Back in my room, I try to work, but my concentration is shit. I triage a few office issues on the phone with Marge. Review departmental budgets. Glower at the SocialTech counteroffer on the desk. I finally flip through it. Hell no. She restructured the buyout offer and demanded an advisory position with actual authority. The last thing I need is a helicopter parent calling plays from the bleachers. Marge calls while I’m reading it, and I snap at her. I need control of myself and this situation.

I pull on workout clothes and running shoes and hit the sidewalk, a nineties grunge rock playlist blasting in my ears in honor of the city. Despite the overcast day and stiff wind, tourists wander past carrying backpacks and large paper bags. I stretch and do a few jumps, shaking out tight limbs. I jog to the end of the block and turn right toward the waterfront. Rush hour wakes up around me as cyclists and commuters hit the streets. The rich aroma of coffee wafts out from a nearby roastery. Faster, past curio shops and glassblowers and a neglected-looking bookstore. The rhythm of my footfalls soothes me until I start hearing her name in the beats. Fucking. Emma. Vance.

This entire deal has gone sideways. I should have been able to handle her with zero problem, even with that dog and pony show about internet marketing. I shovel bullshit out of the way on a daily basis. But I couldn’t keep my mind out of her panties and she walked out of the damn meeting like she was dropping the mic. And the suggestion that my people missed that much makes me want to punch something. I expect perfection from myself, and I pay for it in my employees. We have no business being so wrong.

But I could swear that when she walked by me on her way out the door, I smelled her. Not her perfume. Her. And I would bet money she was as horny as I was.

Her resistance could be a bluff. She can’t honestly hope to retain any kind of real control after the buyout. That’s just not how things work. Her IT guy could have been blowing so much smoke, but it sounded good enough to make me doubt myself. But I haven’t gotten where I am by second guessing my instincts.

I lengthen my stride. Thinking with my dick derailed this entire project. I can’t for anything figure out how I let this happen. Getting laid normally keeps me focused, relieves pressure. It doesn’t scramble my wiring. But today I was a walking dumpster fire.

Is her penny-ante company even worth this? Hell, no. I went looking for a social media marketing company, and hers fit the bill for size and potential. She’s got some brass balls, demanding more than the company’s worth and walking out like that. And furthermore, wanting to stick fingers in my pie.

I shake my head, sending sweat flying.

But trashing the deal will mean starting this process from scratch, and this is time sensitive. She’s got a solid company that will be a great asset. I want it.

And I wouldn’t mind having her again.

My thoughts shift to her, telling me off over the conference table. She’s smart and driven, the kind of woman who goes hard at whatever she does. I felt every bit of that passion while I fucked her against the wall. Don’t play where you work, man.

Dammit.

Sweat stings my eyes. My thighs burn. I gasp for air when I stop for a red light, and then I take off again. I push until my heart thunders in my ears. I need my head clear, not full of the memory of Emma’s scent. Of how I want her again, in other positions and other ways. Under me. Over me. Around me. Tasting her everywhere. Her mouth on me. Those red-tipped toes hanging over my shoulders.

I stop when the wide, waterfront sidewalk ends. My best estimate is that I’ve run about a mile and a half at a punishing pace. I backtrack toward the hotel at a job, and then slow when I start to recognize buildings. Ocean scented wind dries the sweat soaking my skin, hair, and workout clothes. My semi-hard on for Emma Vance subsided somewhere around the second mile, but she sticks stubbornly in my mind.

I swipe my key card at a side entrance, welcoming the hotel’s dry, cool air. Though I’d planned to slip past the lobby to my room, I stop at the business center. Thanks to the frosted glass that gave us privacy last night, I can’t see inside, but the urge to see if she’s there pulls at my gut. A memory of her perfume lingers in the hallway.

Instinct moves me. I push open the door.

“Si, si,” Emma says into her phone as she types. A barrage of conversation follows. I don’t understand it, but recognize the cadence of fluent Spanish. It’s as sexy as everything else she does. She hasn’t spotted me. Her eyebrows draw together as she argues, one hand punctuating her sentences with little jabs and slices in the air. She pauses to listen, and then responds more slowly. Finally, she says “adios” and glances at the screen before setting the phone down.

“Ms. Vance? What a surprise.”

She swivels in her seat, and heat flares in her eyes. If I expected her to be flustered, I’d be disappointed. Her laugh takes me by surprise, though.

