by Chloe Lane
Filthy Flirt
An Office Romance
Chloe Lane
Contents
Filthy Flirt
Mailing List
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
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Filthy Flirt
Emma Mason is completely off-limits.
She was hired on at my law firm to clean up my image, but I can’t stop thinking about the dirty, filthy things I’d like to do to her.
Like bend her over my desk. Or the conference table. Or the copy machine.
She’s fresh out of law school and too innocent to touch, and I know I’m supposed to stay away. I’m not supposed to notice the way her demure outfits hug her hotter-than-sin curves. I’m not supposed to react when she bites her lip and looks at me with those big, blue, f*ck-me eyes.
But how can I resist?
Maxwell Kane is almost my boss.
That means I shouldn’t spend every waking minute daydreaming about the naughty things I’d like to with my experienced, ruggedly handsome partner…things I’ve never tried before.
It’s my very first job out of law school, and tempting him could mean disaster for my career. For both our careers.
But I want him to bend me over his desk and make me his. I want him to show me how filthy love can get.
I want it too much to say no…
Filthy Flirt is a quick, dirty, steamy standalone office romance with an alpha hero who will have you melting, a heroine who’s head-over-heels, and a sweet-like-candy HEA. If you’re looking for something over the top and molten hot, this is it!
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xoxo Chloe
1
Emma
The sultry presence of the late June heat wafts through my bedroom window, and I’d almost appreciate if it wasn’t directly a result of my air conditioning unit being on the brink—shattered to pieces, actually. It tipped out of my second-story apartment window three days ago, just in time for the onset of the hottest week of temperatures to hit the city all summer.
No morning shift at the café means I’ve been lounging around my apartment for most of the day, trying my best to stay cool. No job interviews this afternoon, either, and I still haven’t heard back from the three that I had last month.
My bedroom is usually a bastion of chilled air—it’s the one extravagance I’ve allowed myself to have this summer in my ongoing and diligent attempt to save up money so I can move out—but these days…
I readjust the pillows stacked behind me on the bed and take a deep, cleansing breath. I should get up and do something, but the thought of putting on anything other than the cotton panties and t-shirt bra I’m wearing is just overwhelming.
The reality TV show that’s on is just annoying noise—two obnoxious guys yelling at each other about a job they were supposed to be doing together, only one went out drinking instead—so I flip the channel. The TV perched on my dresser takes a second to respond—it’s not a fan of the heat, either—and when the channel finally changes, it’s broadcasting an afternoon news bulletin from the local station.
And right smack dab in the middle of the TV screen appears the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.
He’s leaning in toward the camera, surrounded by a gaggle of reporters, each shoving microphones in his face, and I can’t decipher the words coming out of his mouth because his chiseled jaw and smoldering blue eyes are sending shockwaves of heat—the pleasant, core-melting kind—jolting from my nipples to the sensitive space between my legs.
God, he’s so hot.
And I’m not the only one who thinks so.
Maxwell Kane is well known in this city, and it’s not just for the fact that he’s one of the most in-your-face lawyers out there. We spent plenty of time in law school talking about the way he presides over the courtroom with his domineering presence, only to undermine himself an hour later when he’s out on the town. The man can’t turn down an interview, and his firm—
I’m desperate for some relief from the heat—even if it’s only because I’m imagining a naughty fantasy about Maxwell Kane—and without thinking, I start to trail my hand down the smooth skin of my belly, inching toward the neatly trimmed landing strip that’s just barely peeking out of my panties.
My mouth actually waters. Maxwell Kane is too old for me—he must be at least ten years older than I am, at least thirty-five—but he’s taken his suit jacket off now that he’s outside the courthouse and rolled up his sleeves around his bulging biceps. It leads me to think that he spends enough of his spare time in the gym to keep himself in better condition than most of the guys I went to school with.
No, scratch that—all of the guys I went to school with.
Which may explain why I haven’t had much…experience…with that kind of guy. They’ve always seemed so immature to me. The one serious boyfriend I had in college wasn’t very serious about me…or about anything else, for that matter.
But Maxwell Kane…
He might be a firebrand, but he’s got to be serious about law on some level, or he wouldn’t be so damn successful.
And he’s got to be serious about fitness, because otherwise he wouldn’t be so unbelievably ripped underneath that dress shirt.
The sound of his husky voice is driving me wild, the words flowing together into a deep, sultry cadence. I hook my thumb into the waistband of my panties, letting my fingers play over my swollen clit through the thin fabric. If Maxwell Kane was here right now…
What would a man like him want to do to me?
With me.
