Page 46 of Wicked Takeover
A man answered. His response was too quiet to understand.
She expected her door to open. Her stomach fluttered.
Footfalls sounded in the hall. Jasmina’s voice floated down it. Selena finished her sweet song, and an earthy, vibrant instrumental replaced the piece.
Lauren bounced her legs. She tried to keep still but couldn’t. She wanted to know what Dante was doing out there or even if he was still in the hall. Why hadn’t he come inside her office?
Uh-uh, she didn’t want to know. Wouldn’t think about it. She had stuff to work on.
Her job application had gone through. There was the standard “congratulations, your resume is being processed” notification on her computer screen.
Someone walked by her door. Not Dante. The footfalls were too light. Probably a woman’s. Possibly his first client today.
Or not. Jasmina had said he wasn’t booked for another hour.
She turned back to her screen.
More footfalls, voices, and music intruded on her peace.
She hurried from her office and rushed into Dante’s workstation. He was standing, his back to her, his attention on his computer screen, possibly his client bookings. His thick, dark hair looked freshly shampooed. His clean, masculine scent filled the room.
Light-headed, Lauren closed the door and locked it.
He looked over at the sound and smiled. No, he grinned.
Her legs went rubbery. Everything she’d warned herself about seconds before evaporated like a bad dream. He was honestly glad to see her. Tomorrow or next week might be different. He could flee then, but not now. She wasn’t going to let him.
She crossed the space, sank to her knees, and undid the metal button on his jeans.
He covered her hand with his. “What are you doing?”
He’d spoken quietly.
She would, too, when she had the power to speak. She pushed his hand away, lowered his fly, and tugged his jeans and boxers to his knees.
Someone sprinted down the hall, the steps light, possibly Jasmina. Van Gogh’s voice wafted from his workstation, his words too quiet to understand.
Lauren rubbed her nose in the fragrant hair above Dante’s cock, wishing she could bottle his scent and smell it whenever she felt alone.
He babbled something that sounded turned on.
She lifted her face. “You better be quiet or they’ll hear you.”
He sagged against the counter, his chin lifted. The ridge in his throat jerked with his hard swallow. “What?”
“Shhh.” She swirled her tongue over his smooth, meaty crown. No food could match its taste and musky smell.
He grunted loudly.
“Quiet or I’ll stop.”
He lowered his face, his eyes narrowed. “You’ll what?”
“You heard me.” She cradled his shaft and worked it as her channel would.
Dante’s frown fell away, and he dropped his head back.
Playfully, she lapped his cock and tugged his pubic hair with her teeth.
