The plan, at least in his head, was to take his time and enjoy this, quickie be damned. Because there was a good possibility that when Andrea came to her senses, she’d walk out that door and out of his life. And right now, with his cock buried inside her and his lips wrapped around her left earlobe, he wanted it to last forever, to leave that eventual departure out there in the real world.

Andrea, it seemed, hadn’t picked up on that plan. Her hips rose and fell, riding him hard toward another climax. Well, if that was what she wanted, he was damn well going to give it to her. He flicked his tongue around her lobe then sucked it gently as he resumed his efforts against her clit with his thumb.

He could feel the change in her as her inner muscles began to subtly tighten. He applied more pressure to her sweet spot. She clenched the arms of the chair as tightly as her walls clenched his cock and she once again came spectacularly for him. No worry about her crying out this time—her teeth were buried so far in his shoulder he almost feared he’d be the one to whimper.

The sight of her bent over him in ecstasy, the sharp pleasure/pain of her bite, the feel of her tight pussy milking him—it was enough to bring on his own orgasm. Her spasms hadn’t even begun subsiding before he thickened and spilled into her. He squeezed his eyes shut as Andrea gripped the chair even tighter against the force of his thrusts. The strength of it overwhelmed him, and he felt like he was falling for an eternity.

In reality, he only fell for half a second as the gray wingback fell apart beneath the intensity of their illicit sex.

Lying there on the floor of his office in a tangle of Andrea’s arms and upholstery, Blake felt his world crashing down like the chair. What had they done? Suddenly shy despite their physical closeness, he had to steel himself to look her in the eyes. He had felt something there, something even stronger than the kiss they had shared. Now the chair seemed like a metaphor for his hubris beating him over the head. He braced himself for what she would say and do.

Except, even prepared, her reaction came as a big surprise.

She was cracking up.

“Oh, my God! Can you even believe—that has never—oh, my God! I can’t even!” She was laughing so contagiously that he even found himself chuckling along.

She didn’t hate him after all. Maybe he hadn’t just destroyed everything he had hoped she could give him by taking too much.

“Do you think anyone will notice?” he ventured, just for the pleasure of hearing her peals of laughter renew. As their laughter faded into the typical office noises, Andrea found her panties and slipped them back on. He took that as his cue to dispose of the condom and suit back up. By the time they were both fully clothed and facing each other, it was pretty clear that neither of them knew quite what to say.

“I’m thinking a sandwich from Al’s. Want me to grab you one? I’m going to walk, so might be a little bit.” She fidgeted a little as she spoke, not meeting his eyes.

All Blake could do was nod.

“Thank you.” She crossed to her desk to grab her purse and slip into her hideous orange sneakers. “Good thing I brought my walking shoes,” she said with a wink before leaving the office.

He watched after her wondering if he should have let her go. This was truly uncharted water. He hoped she’d come back soon and they could talk about it. Also, a sandwich sounded really good right about now. Maybe he could even buy her different shoes later.

Chapter Twelve

Once she left, Blake schooled his expression into his usual serious-work face. It wasn’t worth thinking about while she was gone. What was done was done. He busied himself by calling maintenance to deal with the remains of the broken chair then had his secretary find him a suitable replacement. She located one from an unused office on the seventh floor. It was delivered and the other taken away, all evidence of his tryst erased in the matter of an hour.

Which was a good thing, he reminded himself. Then why did his chest feel so tight?

After the office had been set right, Blake found he couldn’t concentrate on anything but watching the clock tick. Andrea still wasn’t back and he worried what her prolonged absence meant.

It meant she was pissed, of course. She probably wasn’t coming back. She was likely at that very moment filing a report against him with HR. Maybe he should call down and check …

No, he couldn’t do that. He had to put some trust in her. It was only fair. He sagged in his chair letting the weight of the morning’s events—or event, rather—settle on him. It didn’t take long before he decided it was the worst thing he’d ever done.

Then he decided it was the greatest.

Then a glance at Andrea’s empty desk across from him and he was back to thinking it was the worst.

But the sex had been so amazing.

He had replayed the entire thing at least five times, inhaling deeply to recall the last vestiges of her scent, mentally rewriting the chair situation. In his mind, he’d both told Andrea this was inappropriate and cut the whole thing off at the pass, and given her six screaming orgasms.

Blake, for once in his life, had no idea what to do or think. Every scenario he imagined seemed equally likely. If he were to ask himself what it was that he, Blake Donovan, not the CEO but the man, wanted—well, he’d tell that voice to go to hell, too. Because the truth was that he had always known what he’d wanted until the day that damnable Andrea Dawson had waltzed into his life and turned it upside down.

Now he didn’t know if he wanted to kiss her or strangle her. Fuck her or fire her. No, he did know that much. He wanted her around. He wanted her close. She was infuriating and illogical and feminine and absolutely fantastic. God, his therapist was going to kill him. He made a note to fire her instead.

“Fuck!” he groaned as he scrubbed his hands over his face. Get it together. Make a plan.

His pulse still throbbed with the uneasiness of Andrea’s long absence, but after several deep breaths, he managed to steady his nerves enough to enter his straightforward thinking mode. The B-Zone, he called it, but only to himself. B for Blake, but also cleverly for business. And, on particularly good days, B stood for Badass. It was his berserker mode, his karate mind-set. Everything fell into place when he could block out the world and simply problem-solve.

Today he needed to be Badass in a big way. Wasn’t he a little bit already? Even with all the rules he’d broken and policies he’d violated, there was no taking away the fact that he’d totally scored. He had to give himself a high five for that. It had been hot. Fucking Andrea Dawson had been way hot.

He let that sink in. Let himself relish it. Let himself beam with pride.

Then, in proper B-Zone style, he made himself look to the future. Mentally he made his list of options, adding pros and cons to each. He shut out all thoughts of the carnal delights the woman elicited and stayed focused. Firing her was out of the question. Not just because of the legal ramifications but because he didn’t want her gone. He needed her. To find him a bride, of course, though thoughts of matchmaking seemed foreign and unwelcome at the moment. But it was part of The Plan and The Plan would not be altered because of one feisty, albeit pleasantly curvy, female officemate. No way. Not a chance. Not happening.

Yes, he thought as he relaxed into his chair, he was definitely in the Badass Zone. He could handle this just fine.

After another several minutes of working through his options, Blake determined the best way to handle their situation was to move on. When Andrea returned, he’d acknowledge it had happened, admit that it was entirely his fault—though the blame most certainly was shared—and promise never to lay a hand on her in an unprofessional manner again. They would go forward without another thought about their attraction. Surely it was out of their system now, anyway. Right?