Page 59 of Executive Privilege

"You," I breathe. "All of you. I want to feel you inside me, I want to watch your face when you lose control, I want to hear you say my name when you come."

"Greedy," he says, but gives me exactly what I'm asking for, pushing inside me with one smooth thrust that has us both groaning.

He kisses my forehead and then my mouth.

"God, Nicholas, you feel so good."

"You feel like home," he breathes, setting a rhythm that's both gentle and demanding.

I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, changing the angle until he's hitting that spot that makes stars explode behind my eyes.

"Right there," I moan. "Don't stop, don't change anything."

"Here?"

"Yes, fuck, yes."

The crude word from my lips makes him groan, and suddenly his control is slipping. He drives into me with increasing urgency, his mouth finding my neck, my breasts, anywhere he can reach.

"I love you," he pants against my skin. "You're everything I want."

I meet every thrust, I let myself be as vocal as I want, I pour every ounce of love and desire and trust into the way I move beneath him.

When my climax hits, it's with an intensity that leaves me shaking and breathless, crying out his name as waves of pleasure crash over me. Nicholas follows moments later, his own release tearing through him as he buries his face against my neck.

"We're going to be late for work," I point out.

"We're the bosses. We can be late."

"You're the boss. I happen to sleep with the boss."

"You happen to be the love of the boss's life," Nicholas corrects, pulling me closer. "There's a difference."

Senior marketing director. My promotion came six weeks ago, along with a corner office and a team of my own to manage. Nicholas insisted it was based purely on merit—my work on the Morrison campaign and the Hartwell resolution.

The office gossip, naturally, focused on other explanations, but it never felt malicious, just teasing.

"Speaking of work," Nicholas says, reaching for his phone to check the time, "we have the Morrison quarterly review this afternoon."

"Right. Are you nervous?"

"About Morrison? No. About the other thing? Terrified."

The other thing. Today's the day Nicholas is finally going to tell James Morrison—and the entire Morrison Industries executive team—that Event Horizons' senior marketing director is also the CEO's girlfriend.

It's a conversation we've been planning for weeks, ever since Morrison started asking pointed questions about our obvious chemistry during business meetings. Better to control the narrative than let office gossip do it for us.

"It'll be fine," I say. "Morrison likes both of us, respects our work, and has seen firsthand that our personal relationship enhances rather than compromises our professional partnership."

"And if he doesn't see it that way?"

"Then we'll handle it. Together."

"Together," Nicholas repeats, like he's still getting used to the concept.

"Together," I confirm. "That's what partners do."

An hour later, we're dressed and sharing coffee in our kitchen—a morning routine that's become as normal as breathing. Nicholas reads industry news on his tablet while I scroll through social media analytics, and we exist in the kind of comfortable silence that comes from knowing you don't have to perform for each other.