Falling for Fate (21 page)

She took her time slipping off the cardigan she was wearing and draped it over the back of her chair. Careful not to even glance in his direction, she closed the chat window and went back to her spreadsheet. Even though she knew it was hell on her teeth, she lifted her pen to her mouth and began to softly chew on the end cap.

Her body had attuned itself to Dean Maxwell somehow. She was aware of every shift of his eyes. Felt him staring at her mouth, her breasts, and her legs. Each part of her anatomy became consumed by the slow burn of his attention. It was all she could do to not open that chat window back up and type: Ladies’ room. Meet me in five.

The way he’d taken her on the beach was still so vivid in her mind. Dean Maxwell knew the exact combination of rough and sensual necessary to make her come. If she hadn’t been such a dumbass, she could’ve let him show her what other skills he possessed. The dull, pulsating ache at her center was quickly becoming a sharp, stabbing, acute point of pain that demanded attention. The number seventeen was practically searing itself into her brain.

Today’s raging orgasm is brought to you by the numbers one and seven.

Her computer screen blurred in front of her and she tried hard to ignore the light sheen of cool sweat breaking out over her skin. Forcing her eyes to focus on the small numbers at the bottom of the screen, she saw that it was only nine o’clock. Her lunch meeting with Mr. Pierson wasn’t for two more hours.

She needed a reason to get out of this building, escape the increasingly confined space with the only man capable of doing this to her. God, this was embarrassing. But she couldn’t sit there and be scrutinized by the one person who’d done things and made her feel things she couldn’t even describe. Especially not with knowing that he wanted to do them seventeen more times.

She uncrossed her legs and pressed her thighs together as hard as she could to relieve the pressure. Squirming in her chair, she struggled to get some much-needed friction.

She finally gave in and glanced over at him, knowing that her eyes held a desperate plea she could never voice out loud. Not here, anyways. He was still talking with Mr. Tenor and appeared oblivious to the dire situation she was dealing with. Except she noticed that he was gripping the banister between the walkway and the bullpen and his knuckles were so white that they were practically glowing.

Her breath was coming in short gasps. She needed more water, but her cup was empty and she doubted her legs could carry her to the dispenser in this condition.

“Miss Buchanan?” His voice rang out—or, rather, rasped out—thick with the same need she was drowning in. For a second, she thought she had imagined it. But no, he was staring at her with a look that held both amusement and desire. “Can I see you in my office for just a moment? Or maybe a few moments?”

Jesus.
She licked her lips and looked around. No one else seemed to realize that she was dealing with a five-alarm fire only Dean Maxwell could put out.

“Sure. Be right there.”
Dear God, give me strength.
Asking God to give her strength not to jump Dean in his office was probably wrong on more levels than she even wanted to think about.

Steadying herself the best she could, she made her way to his office like a young foal walking for the first time. Her fists clenched at her sides to keep from reaching out and grabbing him. The sharp, clean scent of his cologne assaulted her senses as he held the door open for her.

“Denise, can you hold my calls until we’re finished? We have to prepare for a conference call with HR.”

His new assistant smiled warmly. “Yes, sir.”

Fate practically trembled at the authority in his voice. He appeared calm for the most part, but she saw the way his own hands shook just slightly as he closed the door to his office behind her. She made a concentrated effort to control her breathing while she stood in the middle of his office, waiting. Waiting for him to tell her why she was here. Waiting to see if he was as aware of her need for him as she thought he was.

When he didn’t do anything except stare at her from the spot where he stood by the door, she swallowed and spoke. “Is there really a conference call?” Her voice came out barely above a whisper.

“Do you want there to be?”

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she shook her head.
No.

“Good. There’s not one.” The click of the metal sliding into place as he locked the door sent a shiver through her.

“Then…why am I here?”

He took a few steps in her direction, coming closer and closer until she was pressed up against his desk. “You tell me, beautiful. I wasn’t the one giving you come-fuck-me eyes from across the room.”

A small whimper escaped her throat. Indignation swept over her, but it was barely a spark compared to the inferno of lust consuming her body and soul.

He came close enough to touch, leaning in until his forehead rested on hers. “Tell me what you need.”

This was wrong, so damn wrong. Yet…she couldn’t stop herself. “You. I need you.
Please.”

A low growl tore from his throat as he gripped her hips and set her roughly on his desk. Shoving her snugly fitting dress up her thighs, he eyed her black, lace panties for a second before shifting his gaze up to hers.

“How bad do you need these?”

She licked her lips and tried to form a coherent sentence. “I’m having lunch with Collin Pierson in two hours.”

Dean mumbled a few obscenities before sliding them down her bare legs. “Let’s give you something to think about during lunch, shall we?”

Her head fell back as he began placing soft kisses up her inner thigh. The sounds that escaped her throat were low and pained. He was torturing her. And she was relishing every second of it.

