Rogue Passion

by Sionna Fox

  He abruptly wished he’d kept his work clothes on, like her, not shown up here in his sweat pants and a t-shirt. At least he still had his jacket on. He’d keep it on.

  “Come on,” she pointed to his chair. “I’m hungry.”

  He still didn’t move. Her skirt was just tight enough to show off the curve of her thighs, just short enough to show off her knees. The way her legs were crossed, he couldn’t help checking out her shapely calves, which lead him to her ankles and her…bare feet. She’d taken off her heels. Why was it so sexy to see her so relaxed?

  He should say something innocuous. He really should speak.

  She sighed with impatience and stood up to take the bag from him. “I guess I’ll feed myself.”

  “It’s hot.” He choked on the words. “The food, I mean. The food is hot. Warm.” There he’d said something. Probably would’ve been better if he’d said nothing.

  Her mouth lifted in a smile, and she walked to him, moved past him, and to his shock, closed the door behind him. He swore under his breath as he heard the click of the lock.

  This was out of the ordinary. She always left the door open. They were now closeted alone together. His palms started to sweat. This couldn’t possibly end with anything professional.

  “To keep the kids out,” she explained innocently, leaving out that she’d never found that necessary before. She took the takeout bag from him, her warm hand brushing his, almost like it was on purpose. She glanced in his eyes and her gaze was…it couldn’t have been suggestive. He was definitely imagining things.

  She put the bag on a table by the door, and her ass was right there, perfect for him to stare at. So curved, round, and he had the urge to say, fuck the takeout, lift her skirt, and bend her over. Would she let him show her who was really boss when it came to the pleasures of sex? He’d bet she would.

  “Here’s yours.” She held out his box of General Tso’s to him.

  He came forward and immediately wished he hadn’t. In her post-work repose, she’d undone the top two buttons of her blouse, exposing the tops of her pale breasts. His gaze on instinct searched inside to see, yup, they were covered in black lace. He’d had suspicions, more like fantasies, that she had a weakness for sexy lingerie underneath her uptight professional attire. He was right.

  “Here.” She pushed the box of food at him, and he took it. Her gaze on him didn’t linger, though. She turned back to her desk like she didn’t notice his wandering eyes. Maybe she hadn’t. But he also wondered if maybe she’d done it on purpose, unbuttoned those buttons to tempt him. Maybe.

  She sat down, digging into her little white box of food with gusto. “I’m thinking you should start hard. Go in rough. From the start.”

  He balked. “Excuse me?” His mind so preoccupied with sex, he was envisioning her wanting the same kind of fuck as he imagined she did: hard, rough.

  “With the school board.”

  He collapsed in his chair. “Right. The school board.”

  She finished chewing a bite and crinkled her brows. “What else would I be talking about?”

  “Nothing.” He buried his gaze in his food and stuffed his mouth with a bite, speaking with his mouth full. “I disagree.”

  She side-eyed him skeptically. “It’s the only sure way to succeed with them. Lead with the threat of a teacher strike.”

  He shook his head. “The teachers didn’t agree to that. I don’t think they’d follow through.”

  She pointed at him with her chopsticks. “Doesn’t matter. The board doesn’t know that. I think the threat will be enough.”

  “They’re going to cling to their budget and their fears of upsetting parents by raising tuition more than inflation per year. We need to start by easing their fears about that.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “We propose salary cuts to the overpaid members of the faculty.”

  She swallowed her bite. “Even if they agreed to that, do we know for certain it will cover the raises?”

  “That plus the money development says they can raise to support it.”

  She laughed. “No. They’re delusional. The parents’ association is so conservative. There’s no way any parents will support it.”

  “I think you’d be surprised.” He’d done some research. “I’m not talking about current parents. I’m talking about alumni who support moving the school into the direction of social change. We gathered some attention from previously uninvolved alumni with the faculty house cleaning we did last year.”

