Page 288 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Knight

"I’ll meet the salesforce at noon. Cancel my one o’clock, bring forward my two o’clock, then I’ll meet the programming personnel at two p.m., followed by the meeting with my father at three, and—"

"Wait, was that to change your meeting to two p.m. or bring it forward, or—" She glances up at me and pales under the weight of my glare. "Uh, bring it forward. Got it."

Her hair has come undone from her messy bun and hangs in tendrils around her features.

She’s wearing a skirt and jacket—pink, of course—which fits her curves like it was painted on.

The buttons of her jacket strain across her ample bosom.

The neckline dips enough to hint at the valley between her breasts.

It’s a functional office suit, but on her, it might as well be a seductive evening gown.

Clearly, she wore it to taunt me. She wore it, knowing I was going to be hard as soon as I saw her.

In fact, my cock has been in a state of painful arousal since she walked into the room this morning—late, by a full five minutes.

Before I could tell her off, the scent of roses wafted over to me, and my heartbeat had spiked. My pulse rate galloped, and I was unable to do anything but stare as she sashayed over to me with her tablet in her hands and began reading out my day’s appointments.

"What about lunch?" she stops typing into her tablet long enough to ask.

"What about it?"

"Don’t you need time off for lunch?"

"I don’t eat lunch."

"Oh, well, I need an hour off from twelve-forty-five to—"

"Not happening."

"Excuse me?" Her lips twitch as if she’s trying not to smile, and not succeeding. "Did you say—"

"You heard me. Don’t pretend otherwise. We work non-stop in this office."

“That’s illegal; you can’t do that.”

“Tell that to the employees who’re happy to be compensated for working through their lunch hour.”

She sets her jaw. "We’re humans, not machines."

I’m not. I lost my humanity somewhere after I was hit for the hundredth time.

You bet, I kept count of it, and returned it with interest. I made sure they saw my face, made sure they knew who had come for them.

Made sure they saw my intention in my eyes when I grabbed my captor’s gun and shot him down, along with everyone else in that facility. Then Adam and I ran out of there and—

"Uh, Mr. Warren, Sir?"

Her husky voice cuts through the noise in my head.

It recedes, leaving behind a calm. How the fuck is that possible?

I ran half the night, trying to stop the voices in my head.

When that didn’t help, I called Adam who was only too happy to meet up to work out with me at my home gym this morning.

By the time I got into work, every muscle in my body hurt, but my mind had not ceased its chatter…

Until she called me by the title I asked her to.

Is she even aware of the impact she has on my body?

"Are you okay?" she asks softly.

I turn away and focus on my computer screen. "Get me my coffee, and starting tomorrow, don’t come to my office without it. And you need to collect my suits from the dry cleaners and have them delivered to my apartment, and—"

"Hold on, I’m your assistant, not your housekeeper."

I shoot her a look from under my eyes. "You’re in my debt for the next twelve months. You’ll be anything I want you to be."

Color flushes her cheeks. "This is insane. You’re infringing on all kinds of human resource regulations here, surely, and your team needs to eat.

If they take a break, it only increases their productivity.

Just because you thrive on working and feed off adrenaline and like to feed on human blood and tears, doesn’t mean the rest of us have to follow the same schedule.

" She stops, her chest rising and falling.

The buttons of the jacket across her bust stretch, and I eye them with interest. Can I make her angry enough that she draws in a breath and one of them might pop, giving me more of an eyeful of her sweet curves, I wonder?

"Hey, my face is up here."

"But my interest lies in what you have below."

She gapes then recovers enough to scoff, "That’s such a sexist thing to say."

I lean back in my chair. "I’m that and much worse, as you’re aware."

"You seem to wear your misogynistic tendencies on your sleeve like you’re proud of it."

I raise a shoulder. "I don’t care either way. Also, save your righteous indignation. The staff are allowed to take an hour off for lunch, just not you."

She stares. "That’s insane."

"Welcome to my world. Now, get gone, I have work to do."

She opens her mouth as if to say something else, then pivots with such force, the device slips from her hand and falls to the floor.

She bends, presenting me with the perfect view of her heart-shaped, curvaceous behind.

The skirt stretches across the expanse of that gorgeous arse, and I almost come in my pants.

A groan swells my throat, and I reach for my bottle of coke and empty it.

It only fuels that fire inside of me, so I feel like I’m being consumed by an inferno of need, of lust, of such craving to be buried inside of her that I know I need to do something about this ache, fast.

She wriggles her butt as she straightens, and my balls harden. F-u-c-k, she did that on purpose. She pushes out her chest, then heads for the door, seemingly unaware of the destruction left behind. Before the door snicks shut, I push up from my chair, and stalk into the ensuite toward the sink.

I stare at myself in the mirror, grip the edge of the counter, and undoing my belt and zipper, shove my pants down.

My dick springs free. I grab it and squeeze from base to crown, and again.

A vein pops at my temple, my cheeks are flushed, and my eyes blaze with a desire I thought I’d never see in them again.

I thought they’d beaten every emotion out of me, squeezed every last drop of humanity through my pores, electrocuted the will to sense passion, intensity, fervor, ardor— I was sure I’d never feel halfway human again.

But as I take in my reflection and see the life-force pulse through the veins of my throat and my face, and feel it pump through my cock, I know, I’m slowly coming back to life. Thanks to her.

The pressure builds at the base of my spine. I drag my fist up my rigid shaft, squeezing the precum out so it overflows the sides. "Bloody hell," I growl. "Bloody fuck, Penny, I’m going to come."

A prickling sensation seizes my skin. I glance to the side and spot her watching me from the entrance of the bathroom.

Her lips are parted, her chest rises and falls, and her cheeks are almost as pink as her jacket.

Her gaze is wide and lowered, and I know she’s watching me knead my cock.

Down to the base and up, again and again.

I increase my pace, and the slap of flesh against flesh fills the room.

My balls draw up, and with a growl, my cum sprays across my shirt. I jerk my chin at her. "Come here."

Without hesitation, she walks to me.

“On your knees,” I growl.

She sinks down, and I paint my cum over her lips. She slips her tongue out, licks it up, and it’s as if tasting me on her mouth brings her to her senses. "Oh, my god!" She flushes, then jumps up and scampers off.

I admit I don’t take my gaze off the twitching of her backside until she’s out of sight. Then I clean myself up, change out my shirt and pants, and toss the used clothes into a laundry basket in the corner, before walking out to my desk.

"There you are." My father looks up from where he's standing by the window. "I need to talk to you."