Page 4 of My Office Rival (Keep Your Enemy Closer #2)

JASON

I ncredible. She was incredible. Had I played with her the way I wanted?

No. Was she fantastic? Yes. And she has so much potential.

What I wouldn’t give for a second night…

The thought seared me. I never permitted a second night, didn’t let myself want one.

But now…fuck. She was under my skin. I reclined back against the pillows, breathing heavily.

I glanced over at Cynthia, who was sprawled out like a goddess.

Her red curls spilled over the sides of the pillow and tumbled over her shoulders.

“Your hair is beautiful.” It slipped out before I realized what I was saying.

She cracked an eye. “It’s a pain in the ass, but thank you. I’m quite vain about it. There’s a whole method for taking care of curly hair. You could try it. I bet you’d have some great curls if you didn’t gel the shit out of it all the time.”

I ran my fingers through the thick blond strands. “You noticed that?”

“You present a pretty starched exterior on Zoom. I assumed it was intentional.” She said it without judgment, but I still grimaced.

That was my reputation around the office.

I’d been naturally reticent when I started, still scared of making a mistake.

It had stuck, especially with how guarded I was.

People assumed I was a snob, or just an asshole.

Convenient for me, since it kept them from asking questions about my past.

“It is, and it isn’t. I guess there are sides of me I don’t show at work. Like this one,” I said carefully.

She snorted a laugh, those red curls shaking slightly. Her brown eyes danced with amusement. “Yeah, no shit. I didn’t think you were showing up to work saying, ‘I like it rough’ to your managing partner.”

I grinned back at her. “No way.”

We fell silent, and it should have been awkward, but it was comfortable.

Not that I knew much about post-coital bliss.

Women didn’t usually stay over. Most sex for me was relatively transactional.

What if I pull her against me? It had been years since I’d cuddled with anyone.

The dip of her waist called to me and my hand flexed.

She’d be so smooth right there. But she didn’t seem like the type to appreciate casual affection.

“So, what do you do for fun, Jason Elliott?” She turned toward me, pillowing her head on her hand.

“Well, I read a lot.” Wow, I sound cool.

“I watch a lot of documentaries. Boring, I know.” I flushed slightly.

“I do the New York Times crossword every day, but I can only complete Monday through Friday with any regularity. I’m just not cultured enough for the weekend crossword.

I go to Central Park a lot and just wander around.

I like to try new recipes and new restaurants.

There’s a new Italian place on 53 rd street with fantastic lasagna.

” I stopped. I was rambling. “Ah, sorry. You didn’t need my whole life story. ”

“No, no. It’s interesting.” She quirked an eyebrow at me.

“It’s rare to meet someone in our industry who has so many hobbies.

If you asked me, I would say travel, especially at the drop of a hat, seeing live music, walking around my neighborhood, and trying new cocktail bars.

” She wrinkled her nose. “Although, with the way this last deal went, I haven’t had much time for any of that.

The stress is starting to get to me this year, which is unusual.

At a certain point you develop thick skin, but…

maybe I’m just tired.” She sounded resigned.

“I know the feeling,” I said and propped my head on my hand. Her eyes dropped to my biceps and her nostrils flared slightly. I couldn’t help but flex. She thought I looked amazing and I wanted to show off for her, just a little.

“So, will I be facing you on a deal anytime soon?” she asked, idly playing with a curl. It had felt so good wrapped around my hand.

“Uh, I’m not sure.” Desire made my head foggy. “Would that be weird?”

“Maybe.” Her cheeks were a little pink. I nodded my agreement. It would be awkward negotiating against her, pretending I didn’t know what she looked like naked.

“Anyway, a one-night stand is a one-night stand. I can manage if I see you on a deal.” She sounded so casual and my heart tripped.

She’s right. What was I hoping for? A second night?

I didn’t give that to strangers, much less a damn colleague.

This was dumb as it was. I couldn’t carry on with someone I saw across the conference table.

She stretched languidly. Her breasts pushed up, and I swallowed hard.

Damn, she was hot. I’d never realized how sexy she was under her suits.

Yeah, it would be weird being her opposing counsel again.

I probably wouldn’t see her for a while, though.

We faced each other only about once a year.

This was it. Why did that feel so shitty?

“You’re right.” I scrubbed a hand over my face.

