Page 39 of Going Deep (Odyssey #3)

M ichael let theapartmentdoor slam behind him. “ Ginger ? You here?”

“In the office,” came the reply.

He grinned and started down the hall, shedding his jacket along the way.

Summer had held on through September and halfway through October , but they were two weeks into November now, and shorter days and cooler weather had finally come to Chicago .

The cozy warmth of the apartment—kept at a slightly higher temperature than he normally liked in deference to the often naked woman in his life—was welcoming.

And while he might have preferred a slightly cooler temperature, the knowledge that warmth equaled a naked Ginger more than made up for it.

He stopped off in the bedroom to drop off the jacket, and his suitcase. He’d made his last trip to New York for the month, and was glad of it. He didn’t like leaving town much these days.

Leaving the bedroom, he headed for the office.

Once a spare bedroom and storage area, he’d insisted on turning it into a space Ginger could use for work.

The work she did at the Center was mostly hands-on, but she sometimes brought work home, and he’d wanted her to have a comfortable space in which to do it.

She’d protested the transformation of the space as unnecessary.

She had her own apartment, after all, and an office there—she didn’t need two.

He’d ignored her objections, outfitting the space with a comfortable sofa, bookshelves, and a desk in gleaming mahogany.

When she’d continued to protest, he’d bent her over the desk and showed her just how convenient it could be to have a home office.

His blood stirred at the thought. He’d been gone for four long days, and was more than ready to see his woman again.

She’d had a half day at the Center , as she always did on Fridays , and since it was only four o’clock, he had high hopes for a romp.

They’d invited Anna and Grant , Lola and Simon over for the evening, but their friends wouldn’t arrive until seven, leaving plenty of time for more intimate activities before they had to start dinner.

He frowned when he found the door to the office closed.

She rarely shut the door unless she was working on something confidential, and he tried to respect her privacy.

He knew if he had any hope of convincing her to move in with him when her sublease was up, he had to make it clear those boundaries would be respected.

And though they’d been together nearly every night since her return to Chicago three months before, she still insisted on keeping a separate residence.

She felt it important for both of them to have space to retreat to—hence his insistence that she have a space in his home to call her own.

Hopefully it would help convince her that living together wouldn’t mean the loss of her privacy.

He lifted his hand and rapped his knuckles on the door.

“Come in, Mr . O’Reilly .”

Mr. O’Reilly ? He shook his head in confusion. What was she up to?

Then he pushed open the door, and began to grin.

She sat behind her desk, the surface clear of everything except an open notebook.

She wore a white blouse with long sleeves, the buttons done up all the way to her neck.

Her hair, grown longer in the last few months, was combed neatly back and pinned in place with a black headband, the pale blonde gleaming in the lamplight.

Her lips were painted a slick, deep red, and she wore large-framed black glasses perched on the end of her cute little nose.

She knew glasses drove him crazy.

She lifted a hand to wave him in without looking up, all her attention on the notebook in front of her. “ Please have a seat.”

He noted with surprise that the sofa that normally sat across from her desk was missing, and in its place was an old-fashioned school desk. The kind with the chair attached to the desktop, the wood scarred and stained from the no doubt hundreds of students who had sat in the chair over the years.

His grin spread over his face as he folded his long frame into the small space and waited for the show to start.

She made him wait almost five minutes before she finally put down her pen and closed the notebook in front of her. She set it aside, then looked up.

“You’re nearly thirty minutes late, Mr . O’Reilly .” She glanced pointedly at her watch, then used one fingertip—the rounded nail painted the same deep red as her lips—to push the glasses further up her nose. “ We’re not getting off to a very good start.”

He lifted a brow and slouched in the chair, assuming the devil-may-care attitude he figured the role called for. “ Had stuff to do.”

Her brows lifted slightly even as her eyes gleamed with delight. “ Really ? More important than determining your future here?”

His shrug was insolent, his lip curled into a sneer. “ My future is fine. I aced your last test, didn’t I ?”

“Your intelligence is not in question, Mr . O’Reilly . Your attitude, however, is a significant problem.”

He sent her a dark grin. “ I think you like my attitude.”

A blush rose to her cheeks. “ I can assure you I do not, Mr . O’Reilly . You’re disruptive to the class, and disrespectful to me.”

