“They could walk in now—”

“And see the boss worshiping you.”

You know, it’s a bit too fucking appealing when I say it like that. I wouldn’t exactly mind if some of those managers who refuse to ask Kara questions came up here and found my tongue buried between her legs, her hair spilling out of her bun as she bucks and writhes on my desk.

“You want to risk it with me, Kara? You going to let me taste you?”

Her breath comes in shallow puffs.

And I wait, heart slamming against my rib cage, vibrating with tension until she licks her lips and whispers, “Yes.”

Seven

Kara

Obviously I’ve thought of this before, and not just the other day. More like hundreds, no, thousands of times. I’ve dreamed of this so many times, I get a flash of deja vu.

This head of thick brown hair between my bare thighs, threaded with silver; the rasp of Galen’s constant five o’clock shadow against my sensitive skin. It’s so familiar. And inevitable.

My boss yanks his chair over, then sits like a king at a feasting table. He’s still cupping my pussy, holding me there as though if he lets go, I might float away.

You are a queen.

Shivers race over my body, because I’m goody-two-shoes Kara: eternal dork and known stick in the mud. No one has ever looked at me the way Galen Onasis looks at me.

Like he’ll never get enough of the sight of me.

Like he resents needing to blink.

“I’ve thought about this so many times, Kara.” His voice is guttural.

“Same,” I whisper, then break into giggles.

This is so strange.

The steady stroke of his free hand up and down my side—that settles me. Eases my building hysteria. Because what am I so nervous about? This is Galen, and we’ve both wanted this for so long, and I know down to the marrow of my bones that he would never, ever hurt me.

Piss me off? Sure.

Make the occasional—gasp—error in judgment? Of course. Despite the reputation he’s cultivated, Galen Onasis is a human being. A flawed mortal just like the rest of us.

But even during our earlier mess, amid all the hurt feelings and confusion, I’ve always found solace in this: the look of adoration in his ice blue eyes. The edge of hunger that makes his handsome features so stark.

He won’t care that my panties are frayed. Or that I, um, haven’t shaved down there in a few days.

“I’m going to look at you now.”

Jeez, I hope he doesn’t narrate the whole experience. I’ll embarrass myself, because every time Galen says things like that in his deep, rough voice, I almost burst into flames.

“Oh gosh.” I cover my face with my hands, my own cheeks scorching against my palms, as Galen flips the skirt of my dress up onto my belly. A thumb hooks under my panties, and he pulls them aside in one deft motion.