The Ash Principle failed me. I didn’t get two orgasms to his one. I barely caught the crest of a wave before it was all over. He was right—he had used me for his own gratification.

And for some strange reason, it gave me a peculiar feeling of pride.

Woot! I’d been disrespected!

The feminist in me should have been offended but then I remembered that I’d wanted to get fucked, and that’s what I got. I asked to be wanted, not cherished or revered. He didn’t treat me like a china doll, or like a “good girl”.

I squirmed, my face heating as I recalled the way he took me—powerful, possessive… perpendicular.

Frankly, I was also shifting in my chair because my shriveled up raisin coochie had taken a pounding. Someone needed to invent soothing, padded underwear for women, like the bicycle shorts you could buy with gel cushioning in the crotch. I was half tempted to go to the drugstore and pick up one of those donut pillows to sit on.

“So I guess the coat and underwear worked, huh?”

I looked up to see Dara assessing me over the cubicle wall. “Um…”

“Oh yeah, you got laid.”

“There wasn’t a lot of laying, actually. It was mostly vertical,” I whispered conspiratorially.

“Niiiiice. I had to spend the evening talking my boy off the ledge, since he thought I was passive-aggressively criticizing his skills. He didn’t believe my questions were ‘for a friend’.” She used air quotes and rolled her eyes.

I twirled in my chair to confront her. “Why haven’t I heard about this guy before?”

She combed her fingers through her bangs, hiding her eyes. “It’s new, that’s all. Not much to tell yet.” Her shoulders moved up and down and she glanced away. It was like a textbook list of avoidance body language. It made me even more curious than before.

“Well, if you want to bounce anything off me…”

“Uh, Lizzie?” She chuckled. “If I need advice, Ash’s style suits me better, you know? No white gloves.”

I blinked and looked away. “I meant as a friend, Dara. If you wanted to just talk about it.” Hurt worked its way through my chest and up my throat, like reflux.

Her face fell. “Damn, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” She banged her forehead on the top of the wall.

“Lizzie!” Rob Mooney’s voice drifted over the cubicle farm. “Lizzie Bell! In my office!”

I got over my butt hurt long enough to throw Dara a panicked look. “What now?”

She shook her head. “I know nothing,” she swore, dropping out of view.

I stood up, smoothing my hands over my skirt and wriggling my bare feet back into the ballet flats that were under my desk. Then I grabbed a pen and a sticky note pad, and skedaddled down the hall. Well, more like walked with my legs bowed out a little.

Rob frowned at me when I appeared in the doorway. Not a great sign.

“Close the door and sit down.”

Oh god. I was getting fired. My mouth dried up and my heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest. Robotically, I closed the door and sank into the chair in front of his desk.

He leaned back in his chair. “How do you think Miss Behave is going, Lizzie?”

I had to do my own performance evaluation? “Great? I mean—it’s going just fine. Did you want me to get you click-through numbers or something?”

“No, I have them.”

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. My heart slammed against my breastbone.

“Your readership is up,” he said, plucking a yellow sticky note off his desk and looking at it. “Especially on your joint columns with Ash Garrison.”

Breathe. Breathing is important.

Nodding, I untangled my fingers from the knot they were in on my lap. “And you were right about the serialized advice. I’ve been getting some emails asking about Cubicle Crush. People love the story.”

My editor beamed. “That’s great! Forward those to me, would you? I’d like to see them.”

“Not a lot,” I backtracked, not wanting to shoot myself in the foot. “Half a dozen, total.”

“Doesn’t matter. For every person who actually sends something, there are a hundred who don’t.” He flicked the sticky note between his fingers and hummed thoughtfully. “The main reason I wanted to talk to you was to ask you two things.”

I waited, keeping my expression as blank as possible. It was my belief that bosses could smell fear, like animals and small children.

“Do you think Ash could handle the column for both sites by himself until the merger?”

I was getting fired. “I-I’m not…” Should I say no, to save my job? It wasn’t the truth. He was a smart, talented writer. I had no doubt he could do it. Crap! I couldn’t just throw him under the bus.

Rob put his hands on his desk. “Are you still interested in news?”

My lips parted as I tried to keep up. “Am I…”

“You still want to do news, Lizzie?”

“Yes!” I burst out, sitting up straight and tall.

He pointed a pen at me, like he was aiming a dart at my head. “Okay, here’s the deal. Jessica is out for at least a few weeks, and Peter is almost finished with his term.” He sighed.

“Peter?”

“The intern.”

Oh, right. Intern Pete from Columbia.

“So we’re short-staffed. If Ash can cover the column, you can have a shot at this. If you want.”

“I do!” Now I was almost bouncing on the chair like a kid on a sugar high.

Yes! This was amazing! This was the opportunity I’d been waiting two years for!

“Okay. I’ll let you talk to Ash, and tomorrow morning you sit down with Vikas and get up to speed,” he said, reminding me that I still needed to impress the senior news editor.

My stomach flipped. I had no experience to show, only enthusiasm. Did that count for anything?

“Do I have to move desks?”

“Christ, no. Stay where you are. It’s not like we’re the bullpen at the New York Times,” he chuckled. “We’re still just a website, Lizzie. Remember that.”

A fleeting fantasy floated through my brain, of someday peppering the White House press secretary with questions in a briefing. “Yes, I’m Elizabeth Bell, Hot Mess dot com. What does the President plan to do with the outdated nuclear installations around the country?”

I wrinkled my nose. That didn’t sound right.

When I got back to my desk, I filled Dara in—with minimal squealing—and then texted Ash.

