Page 35

I don’t know what the hell possessed me this morning—maybe the way he’s been coming apart under me all week, boxers ruined from the grind of my hips. Maybe it’s the fact that they’ve been the hottest nights of my life, leaving me raw and wired, my thighs aching, my skin still buzzing hours after he’s stumbled back to his apartment.

So there I was, squirming at my desk, restless as hell as the memories ticked over in my head, pulse climbing every time I pictured his face when I rode him. And instead of focusing on work like a normal human being, I wound up in the bathroom stall with my skirt shoved high around my waist, blouse tugged open, bra pushed down under my breasts. My fingers pressed inside, slow and deliberate—not enough to push me over or relieve myself, just enough to feel the wet spread of it. Just enough to show him, to use it at some point, maybe as a reward for how damn good he does for me.

I didn’t know when I was going to send it to him. I was still working on that part internally. But when it was his time to give his rundown in that meeting, fuck, he was so hot. Clear, confident, assertive as hell. Don’t get me wrong—I love squirming, frantic Noah. The way his throat works, the way he fumbles when I so much as look at him too long. But watching him in that meeting… it set something off. A flicker low in my stomach I wasn’t expecting.

That same submissive man—red ears, stammering apologies—stood up and handled himself properly.

So I sent it right then. A little treat. My version of a ‘good job’ for finally finding his footing after nearly two weeks in the deep end. And maybe—just maybe—because I wanted to watch him slip right back into bumbling, undone Noah the second his phone buzzed.

Which he did. Nearly swallowed his tongue in front of the whole department.

He’d called me cruel. I told him to stop whining and urged him on.

And Christ, he didn’t half commit. A dick pic. I’d told him to play, but I hadn’t expected… that. Not from him. I’d expected something awkward, something fumbling. But no. What I got made my breath catch on the spot. I’d opened it and had to white-knuckle the edge of my desk to stop myself from bolting to the bathroom and grinding myself against my own palm like a lunatic. Right there, hard and thick in his fist, the head slick and gleaming like he was seconds from spilling, caught right there on the edge.

So. Fucking. Hot.

I angle my head, watching him from across the dim bullpen. He’s sunk back in his chair, chin propped in his palm, eyes fixed on his laptop.

I should keep walking. Coffee, spreadsheets, then home—shove on my sweats, sink into the couch, pour a glass of wine, and wait for the knock on my door that’ll come like clockwork now.

But he’s right there.

I glance around. The office is dead, every monitor asleep, phones completely silent. There’s nobody here, nobody watching. That’s all the excuse I need.

My heels click softly against the tile, moving me until I’m at his doorway.

I knock once against the frame and lean against it. “Staying late?”

His head snaps up, eyes wide. “Yeah,” he says quickly, voice tripping. “Not long. Got to finish a couple things.” He shrugs softly. “You?”

I hum, shifting the empty mug in my hand. “A few more bits before I head out.”

He nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you… want me to come round again tonight?”

“Maybe.”

I step further into the room and drop my empty mug onto the spare chair, the ceramic clink echoing in the quiet. His laptop’s still open, glowing faintly across the desk, but I push it aside and hike my skirt high over my thighs before sliding onto the edge of the wood.

His gaze snags on the space between my legs instantly, shoulders hitting the back of his chair, color blooming high across his cheeks.

“You had me soaking into my underwear at my desk after that picture today,” I murmur.

His lips part, jaw trembling slightly. “I—I did?”

“Oh, yes.” I lean down, close enough to catch the panic sparking in his eyes. “But tell me—were you good? Or did you touch yourself after I told you not to?”

He shakes his head frantically. “I didn’t. I swear. I didn’t touch myself.”

“Mmh.” My teeth graze his earlobe lightly. “That’s what I like to hear.”

He trembles, chest stuttering underneath me.

“You’ve been so good this last week,” I breathe, watching his hands fist tight on the arms of his chair. “Keeping yourself together. Playing by the rules. Not staring when you wanted to. Not giving us away.” I pause, pressing a light kiss to his jaw. “Feels like that deserves a reward, don’t you think?”

“Here? Now? But⁠—”

“There’s no one here, Noah.” My palms press back against the desk, shoulders arching slightly as I tilt my chin at him. “It’s just us.”