But to me sounds even hotter, even in my head.
He looks straight into the camera, like he’s looking straight at me, and a shiver runs down my spine. In those ocean blue eyes there’s a sexy kind of…experience… I know I could only get with a man like him.
I let out a soft moan, circling my clit, increasing the pressure, spreading my legs wider on my thick white comforter—
The chirpy ringtone of my phone cuts into my fantasy like a hacksaw, sending me bolt upright on the bed, fumbling for the remote to kill the sound of the TV. I rush to answer it like I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar, not bothering to look at the number on the screen.
“H-hello?”
“Good afternoon. This is Denise Johnson, and I’m calling from Pierce & Harwood. I’m hoping to speak with Emma Mason.”
My heart has leapt to my throat, trying to remember how to speak. It takes me a second. “This is she.”
“Ms. Mason, I’m calling on
behalf of our partners. We are interested in extending a full-time offer for you to join us as a junior associate with our firm.”
Oh. My. God!
Her words blur together as my eyes flick back to the TV. Maxwell Kane is still being interviewed—and on the bottom of the screen, underneath his gorgeous face and broad chest, appears the identification frame with his name and affiliation. As I read it, my heart starts pounding furiously against my rib cage. Maxwell Kane…of Pierce & Harwood.
“…be working primarily with one of our lead partners here, Maxwell Kane, who was impressed with what he saw in…”
Denise Johnson’s words fade in and out after she says his name: Maxwell Kane. Oh, my God, I’m going to be working with Maxwell Kane…and after what I was just doing…
My face flushes, hot, crimson, and deep.
“…I’m calling to ask if you’re still interested in the position.”
“Yes!” I squeak, then I clear my throat, dropping my voice to a level that I hope sounds a little more professional. “I can start on Monday.” That will give me three days to pull a wardrobe together with some of my savings…
…and get Maxwell Kane out of my head.
“We’re looking forward to seeing you bright and early in the office on Monday morning, Ms. Mason,” Denise Johnson says cheerily, ending the call.
“Me, too,” I say to the dead air, and then I clutch the phone to my chest.
Three days…
2
Maxwell
“How many times do I have to tell you to stay away from the press?”
I toss my jacket haphazardly onto a coat tree in the corner of my office and turn to face my boss, Thomas Pierce. His dark eyes are blazing, his mouth pressed into a thin line, and it’s all I can do to wipe the grin off my face. I’m feeling good. Today was a good day—no, a great day—in the courtroom, and I’m pretty confident that this case—a sexual harassment bid against my client’s former employer—is going to be a slam dunk.
But that’s not enough for Thomas Pierce to get off my back.
“They were on the steps of the courthouse, Tom. What did you want me to do?”
“Two words: No. Comment.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Are you trying to get yourself fired?”
I let out a hearty laugh. “Fired? Nobody at this firm is going to fire me. I’m your best guy.”
“You’re certainly our most visible partner at the salaried level,” Pierce says with an edge to his voice. “That doesn’t mean everyone at the firm has a fondness for that kind of visibility.”
“I’m going to win the case.”
“Which will look great on your resume when you have to start your own firm.” Pierce is staring me straight in the eyes.
I raise both hands in the air. It’s never been Pierce who has had a problem with me, but the other big name at the firm—Calvin Harwood—who can’t stand me, no matter how many cases I win. “I get it, Tom. I’ll pull back.”
He shifts in the doorway to my office. “You could be a major partner here, Maxwell.” But only if you can fall in line after Harwood. He doesn’t say it, but the ominous threat hangs in the air, nonetheless. “That’s why I’ve hired you an associate.”
I raise my eyebrows. “An associate?”
“In lieu of encouraging you to find another position—” He articulates each word like I might not understand him otherwise. “—we’re pairing you with a new associate to help…well, to help tone down your image.”
“What’s his name?”
“Her name is Emma Mason. She graduated from Emerson Law in December, and she’s the perfect counterpart to—”
“You’re saddling me with some kid?”
There’s a warning in Pierce’s voice when he speaks again. “I’m saving your damn job, Maxwell. So you’ll take her under your wing, take her with you on all your cases, and show Harwood that you can handle the responsibility of representing this firm in the right way.” He turns to go, then pokes his head back in the doorway. “She starts Monday morning. We’re assigning her to the connecting office.”
* * *
I’m still scowling about all this bullshit—and it is bullshit—on Monday morning, but I show up at the office ten minutes early just to make sure things are prepared for my new associate. It only takes me five minutes to make sure she’s got notepads on her desk and a package of pens. If she’s not going to be handling her own clients for the time being, there might not be much else she needs.