“Say that again. I want to record it.” She winked, and I grinned. “I’ll save it for the next time you torture me in a negotiation.” Her lips pursed in annoyance.

“That bad?”

“Would it kill you to send me typos privately?” She groused.

“What will you give me if I do?” I arched a brow.

“You continue to be the most annoying man alive,” she said, but her eyes smiled at me. “Regardless, all this is really doing it for me, so I think I can forgive you.” She gestured vaguely at my body.

“All this?” I teased, running a hand down my chest.

Her eyes darkened. “Do that again.” She bit her lip and my cock jerked.

I ran a hand down my chest again, lingering over my abs to watch her reaction.

Her eyes were hungry. I ever so slowly moved to grip my cock.

One long stroke, then another, shivers of pleasure dancing over my skin, my groin pulling tight with need.

Her eyes had gone heavy-lidded, her breaths short.

Her gaze was fixed on my erection, and I smirked.

“Jason.” Her eyes flew to my face. “I want more,” she breathed.

“Me too.” My voice was gravelly with need. How was she turning me on this quickly?

“This is stupid,” she said. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips. My palm landed on her hip.

“I know,” I muttered. “I don’t care.” I yanked her closer, pulled her under me. Her lush curves felt like sin against my skin. I lowered my mouth to hers, just barely brushing her lips.

“Me neither,” she whispered against my mouth, and kissed me.

The next day, I thought about texting her as I took the subway to the office. I turned my phone over in my hand as I waited for my stop. I’d already typed out a few messages that morning and then deleted them.

The first, which I’d composed after seeing the rumpled mess we’d made of my bed, had read, “ Let’s do that again.”

I’d decided against sending it when I’d remembered that she was my opposing counsel, not just a stunningly beautiful woman.

I’d typed out the second while I got undressed for my shower.

Why not have a second night? I’d been hard as stone imaging her perfect curves, even after a brutal run, and I’d typed out a message.

“When and where?” Simple, stark, like my need for her.

And then I reminded myself that I never gave a woman more than one night.

For the first time in five years, I’d forgotten.

She had made me forget. Second nights were prohibited.

Freak. Alana’s words were inked in my memory.

I could tamp down my needs for one night.

But after that it was too hard. I liked sex, liked it a lot, but to really connect with someone, I needed to feel like I could lose control with them.

I spent my entire life, every damn day, keeping my past and my personality under wraps.

It was a relief to have someone else in control.

My ex-girlfriend’s rejection had destroyed me.

Oh, all was well and good when she was the one tied to the St. Andrew’s Cross, but if I wanted that?

If I craved that? Hell, no. After I’d asked her to let me sub, she’d muttered some excuses and gotten dressed.

I had downed three whiskeys in rapid succession and accused her of being a coward.

“At least I’m not a freak,” she’d responded.

I still felt echoes of that grinding pain in my chest, and behind it, the old hurt and rejections from my foster families. Never again.

The memory had made my fist clench in rage, so hard I’d thought my phone would shatter. I’d slowly deleted the text to Cynthia.

But the need for her still rode me hard.

Today was going to be a trying day, just based on the emails I’d received this morning.

Another reminder of why I so desperately wanted out.

I hated that my destiny was in others’ hands.

I had to stay focused on my goals, but some days, like today, I wanted just one person to be close to.

I could picture Cynthia on the chair with me, draped over my lap, her lids heavy with desire, that wild hair spread around her.

She would look like a sinful offering with those curves and those dark eyes. Fuck .

I flipped my phone in my hand. Don’t you dare . She said one night, and you vowed never to give a woman a second one.

I tipped my head back against the wall of the subway car and eyed a guy who was idly texting someone, a small smile on his face. Maybe his girlfriend, or his fiancée. Lucky bastard.

Something about last night had been different . The way she’d responded, the way we’d fit together…she might be willing to play with me.

But texting was dishonest. Even if she wanted a second night, I wasn’t boyfriend material.

I was barely functional. I didn’t have girlfriends.

I fucked girls whom I met online, never more than once.

Because women I met in real life didn’t want to play like I did.

The look of disdain in their eyes when they learned what I needed was too humiliating.

There would be no texting. No second night. None of it now, and none of it later. And I’d just have to hope I didn’t see her across the conference table for a long, long time. Because if I were trapped in a small space with her, I wouldn’t be able to resist.