Seduction in a Suit: An Office Romance Collection

by Monica Corwin

  It’s too late for me to turn around, go back home again and change back into more decent work clothes. “I’m not here to impress him. I’m here to work,” I remind myself. If Sheila had called a little later, my clothes would’ve been streaked with dove gray paint. I braid my hair as I wait for one of the lights to turn green at an intersection. I park my car in the darkest parking garage known to man. But I’ve done late night trips to work before. The only thing I fear right now is a man probably waiting in his office, with his tie undone, his hair a little messed from his hands going through it while he pores over a design. The mental image hits me like a battering ram. Naked or dressed, Henrik is a sight to behold.

  I fiddle with my keys while the elevator takes me up to ARC’s floor. I suck in a deep inhale as it shudders to a halt, and breathe out an exhale as soon as I step out of the car.

  The usual hum of busybodies in the office has long come and gone. I head straight to Sheila’s desk but don’t find her there. With the rest of the lights in different offices and cubicles off, it’s easy to spot the only offices possibly with people in them—Henrik’s, Tomlinson’s, and the conference room.

  I pocket my keys, and head to Henrik’s office. If he’s asked me to come here for nothing, I’ll be well and pissed off to no end. I find him hunkered over his drafting table, his glasses balancing near the edge of his nose. He taps the end of a pen on his bottom lip. I remember what those lips taste like. I also remember how much they made me tremble.

  “You needed me for something?” I say as soon as I find my voice and ignore my salacious thoughts.

  His head lifts and a small smile stretches his lips when he turns to me. “I always need you.”

  Uh-huh. I lean a hip against the door frame and fold my arms over my sweater. “I can’t do anything about permits. You know that.” I struggle to keep my breathing steady. In the back of my mind, I’m wondering who else is in the office. With Sheila’s desk cleared, I know she’s gone home. But Tomlinson could be lurking around, not to mention his assistant, and Henrik’s own assistant, Bryde. They’re here. I’m not alone with this man. There’s no need to start getting nervous.

  Henrik stands from his perch on the chair. “I want to run something by you.”

  I scoff. “Suddenly you want my opinion?”

  He stops short and pins me with his gaze. “Of course I do. I know what you’re capable of.”

  I push off the door frame. “Capable of? I have more talent in my pinky finger than a lot of the architects here.”

  He walks right up to me, again, not touching me, but it doesn’t matter. He might as well be finger fucking me with the look he pins me with. “Wrong choice of words. If I doubted your talents, you wouldn’t be here now. Can you dial back on the attitude and look at the newest design concept?”

  “Fine,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “It’s in the conference room.”

  I pucker my lips and uncharacteristically sashay down the hallway. I just don’t know which direction to go when it comes to him—to flirt or make him suffer? Maybe a bit of both.

  “Where’s Sheila?” I ask despite already knowing the answer. The quiet is too much to handle when I’m around him.

  “I sent her and Bryde home.”

  “You could have called me, or have either of them call me to tell me not to bother coming. This thing you want to show me could’ve waited until the morning. You don’t need me here tonight.” I let vile cover my tongue while I speak.

  “And yet, you still came.”

  Touché.

  When we reach the conference room, blueprints cover the expanse of the long glass table. I stop midstride, jarred by a clear image of me and Henrik on top of the table, over the designs, fucking like mad rabbits.

  I rub my temple, feigning a headache and hoping he’d buy it and won’t ask me to stay too long…before I make a big mistake.

  Never mix business with pleasure is something Theo has advised me more than once. He spoke from experience, but from then on, he’d learned his lesson.

  I rarely learn my lesson. There are just some mistakes worth repeating. With this thought, I glance over at Henrik. He swipes a hand over one of the blueprints, clear pride appearing on his face.

  “Here. Take a look.” He won’t bite, unless provoked, I remind myself, or until I give him permission.

  I slide next to him, bend over the table and study his design. A small gasp escapes my mouth. It’s brilliant. What he’s done is nothing short of genius. I see the beauty in each line, each curve, and every carefully measured dimension.

