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I live in the fictional world as much as the real world.
I’ve pictured reenacting my favorite spicy scenes with my grumpy boss, but as bratty as I’ve acted, my grumpy boss has never been inappropriate—at all. It’s so frustrating.
This attraction is not going to be satisfied until he locks me in his office, demands I get on my knees, shut the fuck up, and take that dick like a good girl.1
Taylor’s eyes widen. “That’s a lot of notifications. What are they for?” A steamy scene I gushed over involving an acronym, scuffed knees, and a particular boss I wish would take a hint. Don’t blush.
I should have read monster romances. At least I would have accepted that every steamy scene would stay as fantasy. Instead, I wasted my time picturing myself as the naughty secretary to a boss I never stood a chance with. Shit.
The elevator door catches our attention. I try to stop the desire knotting my insides, but after three months of conditioning, I’m like Pavlov’s dog, dripping at the first ding.
How is any woman supposed to resist a gooey center wrapped up in a grumpy shell?
I’d be grumpy, too, if I was sleep-deprived and argued for a living.
The throb starts heavy in my balls and intensifies as it pulses up my shaft, thickening my cock and threatening to make a mess behind my zipper. All over a fucking sticky note.
Alex, my business partner and asshole best friend, walks through my office door, spies my collection of dick-hardening Paige reminders, and smirks. “Shut the fuck up.” I close the drawer.
He grins. “Aren’t you a ray of sunshine this morning?” I’m a ball of repressed sexual tension that gets worse every time I step out of the elevator.
“What does STFUATTDLAGG mean?” I whisper at my screen.
getting on that plane on Friday and forgetting all about sandalwood aftershave, secret sticky note grins, and how sexy your boss looks when he uses you for masturbation inspiration.”
Paige Mr. Carlson sits in the chair behind his desk and waits. This is happening. I’m a protagonist in a romance book, and I’m about to experience my own spicy scene.
The scene is surreal. I’m a character out of a book, bruising my knees and selling my professional soul to take my boss’s cock.
“What are you doing here?” “Researching.” A hint of a smile plays on his lips. “I’m searching for a book with a specific scene. One where the protagonist fucks up and desperately tries to make it right. Do you know what that scene is called?” My breath comes out in short, shallow gasps as I watch him. He’s really here. “You mean a grand gesture?” His smile grows. “Would merging with another law firm and working from their UK office for a year so he could meet his girlfriend in various locations around Europe be considered a grand gesture?”
