Page 37 of Dial F for Finance

“Well, we are.” I fold my arms across my chest as though it’s going to hide the hammering in my heart. “Emphatically.”

He steps closer. “Forgive me, Jen. But emphatically, no.”

Then he wraps his big hand around the back of my neck and kisses me.

CHAPTER 8

Dominic

She whimpers into my mouth, hands fisting my lapels, running through my hair. The sound is low and wild, the kind of thing she’d try to smother if I wasn’t pinning her against the bathroom sink with most of my weight.

“You’re insane,” she says, tearing her mouth from mine, eyes blazing. “There are people⁠—”

I crowd her against the cold porcelain. “It’s locked.”

“Someone could get a key,” she hisses, but her voice is already going hoarse, and her hands are dragging me to her, not away.

“I don’t care,” I say, and mean it. My hands are on her hips, dragging up the fabric of her skirt. I find the line of her thigh and the wet heat at the center of her. She’s already soaked through the slip of her panties. The feel of her, hot and slick under my fingertips, ignites every feral, reckless instinct I ever pretended I didn’t have.

“Jesus, Jen,” I mutter, sliding two fingers along her swollen seam, not even bothering with patience. “You were planning to torture me, weren’t you?”

She makes that sound again, but this time it’s a gasp that gives way to a laugh—embarrassed, a little crazed, pure Jenna. “You deserve it,” she says, but her knees go soft the second I circle her clit.

She moans.

“Keep your voice down, Pemberton,” I say, dipping my head to her neck, biting where I know she’s sensitive and breathing in the sharp bergamot perfume I could identify anywhere. “You don’t want the whole office to know I’ve got my fingers in this pretty cunt of yours.”

Her fingers dig into my shoulder, hard, and for a second her expression says she’s about to snarl at me—I wouldn’t put it past her, not for a second—but then I press my thumb just right and her head thunks back against the mirror. Her mouth opens, silent, all her arguments evaporated like water on a hot sidewalk.

“That’s it,” I whisper. “Let it go.”

“You’re such an asshole,” she says—but her hips buck into my hand, hungry and involuntary. “I hate you.” I savor how thick the arousal is in her voice.

“I know.” I pin her tighter, the sink edge biting into her ass. My cock is throbbing, straining against my zipper so hard it fucking hurts, but I want her in pieces before I put myself inside her again. I want her to break and remember who did it for the rest of her life.

I shove her skirt higher, fingers working fast and sure, then tug her panties down her thighs. She’s dripping onto my hand, clenching and desperate, and when I slide two fingers inside her she nearly chokes on the moan.

“You planned to walk around like this all day?” I murmur, letting my lips find her earlobe, knowing from experience what it does to her. “All turned on? Ready for me to bend you over and make you scream?”

“Dominic—”

I work her faster, my fingers sliding through her wet heat until she’s fluttering around me, her whole body pressed to the mirror for leverage. She makes this helpless hitching sound with every breath, like she’s trying not to let herself go but can’t stop from wanting it.

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” she hisses, as if that’s a defense.

I lock my eyes on hers. “I’m not the one about to come on the hand of a man I hate.”

Her glare could strip paint. Her body is less convincing. She clamps around my fingers when I curl them, hips pushing into my hand as she keens.

“That’s it,” I murmur against her ear. “You can hate me again in a minute.”

“I already⁠—”

I flick my thumb again and her whole body locks up, trembling, the heat in her going nuclear in a single, perfect moment.

She comes for me, hard, her jaw slack, eyes wild, a sharp cry that barely makes it past clenched teeth. Her nails bite into my shoulder, the pain as clean and concentrated as the orgasm wracking her body. I ease her through it, pumping my fingers slower, gentler, until her thighs quake and her forehead thunks forward onto my chest.

She’s panting. I fix her underwear and skirt, then hold her to me, wrapping one arm around her and cradling her, just for a beat, letting her ride it out.