  “This is why you won those awards,” I say in the softest voice before I can stop myself. I’m awed by the concept. What he’s come up with is nearly impossible, but with his clear talent, there’s no such thing as impossible.

  “I can’t take credit for all of it. I was inspired by what you’ve come up with.”

  I’m taken aback by this. My brows furrow as I stare at him. “You’ve looked at my designs?”

  “Of course. Tell me, Ingrid, why aren’t you an architect?” He leans the back of his legs against the edge of the conference table, crossing his arms over his chest, and shooting me off a genuine curiosity.

  I give him a half shrug, and lean my hands on the table. “I’m fine with interior design.”

  “But you have the skills and knowledge.” I ignore him and pretend to continue to study his design, until his finger touches the side of my cheek. It sends a spark through my veins, firing up each nerve.

  I can’t help the shuddering moan leaving my lips.

  “You can’t avoid who you are.”

  I close my eyes and bask in the feeling his simple touch fills me with. “You have no idea who I am.”

  “It’s true. But I know how you taste, what you feel like. What it’s like to be buried deep inside you. To get lost in you.” His words are nothing but breathy whispers but it doesn’t take away the intensity of their effect on me.

  Before I can protest, the front of his hips is pressed on my behind, and no one can mistake the hard, long erection between my ass cheeks. Tenderly, but securely, he places his hands on either side of my hips as I straighten.

  “I haven’t forgotten, Ingrid,” he says, his warm breath flutters against my neck. His five o’clock shadow rasping against my skin. “And I refuse to believe you’ve forgotten about that night.”

  “I…I can’t.” I chew on the inside of my cheek, stopping another moan from coming out of my mouth.

  He inhales deeply, rubbing the tip of his nose up and down the column of my neck before he steps back. And I suddenly find myself cold and shivering and already missing his closeness.

  My shoulders drop and I shake my head as I turn to face him. “Why do you do this?”

  “Why do you?”

  “Nice. Very mature.”

  He raises and lowers one shoulder. “From where I’m standing, you’re the one who’s not handling this in a mature way.”

  I chuckle drily. “Oh I’m sorry. I didn’t know letting you fondle me at the office is the mature way.”

  He advances again, and I’m nearly taken aback by his towering height. He can be quite intimidating when he wants to be. “We’re two consenting adults. There aren’t any rules against office romance.”

  “This is hardly romantic. And I don’t remember expressing consent.”

  Henrik nods brusquely. “You’re right. I should’ve known better.” He lifts his hands in surrender as once again he steps back, leaving a chasm between us. “But you can’t keep denying that what we had that one night is worth repeating.”

  I evade his gaze and say nothing. He must’ve known I’m done with the conversation. He moves over the table and begins rolling the blueprints.

  The problem is he’s not wrong. I’ve said it to myself far too many times. What’s stopping me from acting upon it? Myself. Preserving my dignity, trying not to tarnish the reputation I’ve built from the ground up, escaping the scandal that co
uld follow if things do not work out between us.

  I still don’t know much about him. Even if I ask, I’m not sure how forward he’d be at fulfilling my curiosity about the quiet man who’d given me multiple orgasms after saving me.

  He’s almost out the door, carrying the rolled up designs, when he pauses and says, “Dinner?” When I don’t say a thing, he speaks again. “That’s still too much. Alright.” And he leaves.

  Dinner is safe. Lunch is safer. Two colleagues can have lunch anytime. I’ve had lunches with Sheila and Talia. Although I don’t plan on sleeping with either of them. Is that my plan? Dinner could lead to sex. Hell, lunch could lead to a quickie.

  I hate this. I hate being indecisive. I’d been fine before he came into my life. I have plans, a proper path to follow. Before I change my mind, I run after him.

  “How about we start with coffee?”

  He doesn’t bother looking at me when he scoffs. “We have coffee here.”

  “Ugh. You’re so stubborn.”

  “Right. I’m the stubborn one.”

  “Lunch then.”

  “Dinner.”

  I stop, stomping my foot with the petulance of a small child, and grab his arm, forcing him to face me. “No dinner.”

  “You’re sexy when you’re not getting your way. Dinner.”

