Misconduct

by Penelope Douglas

  “Here, look.” I tapped the screen, bringing up his social media.“Your Twitter followers.” I pointed to his number and then brought up another profile. “Mason Blackwell’s Twitter followers.”

  I eyed him, hoping he saw the huge difference. Mason Blackwell had five times as many followers, but he didn’t have nearly the influence of Tyler Marek.

  Tyler owned a multimillion-dollar worldwide corporation. So why did he come off looking like a hermit?

  I went on, scrolling through the iPad, pointing things out. “You tweet – or the person you hired tweets – once every other day. And it’s boring,” I told him. “Retweets of articles, ‘have a nice day everyone,’ Blah.”

  Tyler looked up, clearly not appreciating my attitude.

  I continued. “He tweets every other hour, and it’s photos, family funnies, mundane crap, but it’s engaging,” I explained, meeting Tyler’s eyes.

  He sighed, sounding stubborn. “I already hear this from my brother. I don’t need it from you,” he argued. “Twitter won’t put me in office. People vote for —”

  “Whoever’s popular, Tyler,” I cut in, not sorry that I sounded curt. “Sorry to say, but not every voter makes informed decisions.”

  And then a thought crossed my mind, and I grinned, grabbing the iPad and snapping a picture of his nearly empty bowl of fruit, save for a strawberry half and two blueberries.

  Attaching the photo and adding a caption, I posted it under his profile. Lucky for me the device was already logged into his account.

  Handing over the iPad, I let him take a look.

  He read, “ ‘Having breakfast on lockdown. Stay safe out there everyone!’ ”

  I blew on my fingernails and brushed them over my shirtsleeve, pleased with myself.

  His eyebrows nose-dived. “Wait,” he bit out. “You can see my stomach in that picture.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” I cooed, nodding.

  He glared at me. “My bare stomach, Easton,” he pointed out, as if I were blind.

  I held up my pointer finger and thumb, measuring an inch. “Just a sliver.”

  The small white ceramic bowl was sitting near the edge of the island. The picture showed not only the bowl, but a nice slice of his tight stomach.

  He shoved the iPad at me. “Delete it.”

  I grabbed it, feigning nonchalance. “Sorry. No can do.” I shrugged and then looked at the iPad when I heard a notification alert. “Oh, look! It’s already been retweeted twice, and it’s probably been screenshot by ten other users,” I explained. “If you delete it now, it’ll look weird.”

  “Give it to me.” He stood up, holding out his hand. “I’ll figure it out myself.”

  “No!”

  I ran around the island, stuffing the iPad into the microwave, and moved to turn around, but he was already at my back, stopping me.

  I breathed out a laugh, the heat of the chase filling my lungs with excitement.

  “You can’t have it,” I whispered, plastering my palms against the microwave.

  His body blanketed my back, and his lips nuzzled my neck, making my eyelids grow heavy.

  His fingertips grazed up over my hips, and I realized that he was pulling up the T-shirt.

  “Maybe that’s not what I want anymore.” His gravelly voice was filled with promise, and I immediately groaned at the rush of heat between my legs.

  But I wasn’t fooled.

  “You’re trying to distract me,” I assessed, although I didn’t mind it in the least.

  His quiet laugh tickled my ear, but his hands continued to roam, and I let my head fall to the side, feeling him immediately bury his nose in my neck.

  “What is that?” he asked, popping his head up.

  I blinked as his attention shifted, the tingles his hands were bringing dissipating. I listened, hearing beeps and whistles, and I turned around, smiling.

  “Favorites, retweets, replies,” I listed, gloating. “The sounds of victory.”

  He pinned me with a familiar stubborn look, but I caught the hint of amusement underneath.

  “Go finish your work.” I jerked my chin in the direction of the hallway. “You can thank me later.”

  FOURTEEN

  TYLER

  W

  hen I was her age, twenty-three, she was twelve, for Christ’s sake.

  Not to mention that Brynne would have my head – and deservedly so – if she ever found out about the things I was doing with Christian’s teacher.

