I moved closer to her as she stood there, eyes locked into mine desperately seeking approval, and placed my mouth onto hers. Much to my relief, her full, pillow-soft lips kissed me back.
My hands slipped down around her hips, pulling her towards me as her lips parted to make way for my tongue. My hand moved up, just below her jawline as I kissed her passionately, hungrily. She wasn’t my kid stepsister. She was a beautiful, sexy, smart woman, and I wanted her.
In the flash of my mind’s eyes, I’d remembered a night, ten years ago. I’d come home drunk from a party and stumbled into the living room where 13 year old Mirabelle was waiting up for me, worried. She cared so much about me, and I never knew why. I treated her like shit. She covered me up with a blanket, got me water and a snack and then stared at me like a schoolgirl with a crush. In a half-drunken, half-asleep state, she kissed me. And against my better judgment, I kissed her back. The next day our parents announced their separation, and my father and I moved out of their house. It was the last time I’d ever seen Mirabelle, and I pretended not to notice the tears streaming down her face as we hauled boxes out to the moving van.
Without warning, Mirabelle pulled away. Her eyes both scared and wanting at the same time. I’d seen that look once before…
“I-I’m tired,” she stammered as she paced backwards towards the door. “I haven’t slept in days. I-I should go.”
ELEVEN
MIRABELLE
I nearly tripped on my own feet as I stumbled out of his office, my lips still warm from his kiss. I hadn’t seen it coming, which was odd for me. Normally I see everything coming from a mile away. Not that. I’d seen Preston look at me before, but he looked at me differently just then.
Part of me wondered if he remembered the kiss we shared that night when he came home drunk from a party. I kissed him. I figured he wouldn’t remember. He was drunk after all. But he kissed me back, whether or not he realized it in his drunken stupor.
I’d never seen such hunger in a man’s eyes until that moment, kissing in his office. His need to kiss me was almost animalistic, and in a moment of sheer weakness I kissed him back. I couldn’t believe I’d done that.
My cheeks burned hot as I gathered my things and tried to get out of the office as quickly as I could. Monica’s words from earlier about not blurring lines echoed through my head. Was that what he did to Sapphire Hart? Did he kiss her the way he kissed me? Did he keep her close? Control her? Give her impossibly high expectations and then kick her to the curb the moment she couldn’t satisfy his needs any longer?
I threw my purse over my shoulder and locked up my office, my heels clicking towards the elevator and my mind desperately hoping I wouldn’t run into him on my way out.
Why did I have to kiss him back? I kicked myself, repeatedly, as the elevator carried me down to the main floor. I’d been kissed before, but never like that. The thought of his hands on my body while his lips pressed hungrily against mine sent a jolt of electricity through my body. His kiss lit me on fire, whether or not I chose to accept that.
There was something about being desired by someone like Preston that set my soul on fire. He was undeniably attractive, as much as I tried to ignore that, and impossibly rich. He was one of the most powerful advertising executives in the country. He could have anything he wanted. He could have anyone he wanted. And he chose me.
***
“Good morning, Mirabelle,” Ruthie said the following day as I scurried into my office. I hoped to go unnoticed. I wasn’t ready to look Preston in the eye just yet. I went to bed thinking about that kiss, and much to my dismay, I woke up thinking about it too. I could practically still feel it.
I plopped down at my desk chair and fired up my computer, thankful and relieved for not running into him. I couldn’t concentrate that morning, and I could barely dress myself. My pink blouse was slightly wrinkled, and my pants were a size too tight, which was evidenced by the way they clung to my behind a little too much. At least I’d taken the time to slip on my single diamond pendant. It dipped to a point just above my cleavage as if it were almost an invitation to stare at my chest. My grandmother, who’d gifted it to me before she passed, would be rolling in her grave if she saw how low my blouse was that day. I couldn’t help it. Being well-endowed in the chest department left very little options for conservative clothing.
The phone on my desk began to ring, startling the coffee cup I’d held up to my lips out of my hands. Hot coffee spilled down my pink blouse, leaving a disgusting trail of brown liquid.
“Hello,” I said into the receiver, exasperated.
“Mirabelle.” It was him. Of course it was. “I need you to come into my office.”
“Um,” I stalled. “I’m kind of indisposed right now.”
“Indisposed?” he echoed.
The warm coffee that glued my blouse to my skin was beginning to cool, leaving a sickeningly gross sensation on my skin. I was going to have to figure out a way to get out of there, run home, and change clothes, without anyone noticing.
“Can I meet you in an hour?” I asked.
“An hour? No, no,” he said. “We need to talk now.”
“I can’t,” I said to him. I didn’t want him to see me looking like a drowned rat. I secretly loved that he found me attractive, as confusing as that was, and I’d have been mortified for him to see me looking less than put together.
