by Lindsey Hart
ARIA: Nothing. I just like it.
CASSIE: Please don’t remind me about poop. We had a toilet clog up at work a few days ago. I had to get it unplugged. It was terrible.
I can practically feel my friends shuddering in sympathy for me, but of course, that’s not what’s on their minds at the moment. They’re not going to let this go.
ARIA: If this guy lands in a seven to ten on the hot scale, please do him. You need it. It’s been a while, and I can feel your frustration all the way in a different country.
RIN: I can feel it all the way in a different state.
CASSIE: You guys are truly the worst.
ARIA: You got your box waxed for a reason. Don’t let it go to waste. Life can’t be all about the missed chances. It’s better to live with a heap of regret, two pissed off parents, and a possible scandal that blows up in your face than it is to actually just keep imagining living for a change. (hand emoji, hand emoji, hand emoji)
CASSIE: Those better not mean what I think they mean!
RIN: She’s applauding you.
ARIA: No, I’m not! Those are hands. Not applauding hands. Hands. Regular hands. As in, all the action you get shouldn’t come from your hand. Seriously. GET SOME! Just to clarify, I mean get some D. Just to clarify, that means DICK.
CASSIE: Too bad there isn’t an emoji for that.
ARIA: (flipping the finger hand emoji) There’s that one. For like, fingering.
CASSIE: You truly disgust me.
ARIA: You love me.
RIN: You love me too! I hate to agree with Aria, but she’s right. You need to have some fun. Let your hair down. You know, instead of letting your hairless box down. If you’re discreet, what could it hurt? You don’t have to date the guy. If he’s into you as well, I’m sure you can both have a little fun and still be adults. Unless he’s a complete child. But no. You wouldn’t be attracted to someone like that. I’m willing to bet he’s wicked smart as well as wicked hot.
ARIA: Where is he on the scale? I need to know!!!! (one hundred emoji)
RIN: I bet he’s at least an eight.
ARIA: No, I think he’s a nine.
CASSIE: Goodnight. I’m not giving him a rating. That’s mean. I’m attracted to him because he’s smart and funny. And because he doesn’t mind seeing me covered in poop.
And because he’s a ten. A freaking ten. I feel bad even thinking about it, and there’s no way I’m typing that. I can’t put that out there. It’s demeaning. I’ve never thought rating people was right. Usually, the hot guys are the ones who are assholes. They’re not even nice, so who cares if they’re a ten or a nine or whatever. People are more attractive when you get to know them and find out who they really are. I’ve only ever dated guys I could laugh and talk with or had something in common with. It never mattered to me if they were ridiculously hot or jacked or whatever.
ARIA: So that would be a ten.
RIN: It’s definitely a ten.
ARIA: Can you send us a picture? Like a whole body one? Not a creepy picture. Sneak up on him when he’s in the lunchroom or something and take one and send it to us.
CASSIE: There is zero chance of that happening.
ARIA: Come on! I have to know!
RIN: Booking my plane ticket now. I’ll be there tomorrow to see for myself.
CASSIE: That better be a joke!
RIN: (plane emoji)
ARIA: Me too! (plane emoji)
ARIA: Well if you won’t send us a photo of him, maybe you should send him a sexy photo of you! (girl dancing emoji)
ARIA: And by sexy, I mean naked.
CASSIE: Goodnight! I love you both. Seriously. But I’m not sending a picture, and you’re both staying put. I’ll check in again later. Until then, try not to blow up my phone.
Aria and Rin both reluctantly tell me goodnight, and then my phone stops. I know Aria, at least, probably won’t be able to resist texting me annoying texts over the next few days. Thank god there’s no waxed box emoji. If Aria had her way, she’d probably invent this add-on pack of perverted emojis for purchase. If she was tech-savvy, she’d probably have invented the damn thing already.
I set my phone down and amuse myself for the next ten minutes, imagining what would be on that list. I laugh so hard again that tears leak out of my eyes for a second time.
