Steamy: A Romance Anthology That Sizzles

by Johnson, Cat

  “Um … I don’t get it.”

  “We’ve, um, realized that we might have been taking advantage of you,” says Sarah.

  “I just looked up that Valrhona chocolate you used, and it’s pretty expensive,” adds Allie.

  Sarah nods. “So we figured, all the stuff you’ve been making this year probably cost a lot, didn’t it?”

  “Um … yeah,” I say. They have no idea. And frankly, their money doesn’t even begin to cover what I’ve spent on them, but that’s probably all the cash they had on them, and the thought is still nice. Just the simple acknowledgement matters more than anything else, really.

  “So next week you can tell us how much it will be, and the office will split it, okay?” says Sarah.

  “As long as you’re okay making something, obviously!” Allie rushes to add. “We also wanted to apologize for the nickname. No one else has one in the office and I guess we got carried away.”

  I begin to say it’s fine, then pause because Marco was right. I should tell them to stop.

  “I don’t mind it every once in a while. Just not, you know, instead of my actual name.”

  They nod, still looking sheepish, and then scurry away.

  Well, that was weird. And nice. Unexpected, frankly, but I’ll take it. Maybe this day won’t completely suck, after all.

  Suddenly energized, I bring my computer out of sleep and start tackling the report Marco demanded. I’m going to work straight through lunch. I can use the last prospectus I made as a template and just tweak the numbers once I do the market research. If I stay dialed in, I should be able to finish by six. Then I can send it to his royal highness and be free for the weekend.

  But I’m plagued by interruptions. Throughout the day, people keep coming up to my desk to apologize and give me money. Originally, I figured Sarah and Allie were the only ones who got it, but it appears that they were the designated leaders because everyone slowly follows suit. I do the awkward it’s-okay-kind-of-thanks-for-the-money another eight times.

  It’s pretty great, actually. By the end of the day, I end up with over five hundred dollars in cash. That’s, like, a third of my rent this month! And if they’re actually serious about giving me money every week, then I won’t be as poor anymore. Sweet.

  But it does mean that I keep getting pulled away from the report. I skip lunch—the cupcakes go over very well—trying to finish, but by mid-afternoon, I’m behind. Still, this has turned out to be a surprisingly good day—Marco hasn’t emerged from his office once to yell at us—so I don’t mind staying a little late to finish it up.

  People slowly file out of the office. They tend to leave early on Fridays since everyone’s always antsy for the weekend. Unfortunately, I usually have to summarize the reports they’re working on, which means that when they finish and leave is when I get more work. Since I don’t want a bunch of tasks to start the week on Mondays, I always work late on Fridays. But it seems like word’s gotten around about my report because none of them send me anything.

  I might actually be able to leave by six.

  By four, the office has mostly emptied, leaving me blissfully undisturbed. I’m able to power through the report by five-thirty. And I don’t know if it’s because this day hasn’t turned out completely horrible, but I kind of liked doing it. It’s interesting trying to figure out where Acceleron’s partners are failing and how we could conduct a media campaign to help them fill the gap.

  It’s certainly better than transcribing meetings, anyway.

  I send off the report to Marco with satisfaction and then head to the printer to pick up the hard copy that he always requests. I’ll just throw it on his desk, and then it’s two whole days of freedom.

  Snagging the printed report, I head back past my desk so I can retrieve my purse and my own cupcake I haven’t eaten yet. That way, I won’t have to return to my desk before leaving.

  I told myself the cupcake would be my reward for finishing the report. Having skipped lunch, I’m beyond hungry. So wolf it down now or enjoy it slowly in the elevator? While I’m so hungry I want to stuff the entire thing in my mouth in one bite, it would be a shame not to savor such a nice treat. Screw it. I’ll wait. Another sixty seconds isn’t going to kill me.

  Heading toward Marco’s office, I sneak a peek into the break room. Zero cupcakes left. Sweet Tooth strikes again. Perhaps now that people are going to chip in, I can actually ask everyone who’s been sneaking a second treat each week.

