he whispers, “What kind of duties does the job entail?”

“Well, I’m a difficult boss to satisfy. If you want to remain employed, you’re going to have to work very, very hard.”

“Hard work doesn’t scare me.”

“And I like my team to have initiative. If I have to tell my subordinates every little thing to do, that’s definitely not going to win points.”

His brow rises. “Good to know,” he says, holding my gaze. He puts one hand on my thigh, but slides the other up my torso until he’s cupping my breast through the tank. He uses his thumb to stroke the swell of my breast, and I bite my lower lip, trying very hard not to whimper. “I promise you want me. I’m the kind of man you can count on to get the job done.”

I draw in a ragged breath as he tugs my tank down, freeing my breast. I close my eyes and arch back as he teases my nipple with his thumb. “I take very little on faith,” I say, my voice breathy. “If you want to impress me, you’ll have to show me more than just idle chatter.”

“I admire an employer who values action over words.” He rolls my nipple between two fingers, and I squirm, moving to draw my thighs together to quell the ache growing at my core. He defies me by stepping between my knees and ensuring that my legs stay spread.

He slips his hands under my skirt, his palms warm against my skin, then slowly slides up my thighs until his thumbs reach my panties. I bite my lower lip as he lazily strokes the soft skin where my thighs meets my sex, then gasp in surprise when he teases my clit through the thin cotton.

“Take them off. Please,” I beg. “Take them off.”

“Now?” The pad of his thumb moves in a small circle, the pressure and motion sending sparks shooting through my body. “You’re not nearly ready.”

“The hell you say,” I protest, then gasp as his fingers slip beneath the material, teasing my entrance and making me crave more. So much more.

“Arch back,” he demands, and I shift so that my arms are behind me and I’m leaning back, my eyes closed as his fingers continue to play and tease, making my hips move of their own accord. I’m so wet, my panties soaked, and he plays with me mercilessly, tugging the crotch aside as he thrusts into me.

At the same time, he bends forward, his mouth closing over my breast. His tongue dances over my nipple, and when he draws me in, sucking hard, I feel it all the way to my core, then gasp as he fingerfucks me, abandoning the lazy strokes for hard, deep thrusts.

I buck against him, wild with desire. Crazed with need. I want to be naked beneath him. I want to feel him inside of me. I want everything. Every stroke, every sensation, every pleasure. Him.

But I can’t find the words. And all I can say is, “Now. Please, please, now.”