Filthy Rage (Second Chance With My Brother's Best Friend, Book Five) (9 page)

My whole body is yelling that it does. I can still feel the burn of his fingers through my clothes. My mouth is swollen, and I can taste his coffee flavor on my tongue, feel the imprint of his body slammed against mine.

He wants me. That rigid cock pressing on my pelvis wasn’t a hallucination.

Dane stares at me for a long moment in total silence. I force my spine to straighten and don’t look away, even though I feel like every emotion I have is on display. My secrets are already out, so what’s the point in pretending anymore? Why not feel liberated by this newfound freedom, instead? If only I could.

Dane’s lips thin for a brief moment, and he gives a brisk nod, like a decision has been made. “Okay. I want you to go sit down at your desk and go back to work.” He sounds like Boss Dane, but the contrast of heated fire in his eyes makes me feel off-kilter, unsure how to read him right now.

What is he telling me here? Was this kiss some kind of strange test of…something I don’t know? Will it ever happen again? Is he just dismissing me, and now we’re going back to normal?

It’s clear he didn’t call me in here to let me go. And pride keeps me from begging him to clarify what’s going on, despite my confusion.

Dane nods to the floor, and I glance down, realizing I must have dropped my notebook and pen at my feet when he kissed me. My body still crackles with the fire lit in my veins, but my brain is spinning. I bend down and pick up my stuff, then spin and exit his office.

I need a minute to think. To sort out what the hell just happened. To get my body back under control.

And to relish in what might be the one and only kiss I ever have with Dane Rossi. The most passionate moment of my entire life, by far. One I’d give anything to repeat again.

T
ime has stopped
.

Or it sure feels that way, anyway. Since exiting Dane’s office, I’ve done everything I can to stay busy. I’ve filed every random piece of paper on my desk. I’ve responded to all my emails. I made extra copies of color surveys. I asked my coworkers if they need assistance with anything.

Whatever it takes to make me stop thinking about that kiss.

It doesn’t work.

Is Dane thinking about me right now too? Or has he been able to push me out of his head and focus on his clients? Maybe I should get tips from him on how to do that. I smother an awkward laugh.

By the time lunchtime hits, I’m so fidgety I can’t stand to be around myself. I need to get the hell away from this spot, get some breathing room. Or else I might just explode. Or go march into his office and demand he kiss me again.

Lauren passes by my desk with a brown paper bag in her hand. Impulse has me saying hi to her.

“Hey, Emme,” she replies with a friendly smile, stopping in front of me. Today she has on a pair of tight red pants that mold to her figure, along with a form-fit white dress shirt open at the throat. Her red hair is pulled back in a soft bun with pieces loose around her face. She’s gorgeous. “Happy Friday!”

“You heading to lunch? Want to eat together?” I can hardly believe my own assertiveness. Maybe desperation makes me more social.

The surprise in her eyes is covered quickly. “Yeah, sure. I’m just going to the cafeteria, but it’ll be nice to have someone to eat with. I usually stay at my desk.”

“Me too.” I dig into my drawer to pull out my salad and soda and follow her down the elevator to the basement. The doors open, and we turn left, then right into the cafeteria. There’s a table immediately on our right, which we grab.

We don’t talk much at first. She eats her ham sandwich, and I poke at my chicken salad. My courage is fast fleeing, and all my emotions are a tangled knot in my chest.

“So how are you liking it so far here?” she asks me, politely ignoring my awkwardness. “You’ve been here…what, around eight months now?”

“Six,” I correct her.

“Hm. Seems like it’s been longer.” She laughs. “Time does something weird in this building, I’ve noticed.”

“I have too.” I give a wry smile, trying to push aside the deeper meaning behind those words. Thoughts of Dane’s tongue plunging into my mouth make me flush slightly, but I desperately refocus on the person in front of me.

“You’re still in school, right?” she asks. “How are you liking your classes? When do you graduate?”

Lauren’s gentle questions start to open me up, and I find myself talking about my degree, about what I want to do once I graduate. I even manage to ask her about her own background and what led her here. Turns out she served a semester-long internship here in undergrad, and when she got her Master’s, she knew she wanted to come back here and work for real. Hearing that she started even lower than I did makes me feel a little better about my own position.

Soon, we’re both laughing about mess-ups we made when we first started at the company. I relay how I accidentally made a hundred copies of a document for a meeting when I only meant to make ten, and Carl was standing there while they all printed out, sighing and rolling his eyes the whole time.

