“Bring the file here and place it on my desk.” He settled more comfortably into his chair, steepled his fingers beneath his chin, and admired the sway of her lush hips. She placed the file down as instructed then folded her hands in front of her, eyes still averted. Schooling his need with an iron control, Daniel waited.
Her chest rose and fell, the slight hitch in her breath pressing her breasts against the thin silk of her blouse. The tip of her tongue peeked out, dampening her coral-pink lips, and a bolt of lust drove him from the chair. Ignoring Lou, he strode to the door and locked it. He doubted there were many people left in the building at that time of day on a Friday, but he wouldn’t risk anyone interrupting them.
Pacing back to the center of the room, he stopped to admire the hourglass lines of her figure. The heels looked even better from the back. Balancing on their slender points gave extra definition to her calf muscles.
“Do you know why I summoned you, Ms. Jones?”
Her breath seemed to catch in her throat. Her voice barely above a whisper, she said, “No, Mr. Smith.”
“You will call me Daniel.” The visceral need for her to know who was about to touch her surprised him. He wanted to hear his name on her lips as she sighed, moaned, and fell apart at his command. Her head bobbed in acquiescence, and he spoke again. “I summoned you because you canceled our appointment this evening.”
She half-turned, seemed to catch herself, and straightened to face the front again. A thrill of satisfaction curled in his gut. Each little act of submission from her proved sexy as hell. “Did you do as I requested?” he asked. Her skirt clung to her hips and ass with no hint of a panty line, but he couldn’t be sure.
“Yes,” she murmured.
A bolt of lust rocked him on his heels. He wanted to crawl on his hands and knees and fawn at her feet, but she had been very specific in her email—her fantasy required him to be the boss, to take control and dictate his desires upon her.
“Show me.” The rasp in his voice couldn’t be helped; his body tingled with anticipation. Her hands gripped the hem of her skirt and began to raise it, inch by tantalizing inch. The material cleared the back of her knees, gliding higher to reveal the lacy tops of her thigh-high stockings, the soft expanse of her tanned thighs.
Merryn Dexter is a military spouse who, after a varied employment career (from selling sandals to old ladies with bunions to being a health and safety coordinator for a construction company), is thrilled to be pursuing her dream career as a romance writer. She likes The Winchesters, Spike, Hotch, Loki and watching complicated European Noir. Her hobbies include crying at books, crying at movies, crying at tv serials (there’s a theme!) and believes all stories should have a Happy Ending.