  I barge into Marco’s office, convinced he must have left hours ago since no one’s seen him all day, then freeze in shock.

  Marco is sitting at his desk, a half-eaten cupcake in his hand and a blissful expression on his face.

  “Marco Vitale,” I gasp. “You’re Sweet Tooth!”

  5

  Marco and I stare at each other in absolute stillness. Then, almost guiltily, Marco shoves the rest of the cupcake into his mouth in one go, like he expects me to snatch the remaining portion from him.

  And frankly? I might have attempted it.

  “I cannot even believe you,” I hiss.

  Marco climbs to his feet, still chewing, then stalks around his desk, his gaze never leaving mine. That strange look from earlier is back in his eyes.

  But now I’ve finally identified it—desire. An echoing desire slams into me. All breath sputters out of my lungs as my gaze snags on his lips. There’s just the tiniest speck of icing smeared on the corner of his mouth.

  I want to lick it off.

  Marco halts in front of me, so close our bodies touch. A current snaps between us. We shudder in nearly perfect unison. Reaching around my waist, he quietly pushes the door shut behind me then leaves his fist against the wood, his body crowding mine until I’m backed up against the door.

  “So,” he says quietly, the words a heated caress. “You caught me.”

  “Caught you? I caught you? Is this a game to you?”

  “No.”

  “Then you’d better tell me why you’ve spent the last year ridiculing my treats, or you might just find this other cupcake smeared all over your face.”

  He frowns. “That wouldn’t be fair. That one’s yours.”

  “Are you joking? You’ve been complaining about my food for literally months and it turns out it’s been you all along? You ate mine for weeks before I finally started making another.”

  His frown deepens. “I was eating yours? But you were always so adamant about only one per person. I only ever ate one.”

  “Well, obviously I never made one for you!”

  Hurt flashes across his face. “Why not?”

  I gape at him. “Do I need to spell it out for you? Because you always made my treats seem like Satan’s nectar, that’s why!”

  “I never—”

  “Oh, come on. Just this morning at the meeting you growled at us to shut up about the cupcakes. Last week, you said that we should be ashamed to be such sugar addicts. Shall I go on? But joke’s on us—you’ve been eating them the whole time. What a hypocrite.”

  “I never said I didn’t like them,” he says, his voice still quiet, “I said I didn’t approve of them.”

  I roll my eyes. Extra hard. “Pure semantics. You’ve been complaining about them—”

  “I’ve been complaining about them because I was sick of the whole fucking office taking advantage of you!”

  I slump against the door. Marco shoves a frustrated hand through his hair, making it stick up in every direction. I don’t move, my entire being poised with the knowledge that the two of us are perched at the edge of an important precipice.

  “Do you know why I’m such a hardass in the office?” he finally says.

  “Um … because you’re awful? Incapable of not controlling a situation?”

  He sends me a withering glare, then focuses on the door over my head. He stiffens, jaws clenched, brows furrowed, wholly resisting his next words.

  “Everyone knows my father used to run this company,” he begins.


  “You don’t have to—”

  “No, I do. I really do. My father never said no to anything. Drugs, booze, women. As the king of his little empire, he felt entitled to it all. It ran my mother off real quick, but I could never escape. So when I finally got old enough to kick him out of this company, I vowed I’d never follow in his footsteps. This Vitale wouldn’t be so weak to his own vices that he ruined the lives of everyone around him. I even picked up and moved my office across the planet, just to escape the reputation my father created. In New York, I’m still a wealthy heir, but at least I’m also anonymous. Back home, I never have a moment’s peace.

  “I am responsible for hundreds of lives. It doesn’t seem like it here, since it’s such a small office. But back in Italy? Hundreds. Thousands, really, if you include my employees’ families. This company has to provide for them. So. I’m an asshole, like you said. I rule with an iron fist, and the wheels keep turning. I rule myself with an iron fist. Nothing will send me down the path of my father.”