  What the fuck was the matter with me?

  Every time I had the opportunity to take the high road in my personal life, I didn’t. I’d put my kid on the back burner for the sake of my career, and now I felt like I was taking advantage of a young woman.

  Sure, she was just as complicated as I was and she gave as good as she got, but I’d learned to assess the road ahead before taking steps. With her, I had no idea what the next hour held, much less the next week or month.

  She was unpredictable and entirely too addicting. It wasn’t so much the woman she tried to be that I liked but the girl she tried to hide. The one who needed to be held.

  I sat at my desk, trying to work through the laundry list of e-mails I’d accumulated since leaving work yesterday as her music played in the background and she sang along a few feet away. Something about “drown” or “drowning.” It had been so long since I’d listened to music, but thanks to her and Christian, I was getting up to speed.

  Despite the fact that I was swamped, as usual.

  Production had stopped in Brazil due to rain, and a contract I’d already secured in Japan now had a lower bidder, so I was trying to put out fires, but my head just wasn’t in the game today.

  The storm outside had lightened, but it was still too heavy to enjoy leaving the house.

  Not that I wanted to anyway.

  I glanced over, seeing Easton standing at the bookshelves in my office, the hem of my T-shirt rising up her thigh and over the curve of her ass as she reached to the third shelf.

  Jesus.

  I blinked and refocused on my computer screen, mentally hitting myself for inviting her in here. I didn’t want her to be bored, so I’d told her to hang out, grab a book, and read or work on the spare laptop if she needed.

  However, she’d quickly turned into a woman on a mission, unable to resist alphabetizing my small personal library.

  “This doesn’t drive you crazy?” she’d complained, wincing at the sight of my messy shelves. “This would drive me crazy.”

  Yeah, so I let her off her leash to have at it.

  As long as she didn’t incorporate the entire fucking Dewey Decimal System into her organization, I had no problem watching her cute little behind while she reached for books.

  However, I wasn’t getting much done.

  She’d been quiet, concentrating on her own work, but when a five-foot-seven brunette with gorgeous golden legs is crawling around on your floor, organizing stacks of books and looking cute as hell, watching her is an irresistible enjoyment.

  “Are you almost finished?” She stood on the small ladder, reaching up and replacing the last few books.

  I blinked, refocusing on my screen. “Not yet,” I answered. “About ten more e-mails to respond to.”

  I wiggled my fingers, trying to remember what I needed to type and realizing I’d forgotten what the damn e-mail I needed to respond to had said.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed her stepping down from the ladder, barely making a sound.

  “Tyler?”

  I looked up, seeing her standing on the other side of my desk with a sweet look on her face. I narrowed my eyes.

  What is she up to?

  “I’m getting bored,” she said.

  “The kitchen cabinets need organizing,” I shot back.

  But she let out a sigh. “I think I’m just going to go take a bubble bath in your huge tub and wait for you,” she chirped. “And think about you. Maybe.”

  I raised my eyes, swallowing down the
thought of her wet and covered in suds.

  “Sit down,” I commanded, pointing to the couch. “This was an hour’s worth of work that’s turned into two, because you’re distracting me.”

  “You told me to come in here!”

  “And you’re not taking a bath,” I shouted, ignoring her interruption, “because I’m going to damn well come with you, so don’t move! You understand?”

  “I’m bored,” she repeated, “and I don’t like not to be doing things.”

  “Tough.”

  And I dropped my eyes back to the screen, typing I-have-no-idea-what just to get it done. My fingers worked without thinking, and I was probably coming off less polite than I normally made the effort to appear in my business communications, but there were better things to be doing.

  She stood on the other side of my desk, watching me. “All right,” she said. “I’ll make you a deal.”

  I tapped the keyboard, trying to ignore her. The sooner I could finish, the sooner we could spend the rest of the day in bed.

  “If you finish your e-mails before I’m done, I’ll stay,” she challenged. “If you don’t finish those ten e-mails before I’m done, I’m leaving, and I don’t care whether it’s raining or not.”

