Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
“Perv,” I mutter, and he laughs.
“I can’t help it if your ass is distracting,” he murmurs in a husky tone. “So many things I want to do it.”
The back of my neck heats, and my nipples tingle. Just this morning, he was riding me from behind and he stuck his index finger in my backside. I’d shrieked from the unexpected burst of pleasure that hit me. I was so embarrassed I tried to get him to stop, but he held me tightly in place. When he started to move that finger in conjunction with his thrusts into me, I went dizzy from the pleasure. It was not like anything I’d ever felt before. Before long, I was throwing myself backward onto him.
Onto his finger.
His cock.
A strong cramp hits me between my legs. I wouldn’t fight him at all if he wanted to drag me off to his room again.
I stand, move to the next unit, and start at the top again. When I come down off the ladder, which is now just a foot from Asher’s chair, I tell him, “You’re going to need to move.”
He scoots his chair—which is on rollers—mere inches toward the desk, which is not enough room to get the rolling ladder by him.
I glare at him, and he smirks.
“Fine,” I say under my breath as I turn to face his desk. He keeps it pristine with documents neatly stacked in wooden trays and barely any knickknacks taking up the surface. I hit it with my feather duster, feeling Asher’s stare on me the entire time. I choose to go around the front of the desk rather than maneuvering behind him. When I get to the other side, he says, “Any chance I could get you to sit on my lap while you dust my desk?”
Biting back a smile, I try to look professionally stern as I swish my duster over the dark cherry surface. “Mr. Knight… that’s sexual harassment.”
“So sue me,” he taunts before suggesting, “Or… we could get naked.”
“Not interested,” I tell him—untruthfully—and pivot for the bookshelves again.
Asher’s hand shoots out, latching around my stomach, and he pulls me right onto his lap as he suggested. Screaming with laughter, I try to wiggle away. I can feel the thick ridge of him under my thighs, and he snatches the duster out of my hand while tightening his hold on me.
“You know,” he says in a playful voice. “I bet I could make you come with this thing.”
Oh, man. Really?
But I’m not ready to roll over and expose my belly so to speak. I try to snatch the duster back from him. He’s too quick and moves it out of the way. I lunge, faster than he gives me credit for, and my hand latches onto a fistful of feathers. I jerk hard. To my surprise, my hand sails back clutching a massive amount of brownish-gray feathers.
The force causes my arm to fly all the way across his desk, and it hits against something.
I hear a crash. As I turn to see what I just knocked to the floor, my stomach knots in horror as I see it was the picture of his dead wife and him. It lays face down on the hardwood floor, but I know it’s the one with Michelle. It’s the only picture he has in this office.
“Oh, Jesus,” I moan as I scramble off Asher’s lap. He makes this easy by releasing his hold on me. I kneel and gingerly pick up the frame. Glass falls loose onto the floor. I turn it over to see Michelle smiling back at me with some larger pieces of cracked glass still hanging onto the inside.
I turn to look at Asher, feeling like I’m going to throw up. “I am so sorry, Asher.”
He just sits in his chair, staring a little blankly at the picture frame in my hand. My stomach knots even more.
“The picture is okay,” I rush to assure him, glancing back down at it one more time to reassure myself that it is. And it is. The picture inside looks unscathed. My gaze goes back to Asher. “I can run out right now and buy another frame. I’m sure I can find one just like it. Christ… first the Chihuly and now this. I’m such a klutz.”
I’m startled when Asher reaches out. He doesn’t take the picture from my hand, but rather grabs my free hand. He squeezes it, giving me a soft, forgiving smile. “It’s okay, Hannah.”
“I feel terrible,” I say weakly.
Asher stands from the chair and takes the frame. I release it gladly. Without even looking at it, he sets it on the desk and then pulls me into him.
His arms come around my waist, his head dipping so he can brush his lips across mine. My entire body wants to melt in relief. I feel like I could use a good wailing cry.