Three Simple Rules (Blindfold Club 1)

“Computer Usage Policy.”

I started to type when his hands closed around my waist and unzipped the zipper, yanking my pants down past my knees. The air on my naked skin was almost as shocking as the action itself.

“Hmm, I like these,” he said, running a hand over the back of my pink panties. “Keep typing, please.”

Because I’d only gotten three letters into “computer” before turning to him in surprise. He’d rolled his chair back so he was directly behind me and his hands kneaded my skin, skirting the edges of my panties.

“What are you doing?”

“Dictating an email to you because my hands are busy.”

I typed the rest of it, not bothering to put it in title case like I usually do, confusion making this easy task seem like brain surgery.

“Evelyn,” he said, “You may or may not remember . . .” His fingertips brushed over the crotch of my rapidly dampening panties, making me jump. “You should be typing now.”

I typed in a hurry, and when my fingers stopped moving, his started.

“—the company computer usage document you signed when you were hired.” He rubbed the spot that was aching for him through the fabric. I tried to focus on the words and not what he was doing or the desire that was sinking its powerful claws into me.

“I’d like to remind you that your manager has monitoring software,” he said. He tugged the panties to the side and exposed me to him, dragging his hand over my bare flesh. “And that your system should only be used for work related tasks.”

What the hell was he talking about? I didn’t use my computer for non-work things when I was supposed to be working. “I don’t understand why—”

He buried a finger inside me and I moaned.

“I can’t type when you do that.” It felt so different at this angle, a new kind of pleasure. Plus I couldn’t get over how incredibly hot and naughty it was, what we were doing right at his desk. Yet what he had me typing also had my brain confused and fighting for attention.

“You must find this distracting,” he said in a low, sexy voice. Then he returned to the tone for dictation. “You should not use your system to check personal email or social media, even during breaks.” His finger drew back and then plunged into me again and again. “Type, Evelyn.”

My fingers fumbled over the keyboard. I saw the red underline of a misspelled word and fixed it, all while he had my panties bunched to one side and fucked me with a finger. I was impossibly wet, and I knew his face was fixed on my ass right in front of him.

“Thank you for your understanding, Logan.” As soon as the words were gone from his mouth, he leaned forward in his chair and put his tongue on me.

“Oh, shit,” I cried. My legs shook when his tongue caressed me. The need that gripped my body threatened to break me.

“Send it,” he whispered, barely taking his lips off of my skin. I clicked the button, but remained as I was. There was no way I was going to stop him, but my goddamn brain wouldn’t shut up, and the distraction was keeping me from getting where I wanted him to take me.

“I still don’t understand.”

“I saw the club’s logo on that email the owner sent you, and I was curious who designed it,” he leaned back and peeled my panties down to my knees. “I thought you might be freelancing, so after you left my office, I watched your computer.”

I had forgotten he had those capabilities. I’d thought I was safe since it was my personal account and I hadn’t said much in the email. “There wasn’t anything in the email, though.”

The warmth of his face returned. His tongue slipped inside me, and then, like he’d done at the club, it drifted further to the spot that brought me pleasure but also made me uncomfortable. Dirty and wrong, but felt so good.

“Stop, I can’t think when . . . you’re going down on me.”

“I don’t want to stop.” He locked his hands on my hips and licked me front to back, drawing a shiver from my body. “You’d said you were getting the money Saturday night, and the owner said to bring the contract with you on Saturday.” He shoved two fingers into me, filling me as his mouth sucked.

“All I had to do,” he continued, “was email the guy and say you’d referred me to him. He spelled it all out for me.”

My hands balled into fists as the fracture in my brain widened.

“What did you think when you found out?”

“I was excited you were . . . are,” he corrected, “interested in that kind of thing. But I was worried about you, and pissed off. I almost gave you the money on Friday to stop you. But if I gave you the money, shouldn’t I get something in return? I’ve wanted you for forever. So I could give you the money, get what I wanted, and have you never know it was me.”

“What?” My hips moved subtly with his rhythm, asking for more. Forever? I was getting close. Was I supposed to tell him yellow?