Page 104 of Almost Ravaged

Heat pools in my core, even as I snatch the tissue off the floor and shuffle back.

I wipe at the spilled cream, ignoring the dampness gathering between my thighs, then desperately scan the ground for the third container.

When I catch sight of it beneath one of the wheels of his chair, I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Don’t move,” I instruct as I inch forward and snag the pesky cup.

“Wouldn’t fucking dream of it,” he rasps.

My cheeks flame, his tortured, gruff tone causing my breaths to go shallow.

I peek up from beneath my lashes, ensnared the moment our gazes collide.

As he watches me, I find myself anchored to the spot. Above me, he grips his armrests, as if forcing himself to stay where he is, even as his wide, dark eyes flit from my face to my chest.

I glance down, following his line of sight. It’s then that I realize just how much cleavage I’m putting on display.

I should back up. I should stop this, whatever it is.

Instead, I inch forward, just a fraction.

The sharp inhale above me stops me in my tracks.

I crane my head back, eyeing him but also giving him a better look down my cardigan, and drag my tongue along my parted lips.

A sharp knock startles me, and I rear back, smacking my head on the edge of the desk.

Mercer hisses through his teeth, shoves up out of his chair, and crouches in front of me.

I bat at him, panicked. He doesn’t have time to worry about my clumsiness. He needs to focus on the person on the other side of his office door.

He doesn’t seem to feel the same sense of urgency. With gentle hands, he cups my face and turns my head from side to side, inspecting it.

“Mercer,” I hiss. “Someone’s at the door.”

Shit. Someone’s out there, and we’re in here, doing—god, what were we even doing?

He lets out a low chuckle. “I know. Breathe, Ms. Davvies.”

“You have to get that.” I grip the edge of the desk and pull myself to my feet.

“I have to make sure you’re okay first,” he counters.

My heart stutters. Okay?

I’m anything but okay.

I’m a flustered mess. My skirt is all twisted on my hips from crawling on hands and knees, and my head is throbbing where I made contact with the desk. Then there’s the warmth low in my belly and the arousal soaking through my panties.

I’m a mess. For him. Because of him.

But I’m mostly concerned about getting caught like this. “I’m fine,” I grit out, shooing him away.

He takes a single step back, his expression one of pain, like it hurts him to create that distance. Then he assesses me up and down once more.

The visitor knocks again, and my heart lurches in panic.

With a sigh, Mercer murmurs, “Please sit down.” Then he finally strides to the door.