Forbidden Pleasure

by Taryn Leigh Taylor

  Her eyes met his as she pushed his wrist against the headboard again.

  Her skin was warm against his.

  She waited for his slight nod before she looped the tie through the wood, behind his head.

  Emma lifted his other arm and repeated the process with the wide end of the tie around that wrist.

  Max focused on taking deep, even breaths.

  When she was done, she faced him again.

  Instead of asking how he was, or worse, telling him everything was going to be fine, she just reached behind her and unclasped her bra, tossing it aside before she cupped his face and pressed her mouth to his, kissing him so deep that his brain shut off.

  Desire unfurled in his belly, until there was no room for panic, not even when he wanted to touch her so badly that he strained against his bonds.

  She pulled back, cheeks flushed with arousal, her kiss-swollen lips tilted in a teasing half-smile that made his blood run hot.

  “No touching, remember?”

  Yes. There was his flirty dominatrix. The one who’d met him in the living room and blown his mind.

  “Now, let’s get you out of these pants.”

  She reached between them and the slide of his zipper filled his ears, drowning out the music and the doubt, and he lifted his hips as she tugged his clothes down his body and all the way off.

  Then she stood beside the bed and shed the layers of her pretty lingerie, until she was perfectly, gorgeously naked for him.

  Crawling her way back up his body, Emma planted a knee on either side of his hips and lowered herself until the wet heat of her was pressed against his growing erection.

  He groaned, the tie cutting into his wrists as she undulated her hips, rubbing against him, until she was the only thing filling his brain, until she was everything.

  And still it wasn’t enough. The ache inside him grew, and as if Emma could sense the slow, sweet friction wasn’t enough for him anymore, her movements grew less sinuous and more desperate. He groaned, wanting everything her body was promising him.

  She reached between them, and he hissed as her fingers circled his erection, her thumb swiping across the sensitive tip of him. Fire sizzled through his veins as his hips bucked, and it took him a moment to realize she’s said something. Max tried to pull himself back to the surface.

  “I’m on the pill,” she repeated.

  He couldn’t breathe for a second.

  “And I’m clean. And I want to feel you inside me.”

  His heart thudded against his ribs.

  “Me, too. Christ, Emma. I need you so bad.”

  The exquisiteness of sliding into her with nothing between them, the tight, wet heat of her drawing him deep, the trust of it all, it wrecked him. His body was hard, but something inside him had cracked. He wanted to pull his hands free, to pound into her, to lose himself in the wildness of the act, but even as he wanted to let out the darkness, to rut, fuck, use her, let her use him, it wasn’t just that anymore.

  They knew too much about each other. He respected her. He liked her. And even as she was pulling him out from beneath the weight of secrets he’d kept for too long, so long that they’d changed him and warped him, he had the distinct impression he was drowning in her.

  Because as much as he wanted this to be solely about sex, it was about Emma, too.

  Respectful, naughty, flirty, so goddamn sweet—he’d take her any way he could get her.

  He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to feel better.

  But then she reached forward, pressing her palms to his, twining their fingers together as she rode him faster and faster, urging him on, and he couldn’t stop himself from taking what she was offering—sex and forgiveness and a way to forget. At least temporarily.

  “Oh fuck. Max. Please.”

  She contracted around him, burying her face against his neck as she cried out, and he tightened his fingers around hers as his climax rolled through him, made all the sweeter by the feel of her, so slick and tight around him as he joined her in ecstasy.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  PREWORK SEX HAD Max feeling pretty mellow. Maybe a little too mellow, he realized, as he lost track yet again of where they were on the agenda of last-minute details that needed attending to before SecurePay went live on Tuesday.

  The first time he’d done it, he’d been reminiscing about waking up with Emma in his arms, her hair tickling his chest and the curve of her ass tucked against his hips. She’d pressed his palm against her breast, and he’d kissed the back of her neck, and they’d rocked together in a slow, easy rhythm that had ended in an incredible orgasm and counted as the best wake-up call of his life.

  The second offense had him reliving their back seat make-out session, which had started with her teasing him about how he’d cut himself shaving when she’d appeared wet and naked after her shower and devolved into them rounding the bases with a speed that would have impressed his fourteen-year-old self and disgusted his sixteen-year-old self. It had left Emma delightfully rumpled enough to draw a raised eyebrow from his stoic driver when he’d pulled the door open upon their arrival at work.

  This latest transgression had him contemplating the merits of spreading Emma on the boardroom table after this never-ending meeting was over and shoving her skirt up her thighs, so he could finally taste her like he wanted to.

  Based on the way she was glaring right now, she might not be completely amenable to the idea.

  “That’s ridiculous!” she burst out, as though reading his dirty mind. It took him a moment to realize the comment was directed at Jim Dawson, the head of marketing, and his earlier edict on SecurePay’s ad campaign.

  At least someone was paying attention to the meeting.

  “Did you have something to add, Emma?” Max asked drily.

  “I... I just...” She took a deep, steadying breath. Touched her mother’s wedding ring. “I think that’s a mistake.”