“I think first names are in order. Tell me, Nathan, was last night intentional on your part?” She rests her hands on the arms of the chair and leans back, bouncing slightly.

“Nate, please. And I intended to ask you the same. I have a reason to be here, but why are you staying at a hotel in your own city?” I cross my arms but smile to make it sound less accusatory.

“Oh, my apartment flooded, so I’m remodeling.” She waves away the mystery that’s been eating at me. “This place is fairly close to downtown, and I know the hotel manager.”

I’m fuming, mostly angry at myself, and the need to control this situation festers in my gut. I cross the room, pull out a chair to face her, and drop into it. Being close again stirs my lust. That’s good. I want to know it’s there and master it.

“You had an impressive poker face this morning,” I say.

Her lips purse and twist into a wry smile. “I saw you before I walked in and had time to prepare. You didn’t give anything away either.”

“Made my first million in high stakes poker in college. That was my seed money.”

“Figures.”

I laugh at her snub, and her jaw flexes. Her eyelids lower like she’s bored, but something else lurks there. I hold her gaze. Last night looms between us. There’s no way I’m leaving this city without my hands on her again. And I want to write the terms.

I glance toward the door and weigh the odds. It’s not as late as it was last night. Way more dangerous. The sounds of the hotel hum outside this room, but so far no one’s interrupted us. I don’t have my wallet; nothing on me but a room key. But the non-condom options still look good to me. She’s got to taste as good as she smells. And if I can convince a woman to get dirty in a hotel business center twice, surely I can negotiate a business deal with her.

Her eyes follow mine toward the door and snap back.

“So you’d say you like taking risks?” Her voice lowers to an intimate pitch; she’s not talking about business anymore.

“Well I’m not a dumb college kid anymore, but yeah, I’d say I still like some risk.” I angle my knee between hers. “From what I’ve seen so far, so do you.”

“Not me. I’m not typically a risk taker, Nate.” Her knees inch open, belying her denial. My leg is sticky with dried sweat, rubbing against hers with a stuttering friction.

“I’m not a risk,” I murmur. “Definitely a sure thing.”

Her hands tighten on the arms of her chair, and her breath hitches as the smooth skin of her inner thigh slides against mine. She returns the pressure. Shock ripples from the point of contact, reassuring me last night wasn’t a fluke. We make sparks together. Tension builds in my groin, and she shifts in her chair like she’s got an itch she can’t reach.

“But are you worth it?” A woman’s laugh reaches us from far away.

Her scent reaches me, and my dick throbs. My breath is ragged in my chest, as if I’m still sprinting down the city sidewalk. Stay in control.

“Tell me after.” I lean forward, put my hands on her knees, and pull her chair toward me. “You smell so good, Emma. You smell like you want to be touched.”

“You smell like sweat. But in a good way.” She relaxes lower in her chair. Her skirt rides up, but she doesn’t push it down.

I sink between her thighs and spread them wider, my palms skimming over her knees with a gentle push. My nerve endings light up like Christmas as I caress her silky skin. It would be a relief to unwrap this gift in a rush, but I was always good at waiting.

Her eyes follow me, lashes fluttering almost closed when I press a sucking kiss to her thigh. I slide my palms around the back of her knees and tug her lower in the chair. Under her skirt, I glimpse red lace. It kills me to know she was wearing those this morning. When I reach for her panties, she braces against the arms of the chair and lifts her hips. I roll her chair back and pull the underwear down her lean, muscled legs and over the spike heels. Those stay on.

My hands begin at her ankles and follow the curve of her calf upward. My balls tighten and ache as she opens for me under the glare of the hotel lights.

When I pause, she squirms in her seat, twisting her hands over the arms of the chair. I inhale deeply. The scent of her arousal is sweet and musky, but I force myself to go slow. I kiss the inside of her knee and inch upward, licking and sucking the golden brown flesh. She makes this eager sound in the back of her throat that unravels me.

I yank her toward me and stop, my face inches from her beautiful pussy. My hands support her thighs, keeping her exposed although her muscles tighten as if she wants to hide. She reaches to tug me toward her, but I remove her hand and place it back on the chair. She will wait for me. I lick her thigh, then nip, just a touch of teeth, and then again, closer. Her ass flexes, arching her hips toward me, and then I bury my face between her legs.

