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She put her hands against my chest, palms almost cupping my pecs. I didn’t think it was deliberate but my cock didn’t care about her intentions. “What are you doing?” she asked slowly.

“You know I’m your boss,” I began. It wasn’t the best start, but I was having a hard time finding the right words.

Her lips parted ever so slightly, going from pursed to lush. Her eyelids drifted down, making her eyes darken, and like a light switch going off, her entire expression went from serious to sultry.

I was lost.

I took a deep breath, then another, my need rising up to the surface until I was choking on it.

She mumbled something.

“Huh?” I said.

“Your hands,” she muttered. She pushed against me and budged me not an inch.

“My hands?” Oh that. They were full of her delectable ass, keeping her flush against me, my die hard erection trying to drill its way through our clothes and into her soul.

“Your hands are on my butt, boss.”

I removed them with great effort.

“See?” I said in a less than steady voice. “There you go. Was it really so hard to call me boss?”

“Not at all. I find it extremely easy to say things I don’t mean.” She shifted. “You’re not a very comfortable seat.”

“Keep moving around like that, and I’ll get a lot less comfortable in a hurry.” That was a joke. I was already hard enough to punch a hole through the wall.

Though I supposed it would in fact be less comfortable for her if I tried to stick it somewhere it didn’t belong.

Just having the thought was problematic. I couldn’t think about anything like that without a little involuntary shudder, a groan, a hip grab, a quick, thoughtless grind against the soft heat of her.

She gasped and climbed off my lap.

I grimaced, hand going up to rub at my temple. “I’m sorry. That was out of line and an accident, I swear. I clearly need to get laid.”

“You didn’t get laid at the pool party yesterday?” she asked slowly, moving away. “Isn’t that the point of you inviting fifty females to get half-naked at your house?”

I glared at her. Glared. The pint-sized termagant had a nerve. “Oh, well. I’m so sorry that I was too busy babysitting you to worry about my hard-on.”

I composed myself and tried to get back on track. “I have something to say to you, and I’m going to get it out, goddammit.”

“So say it,” she said with just the perfect amount of quirky insolence to distract me again. “Talk already, boss.”

The way she said boss made it clear who she thought was really in charge between the two of us. “You’re a little brat, you know that?” I told her slowly, trying not to clue her in on just how much she delighted me.

“Let me guess, you’re going to make a short story long; what you do best.” She had the gall to rub her hands together like she just couldn’t wait to see what I had to say because it would prove her right, the minx. “I bet you particularly hate the quote: Brevity is the soul of wit. It’s like a personal diss against your whole career.”

My jaw went a little slack. I was beginning to suspect, with good reason, that her sass was my own personal kink.

“Look at you,” I said slowly, my tone seductive, thoroughly off topic once again, “Even hungover, you’re landing fucking haymakers before noon.”

She got a kick out of that, and the way she tried not to show it, biting her lips, made me want to attack her on sight.

“I want you,” I finally said it.

She froze and stared.

It wasn’t my smartest idea, but it wasn’t my worst one either.