  I can make up many excuses why I agree to this—pick his brain, talk about his work experience, find out if he’s a dog or a cat person. But there is really one truth. Because I want to have dinner with him, and I want to have sex with him. Again. And again.

  I nod and it earns me a small smile. “Don’t get cocky,” I tell him, continuing to walk down the hallway.

  “Can’t help it. So where do you want to go tonight?” he asks, depositing the blueprints on his desk.

  I stay by his open office door. “I didn’t say tonight.”

  “You might change your mind. Dinner tonight. I’m starving. I’m pretty sure you’re hungry too.” My stomach chooses that moment to betray me, expressing a gurgling sound that can be heard throughout the silent office.

  “See?” He waves his hand toward me.

  “You’re unbelievable.”

  “That I have to agree with.” He winks at me, and I send him an eye roll and force myself not to smile.

  We choose a pub nearby; it’s noisy and it’s packed. I couldn’t be happier. This is far from romantic. Nothing in here—not from the sticky icky floors, to the obnoxious sports game or match or whatever’s playing on the massive TVs—would convince me to go home with and let Henrik fuck my brains out. I might be able to stave off a different kind of hunger after all. Plus, I’m not exactly dressed for anything fancy.

  The biggest surprise of the night is how much Henrik flirts with the female bartender with boobs on display and the servers with skirts showing off the bottom of their well…bottoms. Not that I’m jealous. Far from it, but he’s 0 for 0 on the seduction front tonight. I’ve already pushed him away when we were alone at the office. This is certainly not going to change my mind.

  However, as soon as we are seated in a corner booth, which he managed to get through wide smiles and salacious conversation with the server, I might have spoken too soon. Because of the noise, he practically has to kiss my ear to talk to me. It is much more intimate than anticipated. Henrik has taken off his suit jacket, leaving it hanging on the back of his office chair. What I’m left with is a gorgeous man in a white shirt and charcoal gray trousers. Somehow his hair looks sexier too, with it sticking up and out in all different directions. I wouldn’t mind seeing him with his glasses on again.

  Once we’d ordered and he’d given our server another suggestive wink, he unbuttons his sleeves and extends his arms out to me. “Would you mind?”

  One of my brows shoot up and I’m ready to suggest he ask our server to do it for him. Hell, at the level they’re flirting, she’d most likely unbutton his shirt and take it off for him. I tug at his left sleeve first, fold and roll it up to his elbow, and I do the same with the other.

  “Thanks.” He somehow finds another inch to close in between us that my whole right side is practically pressed on his torso, and my right leg seated on his lap. “Relax, will you? It’s just dinner.”

  I take a sip of my cold beer. Relax. Sure. Easier said than done when there isn’t a war going through my head.

  “Ingrid,” he whispers against my ear, sliding my braided hair to my other shoulder, and giving him access to my neck…if he wants. “I don’t think anyone from work will be here. And if they are, it’ll be hard for them to see us.” He slides a hand up my back and finds taut muscle on my shoulders and between my shoulder blades. “I like to see you in this.” He tugs at my sweater.

  “Why is that?” I have to tilt my head to talk to him, our mouths mere inches from each other when I do.

  His hand on my back snakes down, hovers over the top of my butt, and when it finds the edge of my sweater, he ghosts his fingers over my silk camisole underneath. “Ever since seeing you at ARC that first day, you’ve been on a pedestal. You express yourself well in your clothes. You dress the part of a woman who’s ready to take over the world, even if it is just the interior design world. But in these…” He circles a callused finger on the flat of my back. “You’re reachable.”

  “You mean approachable.”

  “No, I mean reachable. Like the stars in the dark sky have come down to earth so a lowly being like me can admire the celestial up close.”

  I don’t know how to respond to that. Grateful for the noise around us, I release a shaky breath, reach for my beer, and cross my legs. Except when I do, the back of my heel pops out of my sneaker and touches his leg. Firm, muscular leg. A memory slinks in my mind—the outside of one of his thighs bracing one of mine, while my other leg is folded under his chest, keeping me wide open as he pounds into me.

