Maliciously Obedient (BBW Erotic Romance) (11 page)

None of that mattered, though, because what was important was that a woman he had an undeniable attraction to, who he couldn’t get out of his mind, who intrigued him more than half a dozen – as Jeremy put it – “toothpicks with boobs” had ever, ever done.

Mike knelt down and she flinched –
flinched!
– at the touch of his fingertips on her elbow. Reaching down, he offered his hand. “No!” She snatched her elbow back. “Leave me alone. If I want to sit on the floor and cry like a wimp, I’m going to and you can just...well, you can’t do anything about it!”

“You’re smearing mascara all over the binder clips.”

“I
ordered
those binder clips. At a discount by the way. Forty-three percent off. Saved Michael Bournham some money.” The cackling laugh was one of over the top outrage, a tone that said
is this really happening to me?
and that made him cringe.

“I don’t think Michael Bournham cares how much you spent on alligator clips,” he said. “I think he cares more that his employees feel comfortable presenting new ideas to their bosses, that they value initiative, and that no one is left cowering in a dark supply closet after giving a professional presentation that would blow the socks off of people two levels above you, Lydia. Dave is an idiot.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I think I just did.”

“What? You think I don’t know that Dave is an idiot?”

“No, I think you don’t know just how incredible the presentation is.” He pulled the thumb drive out of his pants pocket and dangled it over her, now crouching down, his knees inches from her body. His hand itched to touch her but he held back, knowing that she was the human equivalent of an injured animal and that he could either bond with her by gaining her trust right now – or threaten her and watch her shut down.

“I’m sure that when I look at your presentation, the full presentation that Dave didn’t let you give, that what I said a moment ago will be truer than ever. You’ve got great ideas. It’s a shame that no one at this company values them.”

“I could have told you that a long time ago,” she said, running her hands through her hair, the effect so sensual that he felt himself get rock hard instantly – and realized just how vulnerable she was.

She tilted her face up to him, eyes wide, body relaxed, the weeping gone, the pity party over, her face softening and asked, “Was it really that good, Matt?”

Her honest yearning broke that thin thread of restraint, that hand-tailored, bespoke, homespun thread and he leaned forward and answered her with a kiss.

Eyes wide open, Lydia reveled in the smooth, soft, warm lips that covered hers, the touch of his hands in her hair, cradling her jaw with a caress so welcoming she could feel herself melt. Warmth coursed through her, heart catching up to her racing mind, his fingers wiping away a stray tear on her cheek. Tongue dancing, he parted her closed lips and deepened the kiss as her hands wrapped around his waist, her body beneath his, still curled in a ball but unfurling as he made her blossom.

Matt sighed, pulled back a few inches, and rested his forehead against hers. “I didn't want to do that.”

A smile twitched on her lips. Reluctantly, she let it, the zing of arousal and desire so great she was already wet and wanting. “So don't do it again.”

His eyes turned smoky, still green but darker somehow, her own need mirrored in his look. “This is me not wanting to do that again,” he murmured as his mouth claimed hers, strong hands shifting down her neck, one sliding under her arm and caressing her breast and ribcage, the other still buried in her hair. His lips were so inviting and her own tongue matched his in intensity and fervor, her breath coming in little gasps as she struggled not to come right then, right there.

In the supply closet at work. With her boss. Who stole her job.

Ah, hell, what was she doing?

No stray thought, not even one as strong as
job stealer
, made her break away. Instead, she slid her body around so that her breasts pushed against his muscled chest, her hands sliding down his waist, feeling the taut skin under clothes she wanted to rip off. Her own clothes were a bother, too, as her breasts swelled over the cups of her bra, her nipples in agony as they brushed against the silk, her body wanting to be naked and licked and laved and touched and driven into.

His response wasn't measured, either, the heat building so fast she was close to stripping off her panties and hoping he would lift her up, thrust into her and fuck her against the back wall, their pounding muffled by cinder block, her screams mitigated by biting his shoulder.

Alas, it was Matt who had to come to his senses first, because her mind was cotton candy and she was ready to be stuffed in his mouth one handful at a time, turned to liquid sugar by his tongue.

“Oh, Lydia, I can't,” he groaned. “We
can't
.” Spitting out the word, he was obviously torn, and she struggled against her devilish ability to make him kiss her again. How earnest he sounded, how conflicted, a command to his voice even as he struggled within.

Trusting him wouldn't be hard, if she just let herself tip over from guarded and worried and territorial to, well...
free
. Free to feel what she felt, touch what she wanted, invite what she needed, and protect what needed to be saved. Inhaling his scent, she found that same, steady mixture of musk and soap and now an aroma of danger, but not the kind that hurts.

Quite the opposite.

“I know,” she answered, daring to brush one hand against his tight package, the simplest of surveys to see if what she wanted was what she expected. Bigger and thicker than what her hand sought, deliciously hard and ready. Even the quick touch made him groan, his eyes going unfocused and his arms tightening about her, one hand loosening to grab her wrist as she turned bold, ready to stroke.

