I wait, but Galen says nothing. He doesn’t come an inch closer; won’t act without an invitation. But you know what? I’m feeling reckless. Dizzy.

“What exactly were you afraid you might do, Mr Onasis?” I clear my throat, and try to sound assertive. “Show me.”

Now his chest moves. My boss sucks in a deep, shuddering breath, and then he’s moving, striding around the edge of my desk.

My chair skitters across the tiles as he yanks me around; I let out a squeak as he takes my waist, lifting me onto the edge of the table. A pen clatters to the floor. My phone falls off the hook.

It’s chaos. Unbridled chaos.

Galen kicks my chair away like it’s his worst enemy, and then he’s here, crowding into the space between my knees.

Dimly, I remember I’m wearing a dress today. It’s hitched to my mid-thighs, the fabric taut between my spread legs so he can probably see my panties, and god, I’ve never done something like this. Never let a man touch me this way.

There was always something more important going on. College assignments; To Do lists; work duties. Responsible things for responsible people. Hello, my name is Kara, and I am the ultimate goody-two-shoes.

I force a breath into my lungs. Galen’s waistcoat creases in my tight grip.

“This,” my boss says, squeezing my hips, my waist, my upper arms. Testing the feel of me, and it puts our rushed embrace in the corridor to shame. “This is what I was afraid I might do, Kara.”

This? As in, stoke my body heat higher until I’m panting for breath? Make me rock and press against him, wanting his hands everywhere? Wishing his touch would be rougher?

Well, I can’t pretend that it’s a sensible idea, but the oddest thing is happening to me right now.

I just—I don’t care. I don’t care if this is not smart, because I’m swaying in Galen’s grip, and my cheeks are hot, and there’s an ache building below my navel. God, I’ve wanted this for so long. I’ve dreamed about it so many times.

And I don’t want to be sensible. Don’t want to remind Galen about HR.

I want to turn my big, scary boss into a shuddering wreck. I want to take him apart and rearrange the pieces. I want to make him need me as badly as I need him—so he’ll never walk away from me for days ever again.

“I’m not—I don’t know what I’m doing.” Despite my warning, I lean forward and scrape my teeth over Galen’s throat. His five o’clock shadow has come in, rasping like sandpaper, and his pulse thuds against my top lip. My boss groans.

He gathers me closer, and I’m not hard and muscled like him; not worldly or commanding. What I am is desperate to feel his mouth on mine.

The famous Galen Onasis does not disappoint. He tips my head back and cradles my cheeks—then pauses to run the lock of black hair I left out of my bun between his finger and thumb, humming at how silky it is.