  What?

  I shot my eyes up to her, scowling. “Before you’re done?” I shot out. “Done with what?”

  A twinkle flashed in her eye, but she didn’t smile.

  Instead, she walked over to the coffee-colored leather sofa and picked up the black pin-striped suit jacket I’d left there days ago, when I’d come home from work. With her back to me, she slipped my T-shirt over her head, dropping it to the floor, and brought my jacket up to her front, covering herself.

  Every inch of me felt like I’d climbed into a hot, soothing bath, but my racing heart was anything but soothed. I fisted my fingers, seeing her long, naked back, smooth and toned, and I wanted to touch every part of her, including that perfect, heart-shaped ass she was flashing me.

  Lying down on the sofa, she spread my jacket over her naked body, one hand rubbing the fabric over the inside of her thigh while the other slipped underneath the jacket.

  My breath caught, seeing her fingers move under the coat, while she rubbed my jacket over her pussy, rolling her hips into the cloth.

  Before I’m done. She was masturbating.

  “Oh, you fucking bitch,” I whispered, meeting her heated eyes.

  She blinked, and I expected to see her looking amused and playful, but she looked beautifully desperate.

  “It has your smell on it.” She ground my jacket between her legs, closing her eyes and arching her neck back.

  The jacket covered her as if I were wearing it and lying on top of her, from the neck to the tops of her thighs. Her legs were bent at the knees, and the bottoms of her feet were touching, making a diamond shape. That hand that I was so jealous of played slowly and softly, judging from the little movements under the jacket.

  The idea of my clothes on her naked body was driving me fucking insane.

  My jeans were tight, and the ache between my legs was growing.

  “That’s a two-thousand-dollar suit,” I pointed out, trying to sound unaffected.

  She dragged her bottom lip between her teeth, groaning as she clutched the fabric resting between her legs. “Worth every penny,” she taunted. “God, it feels like you.”

  The corner of my lips turned up. I loved the idea of showing her that I felt a hell of a lot better than some piece of cloth she was dry fucking.

  “Move the jacket,” I told her.

  She opened her eyes and peered over at me, a rose-tinged blush falling across her cheeks.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Her body shifted and squirmed under the jacket as she continued fingering herself. “It’ll distract you.”

  “Move the fucking jacket, Easton.”

  A smile flashed across her eyes, and she slid the jacket off her body, letting it fall to the floor.

  Jesus.

  I tipped my chin at her. “Drop your foot to the ground and open your legs wider.”

  She did it, letting her right foot rest on the hardwood floor and spreading her thighs wide. My view was perfect.

  She grazed her clit with her middle finger, rubbing over it and playing as she watched me.

  “You better get typing,” she teased, tapping her clit three times. “Type, type, type…” she taunted.

  I scowled, ducking my head and typing furiously and then punching the backspace button fifteen times because of all the mistakes I was making.

  I tried not to look at her, but it was like she was the only thing in the room, completely dominating my senses. I kept typing, but I would blink and dart my gaze over to see her rubbing her hard little nub in circles faster and faster. The flesh was dark pink, and I couldn’t stop wishing my mouth was buried in it.

  I finished the e-mail, clicked Send, and double-clicked on another one. Some VP in the South American office whining about delayed production on the new line of equipment.

  Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Get it done.

  I didn’t really say that. Only the last part, but…

  Her little moans carried across the room and vibrated over my skin, and I groaned, feeling my dick grow steel-rod straight. She wasn’t loud or exaggerated, and that made it hotter, because it was real.

  I clicked Send, and then I opened up another e-mail. “Don’t come,” I ordered, looking up to check on her.

  Her left hand was gripping the back of the sofa next to her, and her head was up, so she could watch her fingers move softly in and out. Her mouth was open, and her face looked pained as she let out little cries.

  Shit.

  I typed faster.