“You’re acting weird,” he said. I paused; not knowing what to say, and then I heard the click of his receiver as he hung up.
Relieved that I’d bought myself a little time, I stood up and grabbed my purse. The second I reached for my door handle to leave my office, I felt a little resistance on the other side. As I pulled the door open, Mr. Woodfield was standing opposite me, his hand also gripped on the doorknob.
His eyes scanned me up and down, resting for a moment on my soaking blouse that was practically see through at that point.
Suddenly vulnerable, I crossed my arms across my chest and took a step back. “I need to run home and change.”
He stepped into my office, shutting the door behind him. He had that hungry, insatiable look in his eyes again.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice meek and unsure.
He stepped closer towards me, reaching his hand over to grab my delicate wrist and to pull me into him. His eyes locked into mine, he unbuttoned my blouse, one button at a time. Standing in his space, breathing him in, it took everything I had not to completely submit to him.
When my blouse was fully unbuttoned, he slid it off, pulling it softly down my shoulders and inadvertently tickling a trail with his fingertips in the process. I closed my eyes, half wanting him to kiss me again like he did the night before, but have chiding myself for being so unprofessional and inappropriate.
Standing before him, shirtless and at his mercy, I saw something different in his eyes. I watched as he reached over to a closet behind the door. I’d seen it before, but I never bothered using it. I didn’t have much to put in my office yet, and since I was only going to be here a few months, I didn’t want to make myself too much at home.
“Here,” he said. He pulled out a silk, Aztec-print blouse that had been hanging on a hanger in the closet. “Put this on.”
I grabbed it, holding it out in front of me. It was a size 6, perfect for me, and I slipped it on. The soft, silk felt wonderful against my skin, and I could tell it wasn’t a cheap top.
I opened my lips to ask him where it came from, but then I remembered. We were in Sapphire Hart’s old office. That was her old closet. I was standing there in her old shirt.
“Thank you,” I said. I smoothed the blouse into place, grateful that it went with my tan slacks, and tried to collect myself in his powerful presence. Seeing a softer side of him gave me hope: hope that maybe he wasn’t such a controlling asshole all of the time.
“So you needed me?” I asked, trying to pretend that that hadn’t just happened.
“Yes,” he said with pause in hi
s voice as his icy blue eyes studied mine. “We need to talk about last night.”
“Last night?” I played dumb, but I knew exactly what he meant.
“The kiss…” he said. His brows furrowed as he licked his lips and stared deep into my eyes. He cleared his throat and pressed his hands into his hips, trying to stifle something. He seemed conflicted.
“Oh, the kiss,” I echoed, trying to act casual and hide the fact that it was all I could think about. “What about it?”
“Perhaps I was a little less than professional,” he said. “I hope I didn’t give you the wrong impression.”
I shook my head. “Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen.”
He paused again, staring at me, trying to read me. “I can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”
My heart fluttered. Preston Woodfield wanted me. He really wanted me. And he was standing there admitting it. The jerk, older stepbrother who never gave me the time of day. The boss who told me I was amazing but still not good enough. He wanted me.
“It’s all I’ve thought about,” he said. He tossed his head back as if it was an inconvenience to think about me so much. “Damn it, Miri.”
Miri was his nickname for me once upon a time, and hearing him call me that warmed me over in an instant.
He walked past me and headed towards the floor to ceiling windows behind my desk, bracing himself on the window ledge and peering down onto the city sidewalk below us.
Standing there in his navy suit with his skinny black tie and his brown hair slicked to the side so perfectly, I couldn’t ignore the twinge of attraction I felt towards him that was burning inside me brighter than ever before.
“I’ve thought about it a lot too,” I admitted. “If we’re being completely honest…”
He turned around to face me, revealing the tiniest hint of relief upon hearing my words. Within seconds, he’d flown across the room, back into my space. His hands gripping my ripe behind while his lips pressed hard into mine once again. The air was charged and something had taken over Preston once again. I was powerless in his presence and he was uncontrollable in mine.
His hands worked their way up and under my blouse as they fondled my swollen breasts and worked feverishly to unhook my bra. With his lips peppering soft kisses all over my neck, I reached down to unbuckle his pants and release his throbbing cock from the confines of his designer boxer briefs.
“Miri,” his husky voice whispered. I loved the way my voice fell from his lips, so intentional, so wanting. He pulled me over to my desk, turning my body away from his and placing my hands flat on the desktop. He slid my pants down, followed by my panties, and let the flesh of my curves fill his hands.
His finger reached up between my slit, rubbing and priming me for what was to come as he separated my stance. The sound of him ripping a tin foil packet with his teeth filled the quiet air, and the moment he was wrapped and ready, I felt the head of his cock press at my entrance. Never in a million, billion years did I think this day would ever come.
From behind, he shoved himself into me. I’d yet to actually see it, but I could feel its sheer girth as it pressed against every nerve and fiber of my being.