This is exactly what I needed. My besties. I needed them to cheer me up and give me their advice, even if it is bad.
I’m shy. I’m scared. I’m reluctant to start this and have it blow up in my face and turn into a huge mess, a worse mess than the pooptastrophe, but I think I might have talked myself into not letting that wax go to waste.
It was really painful. And now it’s really smooth.
And as pathetic as it is, my friends are right. It has been a really, really, really long time.
CHAPTER 7
John
I’m just about ready to leave for the day. It’s been a long one, and I have to say, I’m ready to go. I’m pretty sure I’m the last person left in the office. I wanted to finish working on the Smyths’ file before I gave it to upper management, which is Cassie’s parents. I also had to make a couple of calls that had to wait until after five.
I’m just about ready to shut it down for the day when I hear footsteps outside my office. I sit up a little straighter. I had no idea anyone else was still here.
A second later, there’s a flash at my office door, a blur of red, raven black hair, and soft brown eyes.
I’m pretty sure she hates me, but it doesn’t stop her from slamming the door closed and twisting the lock. Who puts locks on office doors? What could someone possibly do in their freaking workspace that would be bad enough to warrant a lock? Oh right. This.
“Get your shirt off,” she commands. “Right now.”
I’m wearing a professional button-down shirt. My hands are suddenly shaking, and I guess I’m not moving fast enough because Cassie marches up to me, grabs my shirt just below the collar, and does her best superhero shedding their alter ego impression. The shirt gives up its life with a dying groan of tearing seams. Buttons burst and fly like exploding popcorn kernels.
“You just ruined my shirt!”
“Were you partial to it?”
“No, but this is technically the second one you’ve managed to wreck, and I only have so many in my closet—”
I don’t get another word out because Cassie suddenly does a weird kind of hopping dance, tucking her arms into her red tunic style shirt. I realize she’s actually trying to take it off, but she’s not graceful about it in her haste. She gets half stuck in it and lets out a muffled mpfh before she tugs it over her face. Her cheeks are stained red, probably more from the effort than from embarrassment.
My eyes don’t stay on her face. I can’t keep them there even though I know I should. They drop lower, past her graceful neck, down to her visible collarbones, and down lower to her red lace bra.
Red lace? For work?
My cock doesn’t give a shit what occasion she put it on for. She could be crunching numbers or crunching my…anyway. It’s a nice bra. Delicate red lace flowers strategically cover her nipples while beige inserts cover up the rest. Her breasts are perky and gorgeous, the hardened peaks of her nipples puckering the lace. My manly region really appreciates the effort that went into designing and making the bra. I need to find out who is responsible for that work of art and write them a letter expressing my gratitude.
“What are you doing?” Cassie snaps.
“Appreciating your bra. Wondering if you have the matching panties on.”
“Pervert.”
“You’re the one flaunting.”
“Flaunting?” Cassie raises one eyebrow as her gaze dropped pointedly to my bare chest.
“You were the one who ripped my shirt off.”
“Oh, for goodness sakes. I’m not wearing any panties.”
My jaw drops to the floor with a bang. She grins at me, a wicked kind of evil grin that ties me up into painf
ul knots. I can’t think of a good comeback to that other than to point down to the way my dick is currently lighting up like a flashing neon sign.
“Take off your pants.”
“I’m sorry, we’re at work—”
“It’s after hours. There isn’t anyone here.”
“Still. It’s not appropriate.”
Cassie crosses her arms and taps her foot. “Okay, well, put your shirt back on then, and I’ll do the same.” She doesn’t move. She’s thrown down the challenge, waiting to see if I’ll pick it up or not.
“Stuff like this has consequences.”
Cassie rolls her eyes. “I’m thirty-one. I know that.”
“I’m saying we work together.”
“You’re here temporarily, and even if you weren’t, you don’t think we can be adults about this? It might get weird after, but it’s already weird. Do you have a response to that? What about all the stuff that’s already been going on between us? All the weirdness that led us here? You think sniffing my hair in the lunchroom isn’t any worse than this?”