  He trails off, staring at my mouth, then adds, “Not even you, Izzy.”

  “Marco …” I whisper, “you’re not your father.”

  His jaw clenches tighter. “I know that.”

  “Do you?” I say softly. “Because no one can live like that. Not forever. Do you really expect to deny yourself pleasure for the rest of your life?”

  His gaze snags on my mouth again. “That fact has become increasingly apparent over the last twelve months.”

  Heat slides down my spine. “Is that why you sneaked my treats?”

  He looks like he’s about to deny it, but then he sighs and nods. “I couldn’t have you, obviously. It would be horribly inappropriate. But fuck, after that day in the elevator? I couldn’t deny the attraction. Yet I forced myself to ignore it. Another slip-up could never happen. I won’t be a predatory boss like my father. So I limited myself to your food. I couldn’t taste you, but I’d taste every sugary bit of your confections.”

  “But you always seemed to hate them.”

  “I hated that everyone thought they were entitled to them. It’s not your job, for fuck’s sake. You seemed okay with making them, so I didn’t forbid it, even though I wanted to. But I hoped that if I kept yelling at everyone, eventually I might shame them into no longer requesting them—or that you’d finally tell them to go to hell. And it went on and on. They should be ashamed of themselves. No one stopped it.”

  “Until today. Until our meeting this morning, when you finally told them off. Why did you let it go on for so long? Why keep baking for them?”

  “I … knew it pissed you off,” I say weakly. He flinches. “And if I couldn’t have you any other way … then I’d have your anger, at least. At least the office—wait. You told them to give me the money today, didn’t you?”

  “Of course. Right after I banned the nickname.”

  I gape at him. “Oh. Well, thanks. Next week’s will be easier.”

  Marco’s gaze drops to my mouth. “There’s just one little problem.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t think your food is enough for me anymore.”

  6

  Marco takes the report from me, which I’d completely forgotten about until this moment. “What is this?”

  “The Acceleron report you wanted.”

  “Oh good, that.” He tosses it on the floor next to me.

  “Was that just busywork, then?”

  His gaze snaps to mine. “Do you really think I’d do that?”

  Frankly? Kind of. Marco must see the truth of it in my expression because his own flattens. “I’d never give you busywork, Izzy. We’re too understaffed. I give you work because you’re worth more than a fucking office assistant. You’re more than due for a promotion and I—”

  I crush my mouth to his, jerking him against me. Marco growls and hauls me off the floor, my back hitting the door as my legs wrap around his waist. An instant later, he backs up until his thighs hit his desk, then turns to place me on it.

  Marco tears his mouth from mine. “Don’t ruin the cupcake.”

  “Huh?”

  “Put the cupcake down, Izzy. I intend to watch you eat it later. It would be a travesty to waste it.”

  I blink down at my hand. Hell, how did I forget it? Marco takes it and places it gently next to his computer, the care with which he handles it startling a surprised laugh out of me.

  “You really do have a sweet tooth, don’t you?”

  He grins at me. “Mhm. Especially for sassy women. I like a little spice to go with my sweetness.”

  Then his head drops lower.

  “Oh … that’s … good,” I cry as Marco yanks my blouse out of my skirt, the buttons popping, and begins trailing hot kisses down the length of my body, his mouth sucking my nipples through the fabric of my bra before traveling down to my navel. Between kisses, he mutters in Italian against my skin, words I have no hope of translating as I writhe beneath him. By the time he’s reached the waistband of my skirt, I’m a moaning, needy mess.

  Marco lifts his gaze to mine, his mouth red from kissing me, his hair tangled from my hands twisting it, his eyes burning into mine with aching intensity.

  “Tell me you want this,” he growls.

  I nod wordlessly, already burning with anticipation.

  “Say it.”

  “I want you. Right now. All of it.”

  He groans in approval, biting my skin lightly as his large hands lift my hips enough for him to jerk the zipper down my skirt. He tugs it down my body, the cool air of the office hitting my flushed skin.