  Max leaned back in his chair at the head of the oval boardroom table, his gaze focused on his lone dissenter. A quick survey of the room showed that he wasn’t the only one. Emma angled her chin defiantly.

  He gestured for her to proceed.

  “This close to launch, it’s ridiculous to change the price or the marketing campaign to appeal to a wider audience. All the focus groups show that positioning this as a luxury product and a luxury price point will instill the most confidence in the buyers, even those who can’t afford the product.”

  Jim’s scoff set off some whispers around the boardroom table. “And what good are ‘buyers’ who can’t afford your product?”

  The challenge made Emma drop her eyes to the table that Max’s lascivious imagination had been putting to such good use a moment ago, and for a second, he figured the matter was dropped. Then Emma raised her head, and there was a quiet poise to her that clashed with the sparks in her ocean-blue eyes.

  That’s my girl.

  “All of my research suggests that Whitfield Industries’ leadership change is going to affect this launch.”

  He felt the collective attention of the room on him, trying to gauge his reaction, but Max gave them nothing.

  “SecurePay is not only Whitfield Industries’ first salvo into the tech world, it’s also our inaugural product launch with Max as CEO. It’s imperative that we keep it on brand and position ourselves as a leader in the industry. When it comes to security, the data clearly shows that people are more likely to trust luxury products with luxury price tags. They associate the higher price with quality, and with the flood of copycat products that will come, it’s important that we cement ourselves in the minds of the consumers as the best. Especially with Cybercore set to release their take on secure payment tech later this year.”

  Again, all eyes darted toward him at the mention of the rival company belonging to Liam Kearney.

 
Max nodded. “Agreed. We’ll move forward as planned. I’ll expect a report at our next meeting. And I want that glitch with the user interface taken care of. We’re launching next week, and everything needs to be perfect. Thank you all for your time.”

  The sound of shuffling paper filled the room as people gathered their things and pushed back from the boardroom table.

  “Emma. May I have a word?”

  The sympathetic glances of her coworkers, save Jim, who looked rather smug, were not lost on Max as his employees filed out of the boardroom.

  She just sat there, arms crossed over her perfect breasts, waiting until they were alone, and the door had swung fully shut.

  “Jim is such an ass!”

  “You surprised the hell out of him. Out of all of them. You’ve never been so vocal with your dissent before.”

  “Maybe I’m just done biding my time, heading back to my desk to compose carefully worded emails that stroke all of your egos while convincing you that my way is actually better,” she taunted sweetly.

  Her scenario struck him as familiar, as more than a few instances of her doing exactly that sprang to mind.

  Huh. Funny he hadn’t noticed that before.

  Max nodded. “I’m glad. It’s a waste of everyone’s time. I much prefer having it brought up in the moment.”

  Emma gaped at him, searching his face for what? Some hint that he was toying with her? Max wasn’t one to play games. Not out of bed, anyway.

  “You’re serious.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? I respect your opinion. I wouldn’t have hired you otherwise.”

  She tipped her head, as if still not completely certain he was on the level. “I always got more of a ‘what I say goes, so don’t question it’ vibe from you. Challenging you in front of your team always seemed...imprudent.”

  “What I say does go. But those orders are based on input from people I consider experts in their respective fields. I’m not here to be right. I’m here to win.” He let a beat pass. “Besides, I like it when you get vocal.”

  Awareness settled in the room, warm and heavy.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, though the heightened color in her cheeks told him she already knew.

  He pushed his chair back from the table.

  “Are you flirting with me, Mr. Whitfield?”

  He rubbed his knuckles along his jaw. “The fact that you have to ask hurts my feelings a little.”

  Emma bit her lip to stop her smile, and his thighs flexed in response.

  “I can tell. You seem pretty broken up about it.”

  “I’d consider letting you make it up to me.”

  “How generous of you,” she teased, not realizing that he was dead serious.

  His earlier fantasy of feasting on her right there on the boardroom table flashed through his veins, heating his blood. “It could be.”

  He liked the way her blue eyes darkened in response to the rough promise in his words. Despite that tell, she tried to keep her voice light. “Although I’m intrigued by the offer, I’m afraid I’m under strict orders to keep things professional at work.”

  “That’s a stupid rule.”

  She lifted a delicate shoulder. “You made it.”

  Max frowned at the charge. “When did I say that?”

  “The other day. In the car,” she added, when he continued to look blankly at her.

  Oh, yeah. He had the vague recollection of saying something to that effect. “Right before I shoved my hand up your skirt,” he recalled aloud.

  Simpler times. Back when he still believed he had a chance in hell of outrunning this thing between them.

  “Well, disregard it. It was...short-sighted of me. Especially considering that we’ve been flirting at work for years.”

  “What? No, we haven’t!” She sounded shocked enough that he almost believed she believed that. Almost.

  “Emma,” he chided, getting to his feet.

  “Name one time.”

  “You mean besides me letting you kiss me in my office?”

