Page 5 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part Two

“You were absolutely amazing back there,” he says, massaging my shoulders.

Oh…This is also why I fucked him. Those hands are incredible, and I hold all my tension in my neck and shoulders. I used to carve out time for weekly massages, but things have been so damn busy over the last eighteen months that I have barely had time to see my family.

Which is also probably why I have been screwing my business partner.

I rub my forehead, thinking about the earful I’m going to get from my best friend, Yennifer, when I finally stop dodging her calls and tell her what I’ve been up to.

Zane continues to knead into my shoulders, and I cannot resist the groan that flies out of my mouth when he hits a particularly tender spot.

“You work so hard, Liv,” he says, leaning close to my ear. I like how he smells. It’s citrus, jasmine, and leather—Gucci, if I recognize the scent correctly. “A goddamn lioness.”

I hum, not really paying attention to his words. Sure, they’re true, but I don’t have much use for pretty words.

They don’t move me.

Not anymore.

“Let me help you feel good,” he says, then he nips at my earlobe, and I can’t deny that it feels nice.

More than nice, now that my nipples are pressed against my satin bra.

Zane’s broad hand travels down my top and pulls at the cream silk fabric, loosening it from the waist of my dark brown skirt.

I close my eyes but then pop them open when he spins my chair around to face the wall of windows overlooking the Chicago River. When he kneels and parts my thighs, I lift in the seat so that my skirt can clear my ass and bunch at my waist.

“Goddamn, girl,” he grinds out. “I could worship you.”

I grin, a sideways lift of my mouth.

Right now, with this man on his knees, inching toward my needy pussy as I look out over the city I own, yeah. He can go ahead and worship me.

“Less talking, more licking,” I say, raking my nails against his scalp. He growls, but it does nothing for me, so I close my eyes and try to find a fantasy to latch onto.

Zane’s right. I do work too damn hard, and an orgasm before lunch does sound pretty great.

Thank God I opted out of those contemporary fishbowl office designs that offer zero privacy.

Zane kisses my clit through the gusset of my lace panties, sucking on the fabric before groaning again.

Ah, that’s the other thing. Zane’s a yapper: groaning, moaning, and whimpering.

I squeeze my eyes tight again.

Morris Chestnut. Shamar Moore. Chris Evans. Ooh, Kahl Drago….

I hiss, biting my lip when he finally gets the memo, pushing my panties to the side and giving me a nice, long lick.

“Good boy, just like that,” I whisper, falling into a fantasy where I’m Khaleesi, and Drago is about to absolutely murder my snatch. It manages to cover up Zane’s groan/whimper, and I fall into the rhythm of this pretty okay head I’m getting.

“God, you’re so damnsweet.”

It’s like being doused with a bucket of ice water when the word leaves his lips.

Sweet.

You’re so damn sweet, Shae. Like honey in my mouth, and I’m addicted to your taste.

“What the—?” Zane falls on his ass, and I stand up, shimmying my skirt down. My heart races, beating against my sternum as if it wants to make a run for it.