“Ah,” I cried out, a mix of pleasure and pain searing through my voice.
“Shh,” he said as he reached his hand up and covered my open mouth. As he plunged himself deep into me, I bent over until I was completely hunched over the desk. His right hand traveled up my spin, one vertebrae at a time until it worked its way to the nape of my neck, where he grabbed the thin gold chain of my diamond pendant. I could feel his hands wrap around the delicate chain as he fucked me from behind, but all I could focus on was the sensation of his member prodding in and out of me, hungry and animalistic.
I bucked my hips back towards him, meeting his movements thrust for thrust. By the sounds of his heavy breaths and panting behind me, I could tell he was enjoying himself. That’s all I wanted. I wanted him to enjoy himself…to enjoy me. Being a people pleaser apparently translated into the bedroom for me as well.
“Ohh, mmm, Pres,” I sighed, breathless, as I felt my insides about to lose all control.
The pull of the gold chain around my neck signaled he was cumming too, and I forced myself to let go as he wriggled and writhed inside me. When it was all over, he hunched over my back, tracing his hands down my sides before pulling himself out of me and trying to regain his composure.
I pulled my pants up and readjusted my blouse before turning back to face him. In the heat of the moment, I hadn’t thought about how awkward it was going to be when it was all over with. A part of me still saw him as an older brother.
I expected to be met with averted eyes. I expected to be filled with regret and remorse. I expected him to act like it hadn’t just happened. But I was wrong about all of it.
As he fastened his belt buckle, his eyes locked into mine. “Good work, Mirabelle.”
His lips curled into a satisfied smile and he stopped for a second to take in one final look at me before turning to exit my office.
TWELVE
PRESTON
What the fuck did you just do, Preston Woodfield? I chided myself as I headed back towards my office and slammed the door. I knew it was wrong. It was wrong have stared at her the way I’d been staring. It was wrong to have kissed her. It was wrong to have ripped her clothes off and fucked her, bent over, on the back of her desk. What would our parents think if they ever found out?! Her mom would have my balls on a platter.
That was exactly how things started out with Sapphire. First it was mental. Then it was physical. Then it got out of control, fast. She was smart as a whip, headstrong, and fierce. And her velvety voice, luminous skin, full lips and even fuller ass was Kryptonite to me. I couldn’t resist it. She made me weak. She made me do the sorts of things that always got me in trouble. And now Mirabelle was the same way. The only difference was Sapphire knew damn well what she was doing. Mirabelle, sweet Mirabelle, was young and naïve and full of drive and ambition. She really just wanted to please me. She wasn’t trying to sleep her way to the top like Sapphire had done.
Fucking Sapphire. I should’ve known better. I should’ve known she was only after one thing. Those mischievous eyes of her, her salacious grin, I should’ve seen through it all, but I was too drunk off the power of her pussy and the way those tight dresses of hers hugged every curve to care.
Miri was different. She was sweet. Kind. Genuine. Crazy talented. And I knew if I didn’t put a stop to it now, she was going to get hurt. But I was powerless around her. I, Preston Michael Woodfield, was powerless around some twenty-three year old little college student who didn’t know jack shit about the real world and still looked at me like that star struck thirteen year old she used to be. She could draft up one of the best marketing plans I’d ever seen, and she was almost too brilliant for her own good, but she wasn’t smart enough to stay away from me.
She should’ve pushed me away. She should’ve slapped me across the face. She should’ve threatened to sue me. But she didn’t. She gave herself to me, willingly, and all she wanted to do was please me.
Don’t fuck this up, Preston.
I couldn’t concentrate the rest of the afternoon. I kept expecting her to barge into my office like she normally did. Hours went by and before long, five o’clock had rolled around without so much as a word from Mirabelle. She was either holed up in her office working her tight ass off or she was avoiding me. My educated guess was the latter.
I emerged from my office at 5:05pm and headed towards the lounge for my five o’clock cup of coffee. Walking past, Mirabelle’s door was shut.
“Is Mirabelle still here?” I asked Ruthie as she was on her way out the door.
“I believe so,” Ruthie said, confused. “I haven’t seen her all afternoon now that I think about it.”
I forwent my coffee and spun back around, heading to her door where I rapped lightly and let myself in.
“Oh, you are still here,” I said as her h
ead shot up from the desk. “I hadn’t heard from you, um, since this morning. Thought maybe you were avoiding me.”
I took a couple steps in and shut the door behind me.
“I’m not avoiding you,” she said, though I didn’t believe her.
“What is it then?” I asked. I placed my hands on my hips and leaned in, waiting for her response. The last thing I wanted to hear was that she regretted what we’d done that morning. That would spell fifty shades of trouble for me both legally and emotionally.
She opened her gorgeous, full lips and then stopped.
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