Page 144 of Sexting His Assistant

I kiss her again before she can smile.

My hand slides from her waist to her hip. She’s wearing a fitted skirt, dark and professional, the kind of thing she probably chose this morning while pretending last night did not happen. I pull her closer, and her body fits against mine with a familiarity that should not exist after one night.

She turns her face away to breathe. “You need to go.”

“No.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“I have work.”

“You resigned.”

“You tore it up.”

“You’re welcome.”

She lets out an angry little laugh, then bites it back when I kiss down her neck.

There’s a mark low near her collarbone, hidden badly by the open neck of her blouse. My mark. She must have covered it this morning before Misha arrived. The thought of her lying to her brother with my mouth still on her skin almost makes me lose what little control I have.

I put my mouth over the bruise.

She grips my shirt. “Don’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I have to sit at my desk after this.”

“Then sit carefully.”

She makes a sound that is half laugh, half gasp. “You are awful.”

“So you keep saying,” I murmur.

I slide my hand down her thigh and lift her onto the counter. She grabs my shoulders, then immediately shifts away from the injured side. Her legs part around me before she can pretend they don’t.

She looks at the door. “Did you lock it?”

“Yes.”

She stares at me. “You cannot CEO your way out of this if someone catches us.”

“I can.”

“Luka.”

“I don’t intend to be caught.”

Her eyes drop to my mouth again.

I kiss her hard, and she stops arguing. Her fingers slide into my hair, ruining whatever order it had left. I don’t care. I pull her closer to the edge of the counter, careful of my shoulder but not gentle enough to pretend this is innocent.

Her skirt rides up. My hand moves beneath it.

She breaks the kiss with a sharp inhale. “We can’t.”