  She shook her head staring at her food. “You’re wrong.”

  “It’s because you don’t check social media. I’ll have a list for you of likely donors in the morning.”

  She chewed another bite, and said thoughtfully, “You’re going above and beyond your job description on this.”

  “I don’t care.” He liked doing this work. He didn’t really worry about it being something extra. She was putting in extra, too.

  “There’s a reason the lines are in place. This falls more on my relationship with the development office than yours.” She took a deep breath. “I’ll contact them for names tomorrow. You don’t have to do it.” She was right. Fundraising was part of her job description. Not his. His was merely to advocate on what was best for the faculty.

  He appreciated the concession. “Thank you.”

  “I still don’t think it would be enough. Donations might cover the first year of salary increases, but not the years following.”

  “It might, but that’s where you could threaten them with the potential for a strike amongst the faculty. Not an assertion it will happen. But a fear that it could.”

  She took one more bite of her food and closed the container. “I’m going to start with that. Unsettle them from the beginning.”

  He shook his head. “You mean, turn them off from the beginning. Get their backs up and they won’t listen to another word.”

  “If we don’t get their backs up, they won’t listen to a word we say at all. They’ll spend the entire time checking their phones, wondering when they can go home for dinner. They’ll make some noncommittal comment that they’ll ‘think about it.’ Nothing will come of it, and the missive will be dead in the water.”

  She was getting that look in her eye. The tough one that meant nothing he said would change her opinion. The one that as much as it frustrated him, it aroused him, too. He should look away from her. He shouldn’t let her see in his eyes how much it turned him on to see her tell him no, how much it made him want to make her concede to him in other ways, physical ways.

  He didn’t look away, and neither did she.

  He nodded his defeat. “Alright. You win.” It was meant as a professional statement, but his tone rasped too low in his chest. He let it sound like a sexual statement, too, this time, I’ll let you win, as the undertone behind it.

  He swore her breathing elevated as he stared at her, her chest moving up and down too fast. She also bit her lip. Despite the inappropriateness, he was overtaken by a desire to separate her tightly crossed legs and slide his hands up her inner thighs. How soft would they would be? Would she be as hot between her legs as he was feeling?

  He shook himself and looked away. It was time for him to go, before he stood over her and slipped his hands beneath her skirt to find out.

  He stood and moved to the bag of takeout on the table. He picked up the pair of fortune cookies and held one out to her. “Want one?”

  But she stood up at the same time, and his arm landed right across her chest, her soft breasts pressed to his forearm. Damn it. He tried to jerk his arm away, but she held his arm against her and took the cookie in his offered hand.

  “Thank you,” she murmured in a low tone that was too sexy for him to mistake as anything else. She let go of his arm, letting him drop it, but he did it slowly. She leaned into him, letting the back of his hand glide across her chest, down her middle, and even tantalizingly, caress at the apex of her thighs.

  Jesu
s almighty.

  She was not only onto him, she was encouraging him. She pressed the length of her body against his side, and the invitation was blatant. She wanted him touching her. He wondered if she wanted his mouth on her, too.

  He had one afterthought maintaining his restraint. “Dr. Masterson, this isn’t professional,” he rasped, not that he cared. He just wanted to give her an out.

  She stroked her fingers across his back and tilted her mouth to his ear. “Maybe for tonight I don’t care about being professional.”

  It was all the invitation he needed. He turned, clasped the nape of her neck, and kissed her.

  3

  His mouth was as good as she knew it would be. Fire—that’s what she was playing with. But damn, if she wanted to get burned, she wanted it to be by him.

  This would complicate their professional relationship beyond anything appropriate. If anyone found out, the gossip would be so fierce, it could completely undermine their respect and authority with the faculty. It would put both their jobs in jeopardy.

  But who was going to find out? No one. And he tasted too good not to risk it.