Then I grab a cup of coffee from the break room and wade into some preliminary documents for a new client that we started processing last week. I’ve almost forgotten about the entire thing forty minutes later.
A brisk knock at the door makes me surface from the pile of paperwork.
It’s Denise from HR, a graceful woman in her fifties who handles the new hire orientations and onboarding for the firm. “Mr. Kane? Your new associate, Emma Mason, is here.”
She steps aside to reveal a young woman so fucking sexy and beautiful that my cock might as well be made of steel.
Emma Mason is not what I was expecting.
In one way, she more than fits the bill for Thomas Pierce. Her navy blue pencil skirt goes almost to her knees, and the matching jacket has sleeves that hit just above the elbow. The creamy silk shell she’s wearing underneath has a neckline so high it almost hides her collarbone, and her blonde hair is twisted neatly into a tight bun at the base of her neck. She’s wearing sensible shoes, with only the slightest kitten heel. She’ll look great on camera.
But it won’t be because of her outfit. The outfit does nothing to hide the delicious curves of her body, the firm, contoured ass that has me wanting to rocket her into the stratosphere, the full, pouty lips that would look absolutely perfect wrapped around my thick cock. Her huge blue eyes are wide, and those lips are parted just slightly.
She’s nervous, pink-cheeked, and trying her best to look like a hardened professional, but failing.
I want to do more than put up with her.
I want to take this innocent, just-out-of-law-school woman with perky, full breasts, a perfectly delicious body, and a sparkle in her eyes, and I want to make her mine.
But I absolutely, one hundred percent, cannot do that.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Kane.”
Jesus, even the voice—low, silky, and smooth—has me ready to shut the door behind us and have my way with her, right here, right now.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Denise says, eyes flicking from me back to Emma. As discreetly as I can, I reach under the desk to adjust myself so that when I stand up, my painful erection isn’t standing at salute to greet her.
“Come on in, Emma.”
“I’d love to,” she says, her smile proper, but cautious. She holds her employee training manual tightly in her hands as she steps through the door, taking in the décor of the office. I’ve got everything you’d expect for a lawyer—shelves full of books, a big, shining mahogany desk—and Emma’s eyes glow when she sees all of it. “I’m—I’m really happy to be here, Mr. Kane.”
As she gets closer to my desk, I can see her breasts rising and falling under her jacket, her breathing quick and shallow.
Damn. Maybe I’m not the only one who’s full of ideas.
3
Emma
He’s a thousand times hotter in person.
Easily.
“Welcome to Pierce & Harwood.” Maxwell Kane smiles at me as he gestures around his office. “I’m glad to have you.”
I’m glad to have you, not we’re.
That one word—I’m—sends a shiver of pleasure down my spine and another wave of heat rushing to my cheeks. I’ve been trying to keep the jitters under control all morning, all through the interminable review of the employee handbook with Mrs. Johnson, and I’m afraid they’re finally getting to me.
Is it that surprising, though, with a man like Maxwell Kane standing three feet away from me?
I spent the enti
re weekend trying not to think about him, which was a complete failure. Early this morning, after hours spent tossing and turning, I’d masturbated to a filthy fantasy of him pushing me up against the wall of his office and…and…
If I think about it now, I’ll lose all sense of control, and that would be very bad.
Mrs. Johnson made it clear that I’m here to be a kind of stop-gap for Mr. Kane.
“We need someone with a less…controversial image,” she’d said, her hands folded on her desk, “to accompany him on his public outings.” She’d given my outfit an approving nod. “Your credentials more than qualify you to begin as an associate with the firm, and you demonstrated a steady presence in your interview, which is exactly the type of person we’re looking for.”
I can hardly remember the interview, except for one of the partners sat in on it, taking every question seriously. I must have said something right.
“Shall we get started?”
Mr. Kane is grinning at me, and I realize that I’ve let my thoughts drift to a very dirty place. I straighten my back and look him directly in the eye. I might be new to this, but I’m not helpless…even if making eye contact with him makes my knees go weak.
I only hope he can’t tell that my panties are soaked, and I’ve been here less than five minutes.
“Yes.” I say it with as much confident professionalism as possible, lifting my chin just a little. “So, do I—get an office? Or will I be sharing your desk?”
He laughs at that, the sound deep and rich and pure, and my nipples pebble against my bra. Maxwell Kane hasn’t even touched me. He hasn’t said anything suggestive, and here I am, ready to come just from standing next to him.
“We won’t need to share the desk,” he says, coming around to the other side where I’m standing.
