An Innocent Obsession

“No one says that!” says woman number two. “No one at all!”

All right, this is getting ridiculous. “I understand your job is to make Carroway-Silver more accessible, but please find me a way to do that without a camera in my face.”

“Um…” Nails drumming in the background. “How do you feel about a Reddit AMA—”

I don’t hear another word of the conversation.

One minute I’m in hell and the next, I’m convinced I must have died from boredom during the phone call, because there’s suddenly an angel in my office. She’s let in by my secretary, a small stack of files in her arms, and she stops in front of my desk, waiting. Shifting side to side, looking everywhere but me. Her blue eyes dance all over the goddamn office, but they refuse to land on me and I swear to God, I almost leap over the desk so I can clasp her face in my hands and demand—demand—she look at me.

Where did she come from?

There is no way, zero chance, I’ve seen this girl before. She must be new.

I’ve never seen anyone more extraordinary in my life.

The faded denim color of her dress matches her eyes almost perfectly. The sun from my office window is causing the deep gold of her hair to glow, having the same effect on her skin. Christ, she looks so fucking soft. Head to toe, but especially that mouth. It looks as though her lips are swollen from sucking the juice out of strawberries—and that thought makes my cock stiffen in my pants. No. She, as a whole, is doing this to me.

Never in my life have I reacted to a woman this way. In the past, I dated, but it became quickly apparent that my bank account attracted women I had nothing in common with. A lot like the publicist that continues to chatter on in my ear, others seem to latch on to me because of my persona. They want nothing to do with me. Who I am. I’m good for a flashy Instagram picture and fancy parties. To some people that’s enough, but not me. So it has been a long time since I’ve bothered with women at all. Leading to having my name on an annoying amount of Most Eligible Bachelor lists. Kill me now.

There’s another reason I haven’t dated in five years, though, isn’t there? I’m a realist, so I find it hard to admit that I’ve sensed…something. Someone. Hovering just at the edge of my world. It’s so hard to explain. Sometimes I turn a corner on the street or walk through the hallway of my home and I swear, there’s an elusive presence right at my fingertips that I can’t quite grasp. Somehow that presence is more real to me than anything else in my life.

Finally, finally, the girl’s eyes land on me and widen—and a sound escapes me.

My whole body reacts at once. My gut tightens, my lungs empty, I’m hard. I’m so fucking hard and hot, my cock is pressed to the underside of my desk.

“Shut the door,” I rasp at my assistant, who is still hovering in the doorway.

The publicist mistakenly assumes I’m talking to her. “What was that, Mr. Carroway?”

I slam the phone down into its cradle.

The girl and I stare at each other across my desk. I should stand, but I can’t. My erection would scare the hell out of her. Rightly so. It’s highly inappropriate, not to mention unprofessional. She’s just a girl trying to do her job and she’s turning me on so much, I’m unzipping my pants beneath the desk. Jesus, I can’t help it. She’s having an effect on me I can’t explain. As she stands there, innocently clutching the files to her breasts and blinking at me, I’m powerless to do anything but stroke my cock.

“What’s your name?”

She sucks in a breath and drops the files.

Thank God there is a panel of wood blocking the view, because she drops to her knees to gather the scattered papers and that’s all it takes. The sound of her knees hitting the carpet of my office makes me come. I bite down hard on my wrist as ropes of spend shoot from my cock, hitting the carpet with light thuds. Can she hear them? Why do I want her to? My fucking head is spinning. I can’t believe what I’ve done. What I want to do again. My dick is still semi-hard, despite the intensity of my climax, and demanding my attention.

No. It wants her attention. Wants to cram itself into the little hole between her legs.

Control yourself, Clarke. What the hell is going on here?

Doing my best to breathe and get myself back under control, I zip myself back into my pants and blot the sweat from my upper lip, just in time for her to stand again.