My eyes widen as he slightly parts my lips with his finger. Then he puts it in my mouth, and I find myself sucking it. His eyes darken as he watches me, and a slow, sexy smile crosses his face.
“I want you to fuck yourself. Long . . . deep and slow.”
Oh . . . Lord have mercy.
“Why would I do that?” I breathe.
“Because I know it will be my face that you will see when you come.”
He bends and licks up my neck, and then he bites my ear, and my legs nearly buckle underneath me. “Do your homework, and you will be well rewarded,” he whispers in my ear before tenderly kissing my neck with an open mouth.
I’m like putty in his hands. I can’t even pretend to fight this . . . whatever this is.
He dusts his lips across mine but then steps back, and my body jerks at his withdrawal. I pant as I stare at him.
“Do your homework, Emily. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I stare at him for a moment; he’s dismissing me.
I frown as he turns and goes back to sit at his desk as if nothing ever happened.
He picks up his scotch and sips it as his eyes hold mine. He slides a security key across the desk. “This will get you to this floor.”
Huh.
What in the hell was that?
I snatch the key and leave his office in a fluster. I get into the elevator with my heart hammering.
For fuck’s sake. I need to find some self-control, and I need to find it quick.
Because he has it all.
Chapter 6
I sit in the café across the road from the Miles Media building. I told myself I came here to get some takeout for dinner. But the truth is, I want to see him leave. I want to see his face, to see if it’s as flushed as mine. I’m so close to orgasming in public; it’s not even funny. How can one finger through clothes arouse me so much? This man turns me into a puddle, a wet, soppy, pliable puddle. I have absolutely no resistance when he touches me.
For twelve months I’ve dreamed about Jim, the funny, carefree man I spent the night with. And now that I’ve met another version of him, I’m not sure that I like him. I mean, he’s hot, hotter than hot. Blazing fucking inferno.
Who is Jameson Miles?
I sit on the bench seat by the window and stare across the street, and then I see the limousine arrive and pull into the parking bay.
I sit up. My stomach flips, and I hold my breath as I watch the door open. In slow motion he walks out; he’s like a rock star, and everyone turns to watch him.
Mr. Orgasmic.
I watch as he gets into the back of the limousine and the driver closes the door behind him, and then it slowly pulls away.
I watch it all the way up the street as it disappears, and I feel a wave of disappointment roll over me.
I wonder what he’s doing tonight. It’s late, nearly six thirty, and the Miles Media building is emptied out for the day. I can’t believe I waited around to get a glimpse of him leaving . . . what a loser. I guess I may as well order something to eat here. I’m only going to go and eat alone at home anyway. I pick up the menu and scan the choices, and then the front doors of Miles Media open again, and Tristan walks out. I frown as I watch him. He’s with a woman; she’s blonde and beautiful and wearing a gray woolen fitted dress and high-heeled short black boots. She has a trendy vibe about her, and her hair is in a bouncy ponytail. She says something, and he laughs out loud. They walk around the corner but are still in my view, and he puts his hand on her behind and leans in and kisses her.
Who is she?
He then takes her hand in his, and they disappear up the street together.
Does she work in the building? I would have thought they had some no-dating-the-staff kind of rule. Maybe not?
Maybe it’s a free-for-all, and they’re fucking their way through the floors?
Am I the only girl he’s flirting with? Does he summon anyone else up to his office?
I close my eyes in disgust.
Stop it.
God, I need to get a grip.
I go through my wardrobe and take out my clothes for tomorrow. It’s late, and I’ve been working on that story that they want. I hope it’s all right. My preparation is different this time. What should I wear tomorrow? Do I do as I was told?
I lay out the clothes Jameson told me to wear, and I stare at them on my bed.
The gray skirt with the split, the white silk shirt. How does he know that I wear a white lace bra with this shirt? How does he even know about this outfit?
He watches me.
A sick thrill runs through me. Fuck, this guy is playing with my head.
I’m walking around, a raging mass of hormones, and he hardly touches me.