“Meet me after work? I need to talk to you about something.”

Pause. Then:

“ur office @ 6.”

Huh. After nearly a minute of three little animated dots on my screen, I’d been expecting an essay response—or at least a full sentence.

I tried to focus on sorting out email for the column for the rest of the day, but I kept getting sidetracked reading news articles from our website and others.

The first thing I needed to investigate in this gig was the gig itself. For all my talk about getting on the news desk, I hadn’t spent much time keeping up with current events.

I could more easily report on the Kardashians than city hall. And if the news editor Vikas grilled me on national politics tomorrow… Well, let’s just say that most of my knowledge came from late night comedy.

But this is what I wanted. This was real journalism. This was a job that my parents would be proud of, one that made the student loan I was still paying off seem worthwhile.

“Hey, sex god.”

My head went up at Dara’s voice. Ooooh, was I going to meet her new boyfriend?

“Dara.”

It was Ash. Oh god. I was going to kill my friend. Before I could get out there, I heard her compliment him on leaving me limping today.

“My pleasure,” he replied, sounding amused.

I shot up and glared at both of them. My face felt like it could glow in the dark from embarrassment. “Stop!”

They looked at me, their smiles subsiding. As Ash passed Dara’s desk, he leaned down and said something in her ear that I couldn’t hear. Her eyes widened under her bangs.

“Sorry, Lizzie,” she muttered, leaving me to wonder what he’d said to her.

As I watched Ash cross the floor to get to me, my heartbeat sped up. The black sweater he wore stretched across his broad shoulders, and was impossibly dark compared to his faded black jeans. They hugged his thighs the way I wished I could, but not in public. His dark gaze pinned me to the spot.

He rounded the wall and entered my cubicle. “Hi.”

Swoon.

“Hey, sex god,” I teased.

I’m not going to lie. I think his quick grin made me come a little.

I hadn’t noticed the tension around his eyes until it lessened. Maybe he was nervous about seeing me, after… after.

“I owe you something—no, two things, actually,” he said.

“What?”

He glanced around, aware that our heads were still visible to the few people left in the office. Gently, he pushed me back into my chair. Then he wrapped his hands around the armrests and leaned down over me.

His head hovered near mine. His lips were so close, and I wanted to brush my cheek against the scruff around his jaw. His gaze slipped over me like melted chocolate, and his dark brows rose on his forehead. I was tempted to press my tongue to his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

“Number one, I owe you an apology.”

“F-for what?”

One of his eyebrows lifted. “Being an asshole last night.”

“You weren’t—”

“Okay,” he said, interrupting me, “not an asshole. Less than a gentleman, then.”

My mouth closed. I couldn’t really argue with that. A gentleman would have made sure I got off, at least.

“You deserve more than that, Lizzie.”

I gave him a sly smile from beneath my eyelashes. “You mean there’s more where that came from?”

His short laugh washed across my face. “Behave…” he scolded me.

But his shoulders relaxed a little, as though he’d been worried that my maidenly virtue had been irreparably offended. I folded my hands in my lap demurely—mostly so I wouldn’t reach out to touch him the way I wanted to.

“What else do you owe me?” I asked. “You said there were two things.”

My chair creaked a little as he leaned on the arms more heavily. “Right.” He cocked his head. “I owe you at least two orgasms. More like four.”

I jerked my head back in surprise. “Here?” I squeaked. But a rebellious throbbing began in my core, my arousal growing at his nearness and now-ness.

“No,” he laughed. “I might be crazy for you, but I’m not crazy.”

Crazy for me? Did he just say—? Ash must have heard his own words at the same time I did, because his eyes widened and his lips pressed together in a thin line.

“For now,” he continued, “I owe you this.”

And he dropped his head to mine and caught my mouth with his.

Bracing himself on the sides of my chair, he kissed me softly at first, then more deeply as I opened my mouth and kissed him back. My neck arched with the need to get closer to him, to match every one of his shuddering breaths with one of my own.

I curled my fingers into his sweater and pulled him closer.

True, having sex at the office wasn’t a good idea, but this seemed almost as risqué. His kiss was pure want, distilled desire bringing me to a boil. With every gentle nip and soft sigh, I became more untethered and ready to throw caution to the wind.

The only parts of our bodies that touched were our lips, and yet I felt as though I’d never been closer to him. Was this the ‘more’ that he’d referred to?

When he finally raised his head, I felt dazed and swollen all over. Ripe with anticipation. He’d said four orgasms, right? I was damn near close to one just from that kiss.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he warned.

I blinked. “How am I looking at you?”

The corner of his mouth quirked. “Erotically.”

My hand went to my chest. Who, me?

He let out a resigned groan and kissed me again, quick and hard. “You’re dangerous,” he whispered against my lips before straightening up again.

I’d never been called that before. The only way I could say danger was my middle name was if my parents had a wacky sense of humor—which they did not.

But I kind of liked the idea. After years of being on my best behavior and encouraging others to do the same, Ash had unleashed a new, playful side of me. He made me feel desired, feminine, and powerful—even when on my knees with his cock in my mouth.

Oh.

The memory made me hot all over. Again. I needed to keep a USB fan in my desk.

He cleared his throat. “I said, don’t look at me that way. Let’s go get some dinner.”

When he stepped back, out of reach, I turned my chair around and fished around with my bare feet for my discarded flats. “Where do you want to go?”

A shiver rippled up my spine and around to my hardened nipples when I suddenly felt his mouth on the nape of my neck.

He bit me. Then growled, “Somewhere… very… public.”