My face flushes with embarrassed heat. How the hell does she know I did that? Apparently, I suck ass at subtlety. “Well, it’s slightly less bad.”
“It’s not worse! You started this. You could have kept your hotness to yourself, but you didn’t. There was this creepy stuff going on between us, and we could have just ignored it, but it looks like we can’t.”
“My hotness?”
“Yes. I blame you for your perfect face and your insanely hot body. Do you have to work out as often as you do? And seriously. Start buying baggier pants. And don’t wear shirts that become translucent and outline your nipple when something spills on them.”
“That’s ridiculous, and it’s a lot different from you standing here in your—uh—well…in nothing.”
Cassie shrugs, but her eyes flash with uncertainty. She’s not as composed as she’s letting on, and for some reason, it makes me feel a fuck of a lot better.
“My parents own this company, and I have lots of shares in it, so that makes me part owner too. If you’re worried about me trying to get you fired after or making this something it’s not, don’t. This is consensual. I know what I’m doing.”
“You’ve wanted to get me fired from the day I started here. You don’t even actually like me. How do I know this isn’t some kind of trap?”
“Are you kidding me? That’s a terrible thing to say. For the record, I don’t hate you. And I don’t want to get you fired. I would never do that.”
“I’m just trying to be sure.”
Cassie taps her foot again. The noise echoes through the room, along with our raspy breathing. “Are you freaking taking off your freaking pants or not?”
We have a stare down for a few seconds. My dick is asking me what the fuck is going on. My brain is telling me there are all sorts of reasons that this is bad for business. This could mean the end of my career. This is a good job, and I don’t want to lose it. Especially not over something like this. How cliché is it to get fired for having a relationship with a coworker, let alone the owners’ daughter? It looks bad on paper, and it looks even worse off of it, even if technically, it would look pretty awesome. I know that for a fact because I might have had a dream of us sans clothes in some pretty pretzeled up positions.
I guess something short circuits in my head because suddenly, my hands are slowly tracing their way to my belt buckle. The noise of the click echoes like a train wreck through the small office. There’s probably a special spot in hell for people who bang their bosses’ daughter, who, as part-owner, is also sort of my boss. I’m digging my own grave here, using my dick as a shovel.
I should stop, but my hands keep going. I undo my belt and follow it up with my button and zipper. I kick my shoes off and slide out of my pants. Just like I couldn’t stop myself from sniffing her, I can’t stop this from happening. It’s pathetic, but it’s also something else. Not just a lack of self-control or lust or anything as base as that. It’s something entirely different. So different that I don’t even have a name for it.
“I like your boxers.”
For a horrible second, I think I’ve put on one of the pairs I own that are funky or colorful—they were gifts, so nobody can blame me for not having the heart to return them or not wear them—and my eyes fly down self-consciously. Nope. Just my basic, black boxer-briefs.
“Should I make the first move?” Cassie murmurs.
“That—”
She moves fast, and when she launches herself at me, I meet her with my arms wide open. She locks her arms around my neck, and I back her up against the only wall without a pegboard, posters, sticky notes, or papers stuck all over the place.
Her one leg remains planted on the floor while her other one locks around my waist, somehow without a shoe on. Her foot digs into the back of my thigh as I attack her mouth. I kiss her like I’m not going to get another chance because hell, maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll get fired tomorrow, and this is actually it. She kisses me back, using her lips, her tongue, and her teeth. A sense of violent loneliness seems to channel the passionate kisses.
She nips my lip as she pulls back and looks up at me, her huge eyes sparkling. “Sorry. I–I haven’t done this for—uh—a long time. I’m over-eager.”
“It’s nice that you’d tell me that. It’s kind of sweet, actually.”
“You think my lack of a love life is sweet?”
“I think it’s sweet that—”
“That I’m not easy?” Cassie asks, way too seriously.
“I would never say you are easy!” Great. Now I’m digging myself in with dumbassery and my dick.
“I think we should stop talking.”
“Okay.”