Lauren snorts and takes a sip of her Coke. “Okay, that’s funny. I remember I was supposed to take notes and type up a report on what I learned from a meeting. Somehow I managed to paste a dating article I’d been secretly reading on my computer, into the document that was supposed to have my meeting minutes. I didn’t notice it in my haste to send it on time. Dane emailed it back almost immediately and suggested I ‘proofread’ it, and then I discovered what I’d done. I felt so mortified.”

“God, I bet.” Not as mortifying as having him see your private fantasies about him, but still pretty awkward.

She glances at the time on her phone and sighs. “I’d better get back to work. We have that meeting at three today, so I need to get my stuff done before it’s The Carl Show.” She rolls her eyes, and I can’t help the laugh that barks out of me. “Oh, pardon me. You totally didn’t just see that.”

“Not at all,” I say, crossing my heart with a smirk. Good to know I’m not the only one who disdains the man.

She stands and rolls her neck. “Can’t wait to hear his thoughts on how he’s going to woo some of these big companies. I’m sure it’ll be engaging.” With a salute, she adds, “I’ll see you in there!” then takes off toward the garbage cans to dump her trash.

I linger for another minute, letting myself relish the glow of what just happened. I reached out to her, and we really connected. Why did I wait so long to do so? Lauren is super nice and warm, and I feel stupid for hesitating because of shyness.

But within seconds of her leaving, my mind slips right back into thinking about Dane, how his lips felt as he nibbled my mouth, drank from me. I bite back a groan and press my bare thighs tighter together, fighting the arousal threatening to reignite beneath my skirt.

God, that stupid kiss.

Given that he didn’t say one word to me when he left to go on appointments right afterward, it’s apparent I need to let it go. Maybe he just wanted to get it out of his system because he’d found himself inadvertently turned on after reading my confession. I suppose if I’d stumbled across someone’s dirty thoughts about me, I’d be a bit inclined to find that person attractive, even momentarily.

Could it be that he was just getting it out of his system and that really was it? And can I live with just that fleeting memory of how good he felt, knowing it will never happen again?

It kind of sucks to think I might be nothing more than a temporary slip in reason. Maybe that’s why he didn’t tell me what he wants. But I won’t let myself dwell on that line of thought. No good can come from it.

I toss my trash and head back upstairs.

The next couple of hours go a little faster, thank God. I absorb myself in the work that cropped up while I was eating lunch—responding to emails and setting follow-up appointments for Dane. I don’t know how the man does it all, but he manages to pack his schedule to the brim and still keep on top of his duties here.

But that little spark in my lower belly, it’s still there, quietly humming with anticipation. I’m going to see him in our meeting at three. What will happen? Will he look at me again with that heat in his eyes? Or will he pretend nothing occurred between us?

His scorching words about being unable to ignore what I wrote echo through my head. He’s been thinking of me. That ember roars back to life, and I press suddenly sweaty palms to my stomach.

Stop it,
I will myself. I can’t go down this road of hoping and dreaming. It’ll only lead to me getting crushed.

Around 2:30, I glance at my almost empty water bottle and pop up from my chair, clutching it with shaky hands. Maybe if I drink a gallon of water, I can drown out this fire. Yeah, right. But I still make myself plod to the water fountain and fill the bottle. I linger for a moment longer, taking a sip to parch my dry mouth.

God, this day is never going to end. I just want to run home and curl up in the blanket on the couch and replay that kiss again and again. Foolish or no, I feel as if the imprint of his mouth on mine has been seared into my skin.

I take the long way back to my desk, meandering down the hallway, peering out the large windows that line the front of the building. The sky is overcast, with heavy gray clouds lying low on the horizon. I briefly wonder if it’ll snow.

When I reach my desk and sit down in my chair again, my stomach flips over at what I see waiting for me. There’s another folded note on my desk, this time stapled closed along the open side. What is this about? Surely he’s not calling me into his office again? He wouldn’t need to seal a message like that, right?

My fingers shake just a touch as I unfold it.

I
want
you to go into the far stall in the women’s bathroom before the meeting at 3, lock yourself in, and masturbate. Bring yourself to orgasm with just your fingers, and don’t wash your hands afterward.

When you touch your pussy, think about me and the things I want to do to you and that sexy mouth. Think about how much this will please me and turn me on. And do not let anyone else know what you’re doing.

I
t takes
a couple of seconds for my heart to start beating again. Shock has my jaw dropped open. I lower the note to my lap, clutching it in suddenly sweaty hands. Dane’s returned to the office, I muse inanely.

He left me a note. He left me a note telling me something very, very wicked. Obviously he hasn’t forgotten about me or that kiss. Obviously he wants more of whatever this is between us, too.

