Risky Business

“I didn’t doubt you for a second. Only wondered if Jazmyn Starr was going to see the brilliance in your idea.” His thumb glances over my jawline, up to where his fingers thread into my hair, and while my body goes utterly still, inside I feel like I’m vibrating. Holding me there, he lowers slowly, giving me time to stop him.

I should. I know it.

Stop. Don’t. The words are right there on the tip of my tongue but turn into ‘don’t stop’ in my mind.

We’ve spent the last few days together, talking and laughing and planning. We’ve flirted, for sure, and I haven’t forgotten that moonlit kiss on the rock, but we’ve been so busy with actually working that we haven’t taken it further.

Until now, when Carson is looking at me with want in his dark eyes and possession in his touch. His breath is ragged, and I can feel the tenuous restraint he has as he holds himself inches from me.

“Jayme, I know you want me to be a good guy, and I’ve been trying so fucking hard. Trying to stay away from you even as we work side by side. But I’m reaching the end of my rope here.” His voice is hushed, rumbling in his chest as if the confession of weakness pains him.

I don’t decide, the words just come forth . . .

“Carson, kiss me.”

The demand unleashes him, and he attacks my mouth with a hunger I didn’t know he was hiding. I’ve been struggling to stay professional too, fighting the urge to touch his hand or scoot my chair too close just to smell his earthy, woodsy cologne.

But this is something else. He’s consuming me with just a kiss.

Asking a man like him to be ‘good’ is like asking the wind not to blow or fire not to burn. It’s simply not in his nature. He’s exciting and raw, chases not butterflies but fireworks, while still doing his best for others like Barbara, Toni, and even his dad.

He’s a heady blend of good and bad, dangerous and protective.

And I’m lost in his intensity, matching it with a need all my own. Our tongues tangle. I wrap my arms around his waist to press my palms to his back, and his grip on my hair tightens, pulling the strands delightfully. I want to melt into him or absorb him into my body. Is there a way to do both at the same time?

I hear my own whimper, and while I’d normally be mortified at the needy noise, I find that I don’t care. I want Carson to know how much I want him because he’s not hiding his desire from me either. I can feel his cock, hard and thick, pressed against my belly, and I grind against it.

“Fuck, Jayme,” he groans, breaking our kiss to press his forehead to mine to simply enjoy the sensation of our bodies rubbing together. “You’re gonna make me blow in my pants like a damn teenager.”

He grabs my hips, holding me still to buck against me. I can’t help but smile at the thought of making a man like Carson lose control. I feel powerful and sexy.

Seeing my smile, Carson growls, “You like that? You want me to use you? Rub my cock against you until I cover you with cum?”

His hips find a rhythm that’s driving us both crazy. Oh, shit. Carson Steen is a dirty talker, my one secret weakness.

Too breathless to speak, I nod eagerly.

Carson backs me up to the conference table, lifting me to sit on the edge. My skirt rides up my thighs as he steps between my knees and pulls my core to meet his cock. Even through the layers of fabric between us, the pressure against my clit feels good and I grind reflexively.

“Yes,” I moan. “Right there.”

“Take what you need. Tell me what you want. You know I like it when you’re bossy,” Carson whispers into my ear. A shiver works through my body, from both his hot breath and the way he celebrates all of me. He appreciates my strength and boldness and isn’t too fragile to let me shine, all the while wanting to give me pleasure.

Brrring—brrring—brrring.

The loud sound of the phone ringing is jarring, but Carson doesn’t let it interrupt us. He’s guiding my hips, keeping rhythm with my movements with his own hips as he thrusts against me. I want there to be nothing between us so he can slip inside and I can feel him stretch me, but I can’t stop moving long enough to take off our clothes. Not when I’m this close.

Brrring—brrring—brrring.

The phone rings again, and this time it breaks through our focus.

“Motherfucker,” Carson snaps, taking the two steps away to grab the phone from the credenza at the back of the room.

Instantly, I feel raw and vulnerable, on the edge of the table and of an orgasm. I wiggle around, getting more of my ass onto the table’s surface and pushing my skirt down so I don’t seem like the sort of wanton woman to fuck a client on the edge of a conference table. Despite having almost done so two seconds ago and considering picking up right where we left off.