I smirk as he slides me a smug glance.
Behind reception is the office. It looks larger from the inside than from the outside looking in. There are two glass walls, given this is the corner of the building, overlooking the street.
“This is the side you saw,” he says. “You can see out. They can see in.”
The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a gorgeous view. I could swear there are even more people milling about than a few minutes ago.
“Over here”—he walks us past the desk, bookshelves, and another plant—“is the conference room.”
“This is a very nice office.” I run my hand along the metal chairs flanking the long, black table.
“It better be. Cost a mint to design.”
A wall separates the conference room from the corner office, glass, but there is a half-wall on the bottom, its top ledge draped with a long box of overflowing plants. I touch one of the leaves.
“They’re fake,” he says. “No sunlight required.”
Next, he points at the shoppers below. “They can’t see us over here. There’s a coating on the windows on this side.” Then he turns his back to the window, where people wander to and fro. He reaches for his belt. “Want me to moon them to prove it to you?”
I cup a hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh.
“Caught you off-guard and you actually gave me a big grin.”
“Did not.” I affect a serious expression. He walks over to me and rests his wide palms on my hips.
“What do you think? Would you like to run Grand Marin?”
My heart races at his proposition. At the idea of being in charge of this entire place. Of being in charge, period. It’s scary, and my track record is terrible. But the gorgeous office, the stunning view, the opportunity for challenge and excitement…
It’s tempting. And frightening at the same time.
“I have no idea how to be a property manager, Nate.”
“And yet you’re absolutely breathless at the prospect of learning. You’re excited. Admit it.”
“How do you know what excites me?”
He dips his head and sweeps his tongue into my mouth. Bending me back over his forearm, my ass hits the boardroom table and he runs a firm hand from my hip to my stomach and then up to my breast. He toys with my nipple over the fabric and then stops as fast as he started. In one swift move, I’m on my feet again, hot and bothered, and he’s peering down at me with that same smug expression he’s been wearing since we arrived.
I can’t let him get away with that.
I grip the fabric of my light summer dress and begin hiking up the skirt. Slowly, I reveal my legs and then my thighs. His smile fades. His eyes are fastened to my body and I walk over to the glass, skirt hiked high.
“You swear no one can see?” I peek over my shoulder and a strand of my long hair sticks to my damp cheek. Given the empty office isn’t air-conditioned at the moment, it’s stuffy in here.
“That’s what the window guys tell me.” His eyes go dark with want, and I long to see them go darker.
“Only one way to find out,” I say, and then I pull the dress over my head.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Nate
This isn’t why I brought her up here, but I’m not complaining.
Vivian stands in front of the windows in naught but a buttercup yellow bra-and-panty set. There are little bows at the side of each hip and one in the center of her cleavage.
“If you’re trying to get the job, you already have it.” I love this side of her. She seems free. A hell of a lot freer than she did even a few days ago. “Not that I’m arguing with your tactic.”
“Don’t waste time arguing.” She reaches behind her and unclasps her bra, dropping it to the floor. Her nipples are round and full and perched in the center of her round and full breasts. A little trickle of sweat slides between those breasts as she wiggles out of her panties.
It’s fast approaching boiling point in this room but I’m not going anywhere. I tug off my shirt and make quick work of my pants. Then I lift her and deposit her onto the table meant to discuss quarterly reports, occupancy, and other stale topics.
She peeks over my shoulder. “No one seems to be gaping up at the window, do they?”
I pretend to check. “Nope.”
“You must be right about the glass.”
“Maybe they’re being polite.” I kiss a trail along her salty skin. She tips her head back to give me better access.
“Let them watch. It’s been a while since I had a scandal in my life.”
I pull my head up and blink, dazed.
She giggles. “Sorry. I’m no good at this seduction stuff.”
“Disagree.” I lower my head and suckle a nipple into my mouth. She gasps, drawing her knees up, her sandals stuttering along the table’s surface. I continue licking and suckling until I reach the apex of her thighs. Then I have a seat and pull her ass to the edge of the table and lower my face to taste her.
Her hips arch and she thrusts her pussy into my face. I continue my attentive assault, enjoying her taste and the scent of her vanilla perfume and lotion—she has both, I know that now. She calls it “scent layering.” I call it her driving me out of my mind with need.
A few more delicate licks and nipple plucks later, she’s moaning and coming. I waste no time standing and spreading her thighs. I grip my cock and stroke, admiring her damp folds, the glistening tips of her breasts, and the sated, satisfied look in her eyes. I can’t get enough of her.
“Condom,” she whispers. I blink to reset my brain. Right. Condom. That would be important. “Tell me you were a good Boy Scout and brought one with you?”
“I was never a Boy Scout,” I mutter, pretending to be insulted. I bend down and fish a condom from the wallet in my pants pocket. Rolling it on, I send her a smile. “Street smarts.”
I scoop her into my arms. I consider pressing her ass against the glass and finishing us both off, but I’m not sure if the one-way glass works with body parts smashed and gyrating against it. Better not risk it, for her sake. She’s had enough publicity for a lifetime.
Instead, I wheel her around to an empty wall and settle her against it. Her hair slides up the wall as I bring her body over mine. I enter her in inch by precious inch and watch as her face melts in ecstasy. She mutters “so good, so good,” over and over.
I put my biceps to work lifting and dropping her onto me, and fit in a calf workout by holding her suspended. Soon we’re both panting, grunting, and God help me, she’s begging. A high, breathy “please, Nate, please” and I can’t resist those words from this woman. I weld my back teeth together to keep from blowing too soon as I work her into a generous lather.
She goes over again and it’s not a moment too soon. I follow, half-growling, half dying given the cramp in my thigh. By the time I finish with a colorful swear word, we slide down the wall in a sweaty heap, her on my lap, my hand gripping my hamstring.
“Fuck me!” I grumble, stuck between immense sexual satisfaction and the most intense yet stupid muscle pain known to man.
And what does my girl do? She laughs at me and follows it with a smart-assed comment.