  Marco groans again as he tosses my skirt on the floor and stares down at the deep V of my lingerie. I always wear sexy underwear to the office because it makes me feel like a badass corporate warrior. Right about now I am so happy with that decision.

  “Fucking beautiful,” he whispers. A second later, my underwear is dragged down my body as he throws my knees over his shoulders and lowers his mouth to me.

  “Oh, shit.” My hands plow into his hair again as his slide under my ass and lift me to him. Our eyes lock together as he tastes me. His tongue dives into me, over and over until I’m writhing and begging him to finish me. With a groan of satisfaction, his mouth latches around my clit and I erupt against him.

  He doesn’t give me a moment to recover.

  “How do you want to be fucked against that window? Your palms against it while I plow into you from behind, or your back sliding up and down it with your legs wrapped around my waist?”

  That incredible orgasm must have really scrambled my brain because the only word I can conjure is “both.” Marco’s panting over me, his eyes wild as he pulls his stiff cock out of his pants and begins stroking it.

  Another moan of need escapes me. I want to stare into those eyes as I feel every inch of him slide into me.

  “Back,” I manage to say, hoping he understands me.

  “Great answer,” he growls, spreading my legs wider.

  “Condom?” I ask, but he’s already released me to pull one from his pocket. While he rolls it on, I hurriedly unbutton his shirt, desperately wanting to feel the hard body that held me against the wall of the elevator.

  The muscles of his abs ripple as my hands slide down him. His body is sheer perfection.

  Marco lifts me off the desk and then lowers me onto his cock. We gasp in unison at the tight slide of our bodies. I grab his neck for balance and wrap my legs around him, knowing I’ll need to hang on.

  He buries his head in my neck. His hands on my ass squeeze tighter, as if he would bury himself deeper in me if he could. I shudder, my inner muscles clenching with need. Marco groans and then pivots. My back slams against the window, the cold of it a shock compared to his hot skin. I slide his shirt and jacket off his shoulders, needing to feel more of him, feel him wrapped around me.

  Marco pulls out and then thrusts back in. We moan as he does it again. And again. With every motion he sends me back against the window, the cool sensation eroti
c as I stare into the burning expression in his gaze.

  “You feel perfect,” he pants as he plunges into me yet again. My thighs grip him tighter, meeting his thrusts with my own as the desperate urge for relief begins spiraling a second time.

  “Fuck, yes. Like that. Squeeze me, Izzy,” he groans.

  “Marco,” I whimper, burying my head in his neck as I cling to him, fighting the release.

  “Say my name again.”

  “Marco,” I moan into his ear.

  He moves faster, his hips starting to lose their rhythm. “Fuck. Say it again.”

  “Marco!”

  I explode against him, my nails digging into his shoulders. Marco buries himself inside me a final time, shuddering his own release as he slumps against me. We cling to each other for a long moment before he withdraws and then gently lowers me to the ground.

  My knees go weak and he grabs for me. “Are you okay?”

  I laugh. His jacket and shirt are hanging around his elbows, his pants and underwear shoved to his ankles. I’m wearing nothing but a bra and can already see the red marks all over my body where he’s licked and bitten and suckled it.

  We both look thoroughly fucked.

  “Oh, I am more than okay. I’m fucking fantastic.”

  He grins, then glances down at himself.

  I turn to give him a moment to take care of the condom while I grab my thong and skirt from the floor and put them on. My shirt is useless, but I still pull it over my shoulders.

  “At least the cupcake made it. I’m still going to watch you eat it, you know.”

  I grin over my shoulder at him. “If you’re really good, I might even share it with you.”

  “I have a better idea.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Let me take you to dinner.”

  I still, then turn to look at him. “What exactly does that mean?”

  His eyes bore into mine, the intensity in them making me stumble back a step. “I think you know.”

  “Do I? Maybe you should tell me anyway,” I say, because even though I do know, it would still be nice to hear him say it.