  She tangled her fingers in his hair and sucked his tongue into her mouth. The intensity of his kiss matched hers in the most delicious way, it re-affirmed all of her hopes that his attraction to her hadn’t changed.

  She did what she’d been dying to do. She lifted his glasses off his face and found his dark eyes hot and depthless. Oh yes, there was no doubt how much this man wanted her. “I’ve been dreaming about this for weeks,” she whispered and tossed his glasses on the chair.

  “Weeks…” he groaned and pulled her against his chest. “More like months.” He met her lips again, his mouth sealing to hers, his tongue a demanding stroke along her own. His hands roamed her back, digging into her clothes as though if he could, he’d tear them off.

  He came up for air, his breath gusting against her lips. “You want to know what I’ve been fantasizing every time I’ve stepped in this office since the day you hired me?”

  She rubbed her chest against his, her peaked nipples desperate for friction. “What?”

  He twisted his fingers in her hair and breathed against her ear. “You. On that desk. Naked.”

  She couldn’t stop the shudder that rolled through her, or her knees weakening, forcing her to lean more against him. “Do it…” she breathed around her uneven breaths, her heart speeding. “Please.”

  He let out a growl of triumph and maneuvering them over to the desk, lifted her ass on it. She’d never been more grateful that she was fastidiously tidy, and there was nothing on the surface in his way.

  She tried to spread her thighs around his hips and found her skirt too tight.

  A mischievous smile graced his mouth, and he rested his hands on her bare knees. “Can I help?”

  “Yes.” She lifted her legs one at a time, letting him push the hem of her skirt up to her hips. His palms lingered on her skin, his fingers gripping her soft flesh. He dragged his hands to her inner thighs and pressed them open.

  She gripped his shoulders, pulling him closer. Desperate to feel him against her, she wrapped her knees around his hips, and he leaned forward until his cock beneath his sweats rubbed against the apex of her thighs.

  She groaned and rolled her hips into him, relishing the pleasure of feeling how hard he was for her. Just like she’d hoped. Just like she wanted. She could already feel how wet she was for him. If she weren’t careful, she’d leave a mark on his pants. She’d been aroused all evening just thinking of him coming here, of hoping this might happen, of watching his gaze wander all over her from the time he walked in her office.

  He ghosted his lips across hers and rocked his hips against her. He felt so good. Too good—too good to wait.

  “There’s a condom in my purse,” she moaned, though she couldn’t imagine letting go of him to get it.

  His chest rumbled with a low chuckle, and he nipped her ear. “Hoping to get lucky?” He pulsed his hips against her, in a sensuous rhythm, trying to rob her of thoughts.

  “A woman can’t be too prepared,” she managed to say.

  “Neither can a man.” He reached in his pocket and pulled a condom from his wallet.

  Her eyes widened and she couldn’t help laughing. “Now who’s hoping to get lucky?”

  “I wanted to be safe. Just in case.” He put the foil packet on the desk beside her then reached beneath her top and stroked his warm hand across her back. There were far too many clothes between them. She wanted his skin under hands, to have his touch on hers.

  She jerked off his jacket, and he pulled his shirt over his head.

  She stared at his bare chest. “Oh God…” He was ripped. He had no business looking this good. This body should not be allowed to hide beneath a shirt and tie every day.

  And now she knew. She was going to always know. Every day of work from now on, she’d know what he was hiding beneath his clothes.

  Damn.

  She couldn’t help herself and traced her fingers over the muscle, molded hard and firm beneath his deep brown skin. She ran her fingers between the ridges of his abs and beneath the curve of his pecs. “It’s a crime for you to be this hot.”

  He snuck his fingers into the neckline of her shirt, unbuttoning her blouse to reveal the lace of her Coco de Mer. “Almost as guilty as you for wearing this under your clothes every day. Temptress.” His gaze was hungry staring at her breasts and his hands combing over her skin.

  “Touché.”

  Tomorrow, going back to work after seeing each other like this would not be easy. But she needed to quit thinking about that. The point was she had him and his cock within reach now.