My tongue sweeps over her slit, slick and tasting like heaven. She moans deep in her chest. My hands slide under her ass, and I lift her to me, pushing one thumb inside her as my tongue finds the nub hiding in her folds. She inhales and cries out softly, a tiny sound in the empty room. Her hips buck against my face, but I find a frantic rhythm, flicking the tip of my tongue over her clit.

She watches me worship her flesh with my mouth, lips parted and pleasure racking her in waves. I pause for breath, but keep the rhythm of my thumb inside her. The edge of my hand and my forefinger rub along the ridge to her asshole. I let my fingers press against that opening, teasing another penetration that never comes.

Pleasure and impatience chase each other across her face. She winds her hands in my hair and shoves my face back toward her pussy.

I pull my hand away abruptly.

Her eyes, which had rolled upward, focused on me angrily.

“What the fuck, Nate?” she growls.

“Hands on the chair,” I order.

“Stop being a tease,” she counters.

“Hands.”

She drags her hands over her breasts, pushes them together, and pinches her nipples, glaring. Her pupils dilate, and she moves her hands back to the chair. And waits.

I suck my bottom lip in, savoring the taste of her. I make her wait until it’s clear I’m in charge. And when I’m ready, I spread her again.

This time I push my tongue into her gorgeous cunt. Her thighs tighten, but I knead them back open and lap at her sweet nectar. My dick twitches in my loose shorts, but I keep my attention on her. I flatten my tongue and drag it up to her clit again, working it in circles first, then a steady back and forth. I slide in one finger, then two.

Her head falls back and she begins to chant yes, a muttered incantation that begs me not to stop. I stop anyway. My cheek rests on her thigh as I look at her, quivering for me.

“You bastard,” she rasps. “Finish what you started and eat my pussy.”

Holy shit, that makes me hard. But she’s not in control here. I am.

“You’re so tight, Emma. So fucking good. Do you know how sexy you are? How hot it is when I spread you like this?”

I begin long, teasing strokes, my fingers curled upward. She shudders.

“I like that, when you can’t help yourself. This feels good, doesn’t it?”

Her breathing quickens.

“Doesn’t it?” I stop so she’ll answer. So she’ll step to my tune. “You need to tell me what I want to hear if you want to get off.”

“Yes. Yes, it feels good, asshole. Fuck.” The last word is pregnant with frustration.

My balls draw up, tight with my need to be inside her again. But I will master this desire for her. She’s messing with my head, screwing up my deal. That’s not who I am.

Voices swell in the lobby, far away but too close. I need to see her come. I want her orgasm on my tongue.

I increase the tempo of my strokes. Her muscles tighten, and she clenches around me, tighter. I thrust my fingers deeper while my tongue dances over her clit. She arches off the chair, her knuckles white on the arms, pushing upward into my face. Then wet heat spreads over my hand, pulsing around my fingers as she pants. I have never seen anything so fucking hot as her coming apart in that office chair. My cock jerks, and I move a hand down to apply brief pressure.

When she comes down, she grabs my shirt and pulls herself to me in the rolling chair. The taste of her mingles between our lips as she kisses me, her tongue promising wicked things. She pulls away and moves to plant soft, sucking kisses on my neck. I groan, bracing my hands on her chair.

Behind her, the SocialTech logo stares at me from her laptop home screen.

Dammit.

“Emma, you are amazing. Come with me upstairs. Let me fuck you properly.”

She molds against me, compliant.

“Maybe we don’t need a conference room to come to agreement on SocialTech’s price tag. We can settle this ourselves.” As soon as I say it, I hear the discordant note. Mayday, mayday. Rocks ahead.

Two hands push against my chest.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she hisses. “This is about my company?”

“No—”

A shrill cellphone ringtone outside the door has me scrambling to my feet.

“Hello?” A muffled voice answers the call.

I stop breathing, as if it’ll go away if I’m quiet. A shadow looms in the frosted glass. The door handle turns, and Emma swivels back to her work, shimmying her skirt back in place. A flash of red at my feet catches my eye. I snatch her panties off the floor and conceal them in a fist as a chubby guy in a tight suit walks in, muttering into his phone as he plops into a chair and reaches for the keyboard.

Emma stows her laptop in a bag and stands. “I know how to do two things at once, Mr. Stone,” she says in a low voice. “So that performance, nice as it was, won’t make me forget how to do business. Good night.”

My running shorts do a poor job of hiding my ferocious boner. She smirks at the tent in my shorts and walks out on me for the second time in one day.