He arched a brow. “ All I said was I liked your ass.”

The blush depended. “ I’m your teacher, Mr . O’Reilly . Personal remarks, especially those of a—” she swallowed hard. “ Sexual nature, are highly inappropriate.”

“I think you like my inappropriate remarks,” he told her in a soft growl, and watched a shiver race over her skin. “ Especially the ones of a ‘sexual nature’,” he said, putting air quotes around the words.

She let out a heavy sigh and rose to her feet, heels clicking on the wood floor as she walked around the desk.

Her grey pencil skirt was snug right down to her knees, the matching heels making her legs look a mile long.

“ Mr . O’Reilly , if you’re not going to take this meeting, or your academic future seriously, we can simply end it now.

I have better things to do with my time. ”

He pushed to his feet to tower over her. “ How long are you going to pretend that you’re not hot for me?”

“Mr. O’Reilly !” Shock widened her eyes and parted her lips. “ This meeting is over.”

“Good.” He took a step closer. “ Then let’s talk about what’s really going on here.”

“I beg your pardon,” she said, mouth pursed primly. She edged back against the desk, her eyes huge behind the lenses of her glasses. “ I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, sweetheart.” He crossed his arms over his chest and planted his feet. “ You’ve been teasing me all year. Walking around in those tight skirts and slut shoes. Bending over the desk so I can see your ass, pushing your tits in my face.”

She gasped in shock. “ I don’t do any of those things!”

“Sure you do.” He stepped forward until the toes of his shoes nudged her pumps. “ You’ve been shaking your ass at me for months now, practically begging for it.”

Her breath was coming in short little pants, her chest heaving. “ Mr . O’Reilly , I have to ask you to leave.”

“You don’t want me to leave, Ms . Dowling .” He leaned down so his breath washed across her ear. “ You want me to stay and fuck you.”

Her strangled gasp was like music. “ I do…do not,” she managed, and he laughed.

“Your mouth says no, Ms . Dowling ,” he told her, “but your body says something else.”

He skimmed the back of his hand down her chest, her sharp intake of air pushing her breast into his hand and making him smile. Her nipple was clearly visible through the thin silk of her blouse, the peak pressing against the soft material. She let out a soft whimper as his knuckles grazed her.

“You expect me to believe you just forgot a bra today, Ms . Dowling ?” He scraped his knuckles back up, catching the nipple between his fingers and squeezing lightly. “ I can see right through this prim little blouse. Just like you wanted me to.”

“No,” she whimpered. “ That’s not true.”

He twisted his fingers, tweaking the nipple. She let out a squeak and arched reflexively. “ It’s not nice to lie, Ms . Dowling .” He twisted his fingers again and watched her eyes go blind. “ Try again.”

She had to swallow twice before she could speak. “ Yes .”

He squeezed his fingers, increasing the pressure on her trapped nipple. “ Yes , what?”

“Yes, I wanted you to see my nipples,” she moaned.

He grinned. “ Yeah , you did.” He kept his voice low, slightly mocking. “ So let’s see them.”

He moved swiftly, snatching her hands from the edge of the desk and yanking them behind her back.

He wrapped one hand around both her wrists, forcing her back to arch, pressing her against his chest. He curled the fingers of his other hand into the high neckline of her blouse.

He worried for a moment that he might be destroying a favorite blouse, then dismissed it. He’d buy her a new one.

He yanked.

Her shocked gasp was accompanied by the ping of buttons hitting the desk, the floor as the blouse fell apart. It hung open on either side of her torso, the ragged edges framing her breasts.

“Pretty tits, Ms . Dowling ,” he murmured, and watched her flush from her chest all the way to her hairline. He used his free hand to squeeze, plump, and pinch until she was writhing, her body twisting against his hold.

“Hold still,” he growled, hardening his voice, and she froze. He flicked his gaze over her face. Her mouth was soft, lips slightly open, and her eyes were locked on his. “ Good girl,” he said softly, and watched her lips curve in a small smile.

He let his gaze soften momentarily, letting her see the approval and the love, before he narrowed his eyes.

“ What should I do with these pretty tits, hmmm?” he asked, closing his hand roughly over one soft globe.

The nipple was so hard it was stabbing into his palm, and the beat of her heart was like thunder under his fingers.