  She reached into his sweats and grasped him in her palm, his length as hard and thick as she’d imagined. “I want this in me.”

  He groaned a low guttural sound. “How do you want it?”

  Internally, she was so molten, she couldn’t fathom taking him any other way except, “Fast. Hard.”

  “Your wish is my command.” He dragged her lace panties from her legs, pulled out his cock. She sheathed him in latex, her whole body begging for him.

  He gripped her thighs and adjusted the tilt of her hips until she was the perfect angle for him to penetrate. She clung to his shoulders and gasped shallow breaths as he sank inside her.

  She had barely time to accommodate him, to get used to him, to savor the feeling of his fullness, before he was thrusting with all the fervor she needed.

  “Yes,” she cried in his ear. Her body shaking with the force of his drives. “More.”

  His restraint, the self-control he shrouded himself in everyday, disappeared. He unleashed a punishing passion that had her clinging to him and begging for him to keep going. It was everything she needed, a melting of all the rigidity of their professional relationship, a creating of something deeper, a visceral communication that had lurked beneath the surface of their interactions for months.

  He reached between them and his thumb did wicked things to her clit, pressing, circling, she didn’t know what. “Come on my cock,” he growled in her ear.

  She couldn’t help doing exactly as he said, the climax shooting up her spine so fast she forgot to breathe.

  His orgasm followed hers, his thrusts intensifying and then seizing as he poured himself into her. She wrapped her arms around him, absorbing all his desire into her body, relishing her ecstasy mingled with his, and wishing he wouldn’t stop, wishing that he would keep going and it wouldn’t have to end.

  And she wouldn’t have to hear the voices in the hallway.

  She froze and dug her fingers into his neck. “Shh!” He stiffened, his arms still around her, his cock still jerking inside her.

  The voices were young, male—students. They were loud and laughing but moving. They walked past and disappeared up the stairs.

  “Thank god,” Phillip breathed and rested his forehead against Regina’s. He kissed her, sucking on her lips, trying to rekindle the
moment they had lost.

  But it was gone. She pulled back and refocused on her office—on her graduate degrees framed on the wall, the Huntington Academy seal on the chair by the door.

  This was so wrong. This was where they worked. If she was going to fuck her co-worker, she could at least have the decency to do it outside of the school. Damn it. She was putting both their jobs on line by giving in to him.

  Phillip sensed her withdrawal and stepped back from her. She mourned the loss of his touch, the heat of his body and the hardness of his cock within her. But she should end this now, before they got caught.

  She couldn’t meet his eyes. She couldn’t look at him. She’d be too tempted to stay, to pull him back to her and beg for more, again. She’d want to take him home with her and have him make love to her in a bed for real this time.

  The intimacy of that thought made her cringe. This was only sex for him, like it was supposed to be for her. Except it didn’t feel that way. She liked this man too fucking much.

  “Regina…?” his voice was gentle, like he was waiting for her to look at him, trying to gage her feelings.

  He was too much. She wanted him, this well-sexed man as much as she wanted his buttoned-up, academic self. But this complication of a sexual relation put both their jobs at risk. And she was responsible.

  She pulled her skirt down and rebuttoned her blouse, waiting until she was fully clothed until she looked at him again. “You should go.” She bit her lip, trying to hide how much she didn’t want him to.

  He’d put his shirt back on at least, but he hadn’t found his glasses. His eyes were a riot of emotions she couldn’t decipher. “You’re right.” But he didn’t move.

  She gulped and moved behind her desk to grab her purse and put on her shoes.

  “Are you okay?” His voice was more tender than she ever deserved.

  She was the one in a position of power in their professional relationship. She’d disrespected that. Completely. She turned back to him and caressed his hand. “I’m better than okay.” But she didn’t meet his eyes, just stared at his long talented fingers. “Phillip…I’m sorry.”