  I uncross my legs and squeeze them together. How long are you going to punish yourself, Ingrid?

  Is that what I’m doing? Punishing myself? For what purpose exactly? For reminders of how deep he was inside me? For how many orgasms he’s given me? For not letting myself give in?

  Pinching the bridge of my nose, I let out a frustrated groan. “This is not going to work out.”

  “Ingrid.” His finger stops drawing circles on my fired-up skin.

  “Sorry, Henrik.” I can’t even look at him. Sliding out of the booth, I push through the crowd and practically run back to the office building, cursing myself the entire way there.

  To my surprise, or not, I guess, I find him leaning against my car. “You’re persistence knows no bounds or are you turning into a stalker?”

  He crosses his ankles and relaxes more against my Mercedes convertible. “Just give me one solid reason.”

  “What reason? What do you want from me? God, Henrik! I’m sorry I was so good in bed that you can’t forget about me. I’m sorry that I am just so irresistible that you can’t imagine not having me again. I’m sorry that…”

  The rest of what I’m about to say turns into mumbles when he claims my lips—punishing, deep, primal.

  He pushes a hand through my hair while his tongue plunders my mouth. He gives my hair a little tug and my neck arches, followed by my entire body. Heaving chest against heaving chest, heartbeats drumming in quick unison. Body molding, my panties melting.

  I fumble for my keys and somehow find a way to unlock my car. There isn’t enough room in it for him to get on top of me, he knows this. I know this. He slides in and pulls me on top of him before closing the passenger door.

  “Fuck,” he groans out when I grind my hips on his lap, on that impressive hard-on. He hasn’t let go of my hair, and he nips under my chin, sucking, biting, marking me.

  I grapple for the hem of my sweater and pull it over my head. He presses the button on the seat and the back slides down, making enough room for me to take my jeans and shoes off, and him to slide his trousers and boxers enough to release his cock.

  “Sorry,” he
says and before I wonder why, he rips my camisole into pieces, and delves on my breasts, suckling at my tender nipple. I arch my body forward, letting him taste more. All the while, I’m rocking over his lap, my slick, wet folds lubricating his length. His other hand finds my ass and grabs a handful of one cheek. I jolt when he follows this with a smack on my butt. And I squeal. No man has made me squeal before.

  I don’t apologize when I rip his shirt off, and tug it back and down so I can scrape my fingernails all over him—on his taut abs, the planes of his chest, his arms, over his neck. He finds my lips again, in the dark, in the tiniest vehicle I own, and bites down on my lower lip. He doesn’t apologize for it, and I’m glad.

  “Fuck me,” I order him, but I’m the one who grabs a fistful of cock under me, and lead it to my entrance. I take him slowly, a mere inch at a time. It feels different this time, without the help of the water in the shower, he feels bigger, so big I’m afraid he’ll rip me apart.

  I’m watching my pussy swallow his cock until it disappears altogether and I’m full inside. I look up and we lock gazes. Panting, not saying a word, just feeling.

  He releases my hair and drags his thumb over my lightly pressed lips, then he slides it between them, and I suck it in. I taste his skin. At the same time, I move my hips, slow at first, then match it to the rhythm inside my ribs. He doesn’t take his eyes off of me. Muscles on his jaw twitch, and he’d wince every now and then.

  He slips his thumb out of my mouth and drags it down the middle of my torso, all the way to my swollen clit. With his other hand, still splayed on my ass, he guides me on him, until we’re moving to the same beat. His thumb playing with my clit, my hips rocking on his crotch, my pussy sliding up and down his shaft. I dig my nails into his shoulders, and when I can’t take it anymore, I close my eyes and roll my head back.

  My own strength is dissipating, but he holds me tight with one arm and ruts into me by lifting me over his lap. I’m leaning back so much when I stretch out my hands I reach and touch the cool glass of my window. He alternately takes my nipples in his mouth, one at a time. He’s doing everything now, and I am just a heap of melting flesh ready to explode. When I do, he pauses for a second or two, letting me ride it out, and then he keeps going until I feel him throbbing inside me.