Each languid stroke of his tongue on her flesh had her arching off his desk. When he reached the juncture between her thighs, he switched to the other leg and began again. Violent tremors rocked her arms as she struggled to support herself on the edge.

“Dean,” she cried out helplessly. It was all she could do to not grab his head and force his mouth where she needed it most.

“Oh, baby. I’m sorry. You’re uncomfortable.” He lowered himself into a leather chair behind him and scooted it closer to the desk. Lifting each of her legs and placing them on his shoulders, he plunged his tongue straight into her center.

“Oh, God,” she bit out as he sucked her clit into his warm, wet mouth.

His teeth grazed her sensitive flesh and she jerked so hard that she nearly kneed him in the head with enough force to give him a concussion.

“Easy, beautiful,” he murmured against her, his voice a vibration that almost made her come right then and there.

“Dean, oh,
oh, God
.”

She let her knees spread farther apart. When he pressed a finger into her pulsating opening, she lost herself completely. The steady, rhythmic pressure of his finger as he stroked her G-spot combined with the sweet licks was too much. Sensory overload hit her hard and fast. The scream ripped down her middle just as the suffocating wave of pleasure did. Jumping to his feet, he covered her mouth with his free hand while his other one continued pulling her orgasm from deep within her.

“Shh. It’s okay. You’re okay.” He held her tight—almost too tight—while she convulsed in his arms. “Let go, baby. I got you.”

When she was finished, she let out a soft moan against his warm hand. He removed it and leaned in to kiss her. The kiss surprised her, but she recovered quickly, returning it with the same fervor he was giving. The faint taste of something sweet on his lips made her flush. It was her. Tasting herself on his lips almost had her begging for more. More of him. Filling her perfectly just as he’d done so many months ago.

T
he fact that she needed him, as in him specifically, to give her what she wanted had his ego swelling to epic proportions. Right along with his most precious body part. God, what he wouldn’t have given to have been inside her while she came. Her tongue crashed against his and he groaned. Damn, he’d never hated breaking a kiss so much. But he had to—unless he was ready to lay siege to her right on his desk. Which he was. More than actually. But he had better plans. Plans he needed to discuss with her.

“Hey, so that other proposal I mentioned,” he mumbled as he tore his mouth from hers.

“Yes,” she said, looking up at him from under her lashes like she was suddenly going shy on him.

“Yes you remember me mentioning it or yes you’ll do it, whatever it is?” He could hardly remember the question himself. Her eyes were bright, her lips were swollen, and her exposed skin was just flushed enough to force him to recall how she looked immediately after he’d made love to her on the beach.

Before she could answer, they were interrupted by a loud knock on the door. “Mr. Maxwell? Your father is out here. He says he needs to speak with you.
Now.
” The urgency in his assistant’s voice had him and Fate both scrambling to adjust themselves.

Both of them reacted instantly, purely on instinct. In a matter of seconds, they stood at the door as Dean opened it for his father.

“Ms. Buchanan, I’ll get with you later about that proposal,” he said as he let her out of the office.

“I look forward to it, Mr. Maxwell,” Fate said with a sly smile on her way out.

It took all the self-control he had not to kiss her swollen lips once more. His dick twitched in his pants as if attempting to follow her out. Until he glanced into the waiting area and saw his father storming in. The sight of an older, slightly overweight version of himself coming at him with a look of sheer disgust on his face was enough to kill his erection dead.

His father didn’t greet him, just pointed into the office the same way he’d done when Dean was a kid who needed to be reprimanded.
Get in your room
.

Determined not to sulk the way he had as a teenager, he squared his shoulders and stood his ground until Daniel Dean Maxwell Senior was all the way in his office.

He shut the door and sucked in a breath to steel himself for whatever was coming. Damn. His office still smelled like her. Sweet and warm. He could still taste her on his lips. No one should be allowed to taste that good. Anywhere. Ever.

“Dean? What the hell is the matter with you?” His father’s harsh tone snapped him from his Fate-infused fantasy.

“Nice to see you too, Father. What brings you to my office?”

His father snorted. “As if you don’t know.”

For a moment, he was a kid again. A terrified kid afraid of angering and disappointing the one man he thought to be master of the universe. His stomach tensed as he tried to trace a possible way his father could have known what was going on between him and Fate Buchanan. Remembering that he was twenty-six and not actually six, he crossed his arms and met his dad’s stare.

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

His father took his time glancing around the office and sneering at each and every photo, award, degree, and accolade displayed. Except the photo of him and his mom on his desk. That one the bastard avoided altogether.

“Why am I receiving emails from HR about approving a new benefits program? Something you submitted about mental health benefits or some nonsense?”

Oh.
That.

Dean cleared his throat and walked around to his side of his desk. After straightening a few files that had been moved by Fate’s perfect ass moments ago, he sat. Gesturing to his father to do the same, he waited until his dad was comfortable to begin the speech he’d already prepared with Keaton’s help.