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No. He doesn’t stride. He stalks.
I duck my head and smile down at my keyboard. Declan’s really good at getting under my skin, but guess what? As it turns out, I’m good at getting under his skin too.
It really is a wonderful day.
* * *
Declan
I blow past my secretary, who’s trying to get my attention about something, and slam the door behind me just so she understands that I’m not to be disturbed.
I’m already way too disturbed by Sophie.
Fuck. I lean my head against the door and try to take a deep breath, but I’ve somehow got her perfume in my nose. That goddamn scent doesn’t help me a bit. It makes everything—and I mean everything—that much harder.
I can’t help myself. I rub my cock through my trousers just to try to get a crumb of relief. I can’t deny the effect Sophie has on me. It’s building to a crescendo I’m not sure I’m going to be able to control. I can’t just march away and jerk off anytime I’m too close to her.
But I have been too close. Watching her too closely. Wanting her too much.
I almost kissed her last night, promises about not mixing work and pleasure be damned. She was so damn sexy in that dress. I was the only one in that room who knew exactly what was underneath.
Today is no different. She has to know, on some level, what she’s doing to me. Has to know she’s testing my limits.
I can’t stop thinking about her. Not even when I try to temper it with warnings. Like how fucking her again would screw with my professional goals. The drive to grow this company. She’s a distraction. A tempting one, maybe. But a distraction nonetheless.
Something I don’t need. And something I need more than anything, in the exact same thought.
I need her to stop talking about something that never fucking happened. That hookup she was so eagerly describing to her coworkers never happened. I can tell. When you have someone completely at your mercy, completely undone, begging and screaming and coming all the way apart beneath you, you know when they’re lying.
By Sophie’s own admission, she’s a terrible liar.
And I know that, if she was being truthful about her hottest hookup, her story would’ve included three syllables.
Declan Wright.
Even her ridiculous lie makes my blood boil. And it does nothing to thwart my hard-on. I continue to rub myself, beyond pissed at both Sophie and myself. At the absolute ridiculousness of this situation. At the thought that maybe she needs a second night with me to forget about even trying to lie about the best sex of her life.
Sophie might be lying to herself about the experience, but I know that this brand of chemistry can’t be faked. I know that I was her very best.
And I just want an opportunity to remind her.
Just like I’m reminding myself that she’s the best I’ve ever had.
Because that door swings both ways. I have a raging hard-on at work, as inappropriate as it is, and I want her. I can still smell her perfume. Hear her voice in my ears.
Feel her warmth beneath my fingers.
I’ve stopped rubbing myself and have started stroking in earnest, too far gone to consider the consequences. I’m over the edge and somehow aware of it, certain that if I can just come, then I can resume control afterward. Let her win, just this once, and then go back to business as usual.
It’s my fault that it’s gotten this far. I’ve been doing all I can to ignore her, but that’s obviously been a waste of time and effort. How the hell am I supposed to just forget that she exists after what we did together?
Last night, I was the one who crossed the line. Sophie called me out too, but I was too close to resist. I almost broke every rule I’ve so carefully made for myself just to taste her again—and at my own launch party, no less.
She’s a drug. An addiction. And I’m craving her worse than any substance I’ve ever tried before.
“Fuck,” I grit out, resting my forehead against the door. This is wrong. But it’s all I can think of to do. I need my goddamn brain back. Need to flush this out of my system and start again.
My phone rings suddenly, vibrating in my pocket.
