She tangled her fingers into his hair and pulled. For a long moment, she thought he might resist her urging, but Beckett finally rose. She dragged her nails down his back, pulling him closer. “Who says it’s a man watching?”
His dark eyes glinted with interest, and that was the only warning she got before he lifted her and reversed their positions, leaving her to straddle him on his desk. This time, she wasn’t letting him get away with teasing her. Samara guided his cock into her, taking him into her completely. Only then did she start talking again. “Maybe it’s a woman with her hand down her skirt.” She rolled her hips, biting her bottom lip at how freaking perfect it felt to have him stretching her, filling her. “Maybe she’d pretend she’s the one riding your cock where anyone could see, taking you as deep as she’s able, your hands on her body.”
“Fuck her.” Beckett shifted farther back onto his desk, giving her leverage to ride him more thoroughly. “Fuck them both. The only ones who matter are you and me.” He cupped her breasts roughly. “Ride me, Samara. Take what you need. What we both need.”
She gripped his shoulders and did what he commanded. Each stroke dragged her breasts against his chest. Every nerve ending zinged, trying to feel everything at once, every sensation linked back to Beckett’s mouth on her neck, his hands on her body, his cock lodged deeply inside her. She ground down on him, seeking her pleasure as much as she wanted to give him his. It was all too much, too quickly. She came with a cry that she tried to muffle against his shoulder. Beckett kept his hands on her hips, keeping her moving as he followed her over the edge. He growled her name as he came and Samara had never heard anything sweeter in her entire life.
This was such a bad idea.
She didn’t have the strength to move, let alone address the way they kept complicating the situation despite their best efforts. Or maybe because of their best efforts. She didn’t know anymore. Nothing was clear in the peace after the glorious sex they’d had…except that she wanted to do it again. Samara shifted, but Beckett wrapped his arms around her.
“Just a minute.” He kissed her shoulder. “The rest of the world waited this long. It can wait a couple minutes more. And if you’re going to bolt out of here as soon as you have clothes on, I might have to throw the damn dress out the window.”
She smiled because that had been exactly what she was thinking of doing. “Do you really think that would stop me?”
He leaned back enough to catch her gaze. “Not a chance. You’d steal my shirt and find a way to get out of here without anyone being the wiser.” His dark gaze sparked with mischief. “You’d bill me for the dress, wouldn’t you?”
“You know it. I love that dress.”
“I love that dress, too. I’ll buy you seven of them—one in every color.”
Though he was still joking, she shook her head. “No, thanks.” She could take care of herself—could buy herself pretty much whatever she wanted. Even joking about taking gifts from him set her teeth on edge. She tried to temper her response, but it was too instinctive to deny completely. “I don’t want anything from you, Beckett.”
The humor bled out of his expression. “You couldn’t have made that clearer if you’d tried.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You keep apologizing to me, but I don’t think you mean it any more than I do. I’m not fucking sorry, Samara. This. You. Me. This could be something special if we’d stop getting in our own way long enough to make it happen.”
He might think so, but she kept coming back to the inequality of power between them. Beckett didn’t see it because he was the one with all the power. He wanted her, sure, but if she walked away, the most he had to worry about was a broken heart. Despite so many country songs out there, no one had actually died of a broken heart. He’d be sad. He’d mourn the loss of her—or what she represented—until some other beautiful woman came along and loved away his pain.
If Samara lost her job—and lost it because it came out that she was sleeping with the competition—no one in their industry would hire her. While she might be qualified to work in most corporate settings, that reputation would follow her for the rest of her damn career. She might find another job, but she’d never be trusted the way she currently was.
If she screwed this up, all her mother’s sacrifice was for nothing. All the long hours, the endless homework and helping Samara write papers and fill out scholarship applications. The times when she knew her amma went hungry so she could have what she needed. All for nothing.
“We have to stop doing this,” Samara whispered.
“You don’t want to stop.”
She started to deny it, but here, in this moment, she couldn’t lie to him. “No, I don’t want to stop. But we have to stop.”
Beckett stroked a hand down her back. “Trust me to protect you, Samara. Take a leap of faith with me.”
She never thought she’d actually be tempted by the offer—and it was tempting. Beckett was the kind of man who took care of everyone he considered his. She saw it in the way he fought so hard for this company, and in the sadness lurking in his demeanor because the one relationship that should have
