Hard For My Boss

And my pocket is awfully close to my cock.

Which is already starting to stiffen. Thanks, Ben.

Just when I’m about to pull away with a “that morning coffee I totally don’t drink went through my system faster than I thought” trip to the bathroom to check these texts, the door to Ben’s office swings open.

“Who’s responsible for this report?” he asks snippily.

Rebekah is at his side in an instant—his right hand and eager assistant at all times—and her features harden when she eyes the report up-close. She lifts her face, her tight bun flipping up with her head as she splutters several words I can’t make out.

Ben slaps the report against his palm, huffs once, then shoots a terse word to Rebekah before slipping right back into his office. Rebekah, after a moment of steeling herself and smoothing out her skirt, makes her way down the aisle of cubicles.

And she comes to a stop right at the intern table. “Trevor,” she states, her voice low as a reproachful mother’s.

I swallow. “Yes?”

“Mr. Gage,” she explains collectedly, “wishes to see you in his office regarding a report you turned in yesterday before you left.”

I frown, knowing precisely the report she’s indicating. It was perfect. I even remember looking over it twice. “Was something wrong with it?” I ask.

“Please see Mr. Gage in his office. That’s all.” With that, she spins on her heel and disappears to the computers.

Despite all the attention I’ve suddenly earned, I feel a heck of a lot more indignance than I do embarrassment or fear. I run a hand down my tie, take a breath, then dismiss myself from the table, ignoring Elijah and Ashlee’s glassy, worried stares.

A lot of eyes follow me as I cut across the room toward Ben’s office. I feel them on me like stale air.

His door is halfway open when I reach it at last. Benjamin is leaning against the front of his desk, his arms folded powerfully, and his glare is menacing.

Or sexy, depending on who you are. Good thing I’m me. “You called for me … sir?”

The blinds to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the rest of the office are open. Everyone is watching.

“Close the door, Trevor.”

I lift my eyebrows questioningly for three solid seconds. Then, setting my jaw, I turn and close the office door behind me.

Ben, smooth as the silky hot pink tie he wears, reaches an arm around the back of his desk and hits a switch. The blinds slowly rotate, closing themselves and shutting off all vision of the office to us.

Suddenly, we’re completely alone. I tilt my head, my role of intern traded away at once for the braver me. “What the hell?” I ask quietly. “Is this your idea of how to keep things discreet?”

His eyes are dark and greedy as he stares me down. “You are in deep, deep trouble, intern.”

30

Trevor needs a strict disciplining.

I stare at Ben, my furious muscle god in a fitted suit and hot pink tie, my obsession, my boss. “What … What do you mean?”

“This report,” he states, lifting it off his desk with one hand and giving it a hearty backhanded swat with the other, “is entirely too damned perfect for my liking. I mean, this staple in the corner here? It’s goddamned immaculate.”

“Is … Is this a joke? Are we joking right now?”

He tosses the report I spent two hours on to the side like it means nothing, then pushes himself off the desk, approaching me. “My worse problem, however, is you.”

I smirk defiantly. “Oh yeah?”

He stops right in front of me. “Yeah.”

I look up into his eyes. They fucking crush me up. I’ve wanted him so bad and for so long. He stands close enough to me that his every breath crashes over my face.

“That tie,” he growls.

I clutch my tie. “What about it?”

Without warning, he hooks a finger into the neck of it, gives it one deft jerk, and then it’s pulled off with the ease of a ribbon on a birthday present. “It’s against dress code. It’s got to go.”

My heart starts racing. “Ben …”

“And that tight shirt?” He starts to circle me like he’s king of the jungle, sizing up his challenger. “It’s the same shirt you wore at least three times since last week. It’s the same shirt that shows your cute little pecs—and nipples when the office is cold.”

“Ben.” I’m almost at a whisper, my heart thumping so loud I’m afraid I won’t hear someone if they were to knock or just walk right in.

“I turn down the temperature sometimes, just for your sexy nips.” Ben continues to circle me. “That shirt has got to go. It is too fucking tight. It’s driving me crazy.”

“Ben …”

“I’m your boss. I’m not Ben. Take off your shirt.”

I swallow so hard, it feels like I’m literally trying to swallow my heart back down into my chest. I glance nervously at the blinds, which are perfectly shut and show nothing through them.