My whole body explodes in a wave of fire at the realization, and I close my eyes and let it all sink in. This is happening,
really
happening. And I’m equal parts freaked out and turned on beyond measure.

Am I going to do this, for real? Am I going to finger myself in the bathroom? He wouldn’t know either way, would he?

Maybe that’s part of this whole thing, though. That I’d know.
I’d
know if I cheated, even if he didn’t guess it—though he likely would sense it, since he seems to see everything on my face, in my heart. But I don’t want to cheat at the request. I want to do it.

My feet stumble over each other as I cram the note in my purse, zip it closed, and walk on stiff legs toward the women’s bathroom. Fear ricochets through my body, only heightening the throb of my arousal. I have to be super quiet in there. I can’t get caught. It would be far too mortifying for me to keep working here if I were. I’d never live it down.

And I don’t want to displease him. Not when Dane just leaped off the cliff with me, opening himself up in a big, risky way. Somehow, this action shifts the dynamic between us. It’s not just
my
words anymore,
my
fantasies, but
ours
.

An intimate connection being forged.

I manage to get the bathroom door open and slip across the smooth white tile to the stall at the end. Shit, someone’s in there. I could go in another stall, but he told me to use that one. So I turn toward the mirror and pretend to fluff my hair, check my teeth, run the tap to smooth cold water over my burning cheeks.

The stall opens, and Carrie, the head bookkeeper, comes out, dressed head to toe in severe black, hair pulled back in a tight bun.

“Hello, Emme,” she says in her usual throaty tone as she heads to the faucet beside me.

I give her a small nod and keep running water. My stomach is eating itself alive. I just want her to leave the bathroom right now, but she’s taking so damn long to wash her hands then dry them off with about five hundred paper towels.

Finally she exits, leaving me alone in the bathroom. I take a deep draw of air to steady my nerves, go into the last stall, and close and lock the door.

Despite my efforts, my breath is coming out in small pants, so I lean against the cool wall and close my eyes. Draw air into my lungs slowly, exhale slowly. If I’m going to do this, I need to get myself in the right zone.

Dane’s face pops in front of my mind. Instantly my body erupts in tingles, and my muscles loosen. I rub my fingers over one hardened nipple, then the other one. I pretend it’s his hands stroking me, and my pelvis gives an almost painful throb in response to the idea.

My breathing quickens. I hike my slim black skirt up to my hips, push my damp panties to the side, and slip a finger over my clit, which is already wet from my juices. He wants to know I fingered myself. I squeeze my breast with the other hand and stroke my nub harder.

God, I want him so badly right now. I wish he’d come in here and rip my clothes off. I want his mouth on me, licking me, making my lower lips swell even more. I feel the orgasm starting to build.

I open the top buttons on my shirt and shove it aside, plus one cup of my bra, so my left breast is bared. I pinch the nipple hard, which sends a zing of pleasure-pain through straight to my clit.

Oh, God. A small gasp flies out of my mouth before I can stop it. My head drops back against the wall as my arousal builds. My fingers fly up and down my slit, faster, faster…

The bathroom door opens, and I hear footsteps come in, move toward the sink. I bite my lower lip and keep masturbating. I can’t stop right now, not for anything in the world. I need to finish this, for Dane.

My hand is covered with my come, and my exposed thighs are shaking. I’m so close, so close…

The water faucet turns on, and I hear sounds. I take the hand from my breast and slap it across my mouth, muffling the moans that threaten to spill.

My brain draws up a visual of Dane shoving the door open, dropping to his knees in front of me, and sucking hard on my clit. His other hand shoving into my pussy and him commanding me to come all over his tongue. And that does it.

I fly over the edge, my whole body jerking as I explode into a million pieces. My head is dizzy from me unknowingly holding my breath for so long. In the background, I vaguely hear the faucet turn off and the door open and close again.

When I’m alone once more, I remove my hand from my mouth and the other from my panties. I sag against the wall, suddenly boneless, unable to move or barely even think. Holy crap, that was intense. I can’t believe I did that.

I can’t believe I did that with someone on the other side of the stall door.

But most notably, I can’t believe how much the whole thing turned me on.

And Dane had to know it would, because of reading my journal, which was why he told me to do it in the first place. Part of me is unnerved that he’s learned how to read me so easily, so fast, has figured out my vulnerabilities and turn-ons. And in just a few minutes, I’m going to walk into the conference room, my fingers still saturated with the evidence of my orgasm.

He’ll know what I did, and I’ll know too. I’m not sure what to do or how to act, especially since I don’t want anyone else to pick up on it. I have to keep my cool, play a role. Dane would expect that of me. And I want to live up to his expectations.