We attack each other’s mouths again, barely coming up for breath until our lips are bruised and swollen, and I have absolutely no saliva to trade anymore.
“I really enjoy kissing you,” I rasp against her mouth.
“I halfway enjoy it too,” she reluctantly admits. “You’re an okay kisser.”
“Just okay?” I smirk.
“Mediocre at best.”
“Mediocre? Get those pants off, and I’ll show you mediocre!”
“With what?” she asks wickedly. “With the two inches that’s pressed up against my leg?”
“Two inches!”
“I mean, there are other ways to get a girl off. I’m not complaining about the size. That would just be mean, and I’m not a mean person, despite what you’ve hinted at. I’m actually very fair and very nice if given a chance.” Cassie shimmies between us, her hands tugging at her pants. She gets them down her legs while still trapped between me, and she proceeds to forcefully kick them away, along with her other shoe. It hits the desk and makes a loud clunking noise.
I wince at the sound, but Cassie palms my face. “Don’t worry. There isn’t anyone else here.”
Still. I’d like to not tempt fate. I remember what she said about not wearing any panties, though, so I look down. She’s indeed wearing some contrary to what she said. The matching set to the bra, just as I thought. My knees give out at the sight of them, which is really convenient for me. It’s exactly where I planned to be. Cassie is already looping a knee over my shoulder and throwing her head back against the wall in anticipation.
I grip her hips and bring my mouth to the red and beige lace. She lets out a sound that she doesn’t even bother to try and stifle while one hand buries itself in my hair. I glide my tongue over her panty covered core and find her panties already soaked. She’s a heady mix of sweet and dusky, rich musk. She tastes womanly and perfect. My cock, which is definitely not two inches, makes a tent of my boxers despite the tight fabric.
“Oh god,” she moans on the second pass, and her nails drive into my scalp.
“If you don’t take back what you said about my cock, I’ll be sure to keep driving you crazy like this.”
Her legs fall open a little wider. I brush her panties aside with my fin
ger and find her perfectly smooth below. Her hips drive into my face at the first pass of my tongue. I take my time, slowly exploring her folds, staying well away from her pleasure button, darting to her entrance, and then away again. She moans and writhes against the wall.
“You taste like heaven,” I groan. “Like the expensive fair-trade coffee you guys keep in the break room here and the full-fat whipping cream to put in it.”
“So you thought I’d taste like gross, stale, manufactured, cheap coffee?”
“No.”
“Or like fat-free cream?”
“Definitely not.” I dart my tongue inside of her, and she mumbles something unholy. A string of words that are smoky and smoldering, even if I didn’t catch them all. Maybe that’s just her. Or maybe it’s me. I’m pretty sure there’s some smoke coming off me at the moment.
“You keep teasing me,” she sputters accusingly.
“That’s the plan until you apologize to my dick.”
Cassie freezes. “Is it really two inches? Shit. I’m sorry. You shouldn’t be offended otherwise, because it was clearly a joke. Uh—shit. I mean, it’s okay. If it is.” She can’t keep a serious face. When I look up at her, she giggles, and her face breaks into a gorgeous, goofy grin. It’s the biggest I’ve ever seen her smile, and it’s so radiant that I’d honestly take mean words about my dick any day of the week if it means seeing it.
“That’s it. If it’s torture you want, I’ll give it to you!” I stand and sweep her into my arms. I set her down on the edge of my desk, scattering stacks of papers, folders, my stapler, my roll of tape, a letter opener, and an empty plastic coffee mug. Most of it ends up all over the floor. I don’t actually give a shit, and neither does she.
“Torture,” she pants as I step between her already parted legs. I run my hand over her soaked panties, caressing her gently over the smooth silk and lace. “Oh god, yes, torture. I—I don’t take it back. I’m pretty sure you have an infinitesimally small dick. I think I might need a magnifying glass to find it. I think—”
“Now that is too far!”
She laughs again, a gorgeous sound that comes from deep in her lower belly but stops and sighs into my mouth when I cut it off with another burning kiss.
