Page 13 of Executive Privilege (Event Horizons Agency #1)

We fall into comfortable silence, both of us staring into the fire and pretending we're not hyperaware of every point where our bodies touch. The marshmallow on my stick turns golden brown, and I extract it carefully to assemble a s'more.

"Want to try?" I offer, holding out the finished product.

"I don't really do s'mores."

"What do you mean you don't do s'mores? They're basically a legal requirement if there's a fire pit."

"I mean I don't usually eat things that were assembled around a campfire by someone else's hands."

I stare at him. "Are you serious right now?"

"I have particular standards about food preparation."

"It's a marshmallow, Nicholas. And chocolate. And graham crackers. I'm not performing surgery."

"Still."

I take a bite of the s'more myself, making sure to get some chocolate on my lips in the process. "Your loss. This is probably the best s'more ever constructed."

Nicholas watches me eat with an expression that suggests he's rethinking his position on campfire food preparation.

"Maybe just a small bite," he says finally.

I hold out the s'more, but instead of taking it, Nicholas leans forward and takes a bite while I'm still holding it.

His lips brush against my fingers in the process, and the contact sends electricity straight through me.

I can't believe he would do that in front of our clients. But nobody seems to notice, thankfully.

"Verdict?" I ask, my voice slightly breathless.

"Not terrible," he admits, licking chocolate from his lower lip in a way that makes me want to do significantly more than share s'mores.

"High praise from someone with particular food standards."

"Don't let it go to your head."

There's something warm in his voice, something almost affectionate that makes my chest tight with emotions I'm not supposed to be feeling for my boss–his rules.

The evening continues with more conversation and laughter, and gradually the group starts to disperse toward their cabins. Nicholas and I are among the last to leave the fire pit, walking in comfortable silence toward the guest lodging.

"Which cabin are you in?" I ask as we reach the cluster of rustic buildings.

"Pine Ridge. You?"

"Aspen Grove. Right next door."

We stop between our respective cabins, and suddenly the easy camaraderie of the evening shifts into something more charged.

We're alone, in the dark, with the scent of pine trees and the memory of firelight and the knowledge that we're going to be sleeping in beds separated by about twenty feet of Texas wilderness.

"Sadie," Nicholas says, his voice lower than before.

"Nicholas."

"This is a bad idea."

"Probably the worst idea ever."

"Morrison's cabin is right across the path. Anyone could see us."

"So we should say goodnight and go to our separate cabins like the professional adults we are."

"We should," he agrees, but he's already moving closer.

"We definitely should."

And then we're kissing in the shadow between our cabins like teenagers sneaking around at summer camp.

"Your cabin or mine?" he breathes against my lips.

"Yours," I say without hesitation.

He leads me to his cabin, unlocking the door with hands that shake slightly with need. The moment we're inside, the careful control we's maintained all day finally snaps.

We claw at each other with raw need, built up over hours and days of being so close together but unable to touch. Nicholas backs me against the cabin door, his mouth hungry and demanding, his hands grabbing at me recklessly.

"I've been thinking about this all day," he breathes against my neck. "Watching you climb, watching you work, knowing I couldn't touch you."

"Touch me now," I gasp, already working at the buttons of his shirt.

"Should I light a fire for us first?" He gestures toward the stone fireplace.

I look around, the cabin itself is all pine logs and plaid furnishings that should feel ridiculous but somehow just feels right. Like we're truly well away from our regular world and this world is just for us.

"I'm already hot enough, Nicholas."

He doesn't need to be told twice. Within minutes, we're naked and tangled together on the cabin's rustic bed.

Nicholas doesn’t get the chance to set the pace this time.

I push him back, straddling his hips before he can react, and the look of startled hunger on his face is incredibly satisfying.

His hands come up instinctively to steady me, but I press them into the mattress, pinning them down with my knees as I sink onto him in one slow, deliberate motion.

The sound that tears from his throat is pure desperation.

“Jesus, you’re going to kill me,” he groans, his head tipping back as I roll my hips, taking him deeper.

For once, I’m the one in control, and the power is intoxicating.

I set the rhythm—slow, then sharp, testing him, watching the way his jaw tightens, the way his eyes burn into mine.

Then their roaming my body in place of his hands which I still have pinned down.

The intensity of his gaze makes my whole body burn for him.

“Let me see you lose it,” I whisper, leaning down so my lips brush his ear. My nails drag lightly across his chest, just enough to make him hiss.

He tries to thrust up into me, but I push him down again, riding him harder, faster, until I can’t hold back the sounds spilling from my throat. The friction builds, pressure coiling so tightly I’m shaking with it, chasing it, daring him to keep up.

Nicholas breaks one of his hands free and finds me between my thighs, his fingers circling exactly where I need it.

The added touch is devastating—I cry out, clamping one hand on my mouth and one around him as my climax slams into me.

My body bucks and arches, pleasure tearing through me so violently I lose control, collapsing against his chest.

He follows, surging up into me with a strangled groan, his hands gripping me like he’s afraid to let go. The rhythm turns frantic, rough, until he’s undone beneath me, holding me against him as if I belong nowhere else.

When it’s over, I’m still straddling him, both of us drenched in sweat and gasping for air. He strokes a hand slowly down my spine, the gentleness after all of that intensity has my eyes prickling.

"I should probably go back to my own cabin," I say eventually.

"Probably," Nicholas agrees, his arms tightening around me. "Morrison's probably an early riser. Wouldn't want him to notice anything inappropriate."

"Nothing inappropriate here." I laugh.

Suddenly Nicholas is rolling us over so he's on top of me. "I can't seem to keep my hands off you."

"That's not very professional of you, Mr. Blackwood."

"Nothing about this is professional, Ms. Reynolds."

And for once, he sounds like he might be okay with that.