  “I wish you were here,” she breathed out, teasing me. “Your kisses drive me crazy, so I wonder what your tongue would feel like between my legs.”

  I grunted, shifting in my seat, and clicked Send, opening up another e-mail.

  “God, I can see your cock through your pants,” she mewed. “It’s making my mouth water, baby.”

  I blinked long and hard.

  Type, type, type… My fingers worked hard, making constant mistakes, but I kept my head down, scowling, every muscle in my face as hard as iron.

  Open, type, send, open, type, send… I grunted, shifting in my seat, her little moans getting higher and higher and making my body ache like hell.

  “Please tell me I can have it,” she begged. “Please.”

  “Are you trying to make me come?” I growled. “You said I had to finish ‘before you were done,’ so masturbate and shut up. I can’t concentrate with that talk.”

  I opened another e-mail – only two left – but then I heard her small, taunting voice, sounding innocent.

  “Yes, Mr. Marek.”

  Fuck.

  I glared at her, barely hesitating before shooting out of my chair. I slammed the laptop closed and rounded the desk, holding her eyes as excitement flashed across her face.

  “You asked for it,” I gritted out.

  I pushed my pants down, letting them drop to the floor, and then I came down on her and nestled my hips between her thighs.

  I groaned, my heart racing as I grabbed my cock and ran it up and down her pussy. “This is what you do to me.”

  She bit her bottom lip, squirming as she moaned.

  I grabbed the backs of her thighs and pulled her into position. “You get me all worked up, and this is what happens.”

  I pressed my hand into the armrest behind her head and thrust hard, sliding into her hot little pussy.

  “Ah, ah!” she gasped, her eyes pinching together in sweet pain.

  “Goddamn it,” I moaned. “You feel so fucking good.”

  The first fucking thrust is always the best.

  I held myself up with one hand on the sofa behind her head, and I slid my other hand under her ass, keeping her where I wanted her as I pulled out and slid back in again, hard and deep, up to the hilt.
/>
  “Oh, Tyler.” She swallowed, moving both hands to my back and spreading her legs even wider.

  I slid into her again and again, faster and faster every time, until I was pounding into her so hard that I couldn’t see straight.

  Her pretty tits bounced back and forth as sweat started to glide down my back.

  “Ah, oh God.” She moaned, breathing hard and arching her head back.

  Her cries filled the room, and her skin was glued to the leather of the sofa, but her pussy was hot and smooth, and I darted down, catching her bottom lip between my teeth.

  “You’re bad for me, and I love it,” I breathed out, grinding between her legs, not letting up for a second.

  She kissed me deep, pushing her head up and putting everything into it. Her tongue tasted sweet and sexy, just like her, and we were both moaning, like animals that couldn’t get enough.

  She fell back on the sofa and held on to my back, letting me have my way with her.

  “I love your body, Tyler.” She ran her fingers lightly down my chest and stomach.

  I gave her a small grin, liking the sound of that. I was usually the one complimenting a woman’s body. I didn’t know why, but it wasn’t something women often thought to say to a man, and I loved her for it.

  Especially since I wasn’t the twentysomething she was probably used to being with. I didn’t mind being older than her, but I didn’t want to seem old.

  “I don’t want anyone else to have it while we’re doing this, okay?” she asked, looking up at me.

  I laughed and circled my arms around her waist, flipping us both over so that I sat up against the back of the couch with my feet on the floor, and she sat on top, straddling my hips with my dick still inside her.

  “You laying claim?” I teased, gripping her ass as she immediately began rolling her hips, riding me.

  “I mean it,” she stated firmly. “You’ve seen my temper.”

  I smiled at her, arching my head back and closing my eyes as she slid up and down my cock. “Don’t worry,” I soothed. “This dick is yours.”

  Sex had never been this good with anyone in my life, and there had been plenty to compare her to. The thing I’d learned about sex was that for it to be good, it had to be more than just fucking. Playing, teasing, talking – the pair up of the right two people – and you had the difference between an act that you’d forget in two minutes and something that you wanted again and again.