  It was wrong to bait her, but he loved the way her eyes flashed when she was riled up. She didn’t disappoint, either.

  “The night you got the preliminary focus group feedback about SecurePay.”

  He watched the shift in her eyes as she recalled the charged moment they’d shared from across his desk when she’d given him the excellent results of her first weeks’ worth of work at Whitfield Industries.

  “He smiles,” she’d said, almost to herself, and the air had gotten thick with...something. She’d quashed it, resurrecting her all-business facade with impressive speed, and he’d let her, because there was nothing but danger down that path. But he liked knowing she remembered it.

  “That time in the elevator,” he offered, circling to her side of the table.

  That memory made her breath come faster. They’d been heading to the ground floor during a particularly busy afternoon, and as the elevator stopped on floor after floor, picking up more passengers, Emma had been forced to shuffle closer and closer to him as space became more prized.

  Before long they’d been relegated to the back corner of the elevator, so close that the backs of their hands were pressed together, sending a jolt of awareness through him. And despite the way she kept her gaze fixed on the head of the person in front of her, he’d known she felt it, too, because even after the bulk of the passengers had exited on the sixth floor and Emma had moved away from him, she hadn’t moved quite far enough to break the contact between their fingers. A forbidden touch they’d savored until they reached the lobby.

  He tugged on her chair, turning her to face him. “Should I go on?”

  “You remember that?” Her words were soft, and she sounded a little off balance.

  He leaned forward, bracing a palm on each of the armrests, fascinated by the way the muscles in her throat worked as she swallowed.

  “A man doesn’t forget getting his hands on a woman like you, no matter how innocuous the touch.”

  She was heart-stopping when she was turned on, so pink and pretty. It was evident in the flush of her cheeks, the dance of her fingertips along her clavicle. Every cell in his body responded to the charge in the air.

  Her lips parted, drawing him forward like a magnet.

  “Are you wearing panties?”

  “Of course,” she breathed. “It’s my understanding they’re part of the dress code now. Sir.”

  The blood rushed to his cock.

  “I swear to God, if I didn’t have a lunch meeting in six minutes I would hike your skirt up and bend you over the table, so I could—”

  Sudden movement caught his eye before he could finish his vow, and he straightened when the door to the conference room opened, ignoring Emma’s perplexed look as he erected a wall of professionalism to mask the lust of a moment before.

  Then the intruder showed himself, and Max lost his cool altogether.

  Rage sucker-punched him in the gut, and in his peripheral vision, Emma shrank back from him, though her chair didn’t move. She could probably feel the waves of animosity rolling off him. He had a weird urge to pull her behind him, to shelter her from the toxic presence that had invaded his boardroom.

  He didn’t, though.

  Partly because she’d probably kick him for being over-protective, but mostly because he didn’t want to draw any attention to her with a snake in the room. Instead, Max did his best to keep the bastard’s attention on him by verbalizing the question that had been banging around in his brain since he’d recognized the unwelcome visitor. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  The man’s oily smile made Max’s jaw tighten.

  “Now, is that any way to greet your father?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  EMMA STIFFENED.

  Oh God. Not here.<
br />
  She didn’t need to look over her shoulder to see who was responsible for Max’s deadly transformation, but she made herself do it anyway. Because like it or not, this was a nightmare she’d brought on herself.

  Like his son, Charles Whitfield knew how to dominate a room. He was still in decent shape, though he’d filled out a little in the middle over the years. His salt-and-pepper hair gave him a distinguished look. She was struck, in that moment, by how similar they were physically. She’d never noticed before, because being around Charles always made her feel queasy, whereas being around Max, well...he made her feel all sorts of things.

  Right now, though, all she felt was dread.

  She stood, pushing the chair back into place. Emma wasn’t sure what she was trying to accomplish with the show of solidarity—if she was offering Max her strength or trying to steal some of his.

  Charles’s gaze slid over to her, and his smugness made her feel slimy.

  Max took a step forward, angling his broad shoulders like he was trying to shelter her from Charles’s assessing gaze.

  “And I repeat, what the fuck are you doing here?”

  “I’m meeting your sister for lunch. And as far as I know, there’s no reason I shouldn’t be here. It’s still a free country. I mean, it’s not like I’ve been charged with a felony or anything.” The words were a challenge, though Emma couldn’t quite figure out for what.

  Every muscle in Max’s body looked strained.

  “Now that I think of it, your sister told me to meet her in the lobby. Perhaps your lovely assistant could walk me down?”

  Charles’s glance sent shivers up her spine. He was toying with her, letting her know he could blow this up whenever he wanted to. His reptilian smile made her want to vomit.

  “Emma is a research analyst, not my assistant,” Max ground out.

  Her blackmailer stepped forward, extending his hand. “I’m Charles Whitfield. Max’s father. How do you do, Emma?”

  Her stomach churned at the ludicrous pantomime. The lies clashed in her ears as she stepped forward and took Charles’s hand in a farce of a handshake. He squeezed too hard, and she recognized in the flash of pain the warning he’d intended.