“If you do that again, it won't be your hand touching me. It will be me taking you, legs wide open, panties ripped off and dangling from the light fixture, watching you as I make you come through gritted teeth, the only regret that you couldn't scream my name openly and with abandon,” he growled.
Growled!
Voice low and graveling, turning her insides to red wetness.
Take me, take me!
she thought.

“Will this be in my performance review?” she whispered.

His mouth ripped into hers, tongue driven to claim and own, hands hot and rough against her breasts, searching to wrap and encompass and clinch as much of her as possible. Her hands were up to the challenge, pulling at his tucked-in shirt, desperate for the touch of his hot skin, fingers fascinated by the grooves in his abs, the muscles scalloped and hand-carved, her hand traveling down to something much more demanding –

Beep! Beep! Beep!
A piercing sound throbbed the air. What the hell?

“What is that?” he shouted, standing suddenly, his stance one of defense and protectiveness. The supply closet wasn't much bigger than a dorm room or a tiny bedroom, and there weren't any electronics in here.

Lydia stood, smoothing her hair, wondering if her lips looked as raw and swollen as they felt. “Fire alarm.”

“Fire?” His eyes went wild, stepping closer to her, protective and worried.

“What day is it?”

“Friday.”

“Then it must be 4 p.m. The building does a test on the first Friday of the month, and today is August 1.”

Without a word, she looked at him, a bit woozy and so shocked by her own easy move into that singular kiss that she felt like she wasn't really Lydia.

And then she opened the door, took a deep breath, and left.

Her words were so programmed, so automatic, so administrative that he wanted to snatch her out of here, carry her somewhere so they could recapture what they'd had seconds ago, his hands about to explore her most intimate places, his tongue done with her mouth and ready to seek other pleasures, other tastes.

Swallowed by the crowd of office workers all flocking to the staircases, she disappeared into nothingness, leaving him throbbing and craven. He had instituted the monthly fire tests, years ago, shortly after the 9/11 attacks. Required by law a few years after he'd added them, the first monthly test took place in the old headquarters, four buildings ago, when he'd had what – 400? – employees, an earlier incarnation of Bournham Industries that bridged his dad's tiny company and the giant behemoth Mike had created in dizzying time.

Some part of his brain needed this reflection to calm down, move away from the scent of her, her soft body, how she took those little gasps as his hands had brushed against her –

“Mmmmmm - att! You probably didn't know what to do, huh? First time.” Jerry, one of the custodians, pointed him toward the staircase that hugged the building's west corner. “Fire alarm virgin!” he barked, then winked, laughing. In his fifties, stooped, bald, but with a friendly smile that made it easier to ignore his missing eye, Jerry had been with the company since his father owned it, and Mike understood the stutter in calling out his name.

He'd nearly outed him. A handful of employees were in on the joke, mostly the core guys from his dad's company, people who had been with Bournham Industries for the past thirty-odd years. Loyalty trumped all – even in Mike, when making high-level business deals – and for as reluctant as he'd been to tell his dad's old pros what he was doing, it had been for the best.

Jerry's words felt like fingernails on a chalkboard right now, though, because “virgin” was to Mike as “intelligent” was to Snooki.

Lydia had turned him into a raging hormone wearing dyed hair and green contacts.

As he joined the crowd and made his slow descent to the street level, he was grateful for the flights of steps, for his erection faded in time, replaced with a hollow, gnawing need for something he couldn't have.

Chapter Five

“You kissed him? You kissed your boss the first week he's there? In a supply closet?” Krysta grabbed Lydia's shoulder, nearly tipping the spoon out of her hand and splattering Rocky Road ice cream all over Lydia's pants. “Who are you and what have you done with the real Lydia?”

“I know!” Lydia wailed, shoving a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth to cut off her own sound. The cold blast of thick, creamy chocolate made her close her eyes and groan as her lips met over the spoon, her tongue laving the sweet, luscious treat, her mind floating to hot, warm, delicious treats on Matt's body that she might –

“You don't kiss guys on the first date! In fact, you have ranted since our freshman year of college about male hegemony, sexual politics, and how gender discrimination is a worse evil than, than – than even
not composting!
“

Lydia laughed silently, her mouth busy with the flavor and slow melt of the pool of chocolate delight. Ice cream was no substitute for his mouth. Given that his lips weren't an option right now, she swallowed and shoveled another spoonful in, trying to figure out what to say as Krysta ranted on.

“Lydia, you're going to lose your job if you keep this up. Someone at Bournham already gave away the job you wanted – now you're clinging to the one you have.” That made Lydia stop short. Krysta wasn't the practical one. Lydia was. The role reversal made a small pain form behind her right eye.
Oh, great.
She needed a migraine like she needed to be fired.

“I won't lose my job. It was just a harmless, casual,” she inhaled deeply, nearly swooning with the tactile memory of his hands on her waist, how they roamed down to her hips and then brushed up against the bottoms of her breasts, the exploration a –

She looked up to find Krysta tapping her foot. “You can't even finish sentences, now. This from the woman who wrote a 115-page master's thesis on gender politics in the Information Age.”

Ouch.

This is different,
she nearly said, her internal editor scrambling to stop her. Every woman said that. Every single one, always at the beginning of an affair. Matt wasn't married – at least, he didn't wear a ring – so it wasn't really an affair. It was one kiss. Just one.