7
Enter the Dragon
“What’s the big idea?” Eastlyn says, storming into my office. “See? This is exactly the kind of shit I knew you’d pull. I knew things were too good to be true between us,” she mutters, slamming my office door. Apparently, with Bev not being at her desk at this precise moment, Eastlyn figures she has carte blanche to let herself in.
“Hello to you, too, Miss Hatfield,” I say, dropping the letter I’d been reading while standing in front of my conference table.
“Don’t you ‘Miss Hatfield’ me. Explain these to me,” she demands, standing next to me. Her sweet scent tickles my senses, drifting its way straight down to my cock and gaining its attention. She plops the all-too-familiar manila folder on top of the document I’d been reading. Now, all I can focus on is the pretty scowl marring her face.
Fuck me dead, she’s pretty.
“Coy.” She snaps her fingers, drawing my gaze away from where my eyes have come to rest on her plump lips, watching them move, but not hearing a word.
“Look at these report cards,” she says, pointing down to the open folder. I recognize the many blue Post-it notes peeking out from the pages. “Tell me these notes are just bullshit. Tell me you’re not really expecting me to make any of these changes. Tell me this is another one of your stupid jokes.” She waves her hands around, exasperated, and I try really damn hard not to laugh. “What is it you want from me, Coy? I feel like a swinging pendulum. I’m getting mixed signals. I told you we couldn’t work together.”
“Sprinkles, relax,” I barely get out, before she goes ballistic.
“You, McCoy Graves, are a jerk. Obviously you haven’t changed like I thought maybe you had. I mean, I thought you…I thought we…I thought final—no. You know what? Forget it. The point is, I was right. This isn’t going to work. You can’t treat me differently than the other teachers, and these report notes prove either you’re a complete asshole or you cannot handle us working at the same school. Not like there’s much we can do about it now, but still…” She pauses, taking a deep breath. “The report card comments I submitted are almost the same as Kam’s, and you know they were perfect. You told her yourself how good they were. You know you’re just being a dickhead.” She exhales, placing her hand on her hip.
And all I do is stand here with my fists clenched, listening as she continues to tear strips off of me. I fight the overwhelming instinct I have to reach for her, to shut her up with my mouth. To tell her everything I’ve ever felt about her, and to admit that, yes, I am treating her differently, and that I just can’t help it. To share how I have this insatiable need to push and pull her, a desire to get so far under her skin that she’ll suffer like I’m suffering. I want to be all she thinks about. I want to be the continuous itch she can’t ever scratch. I want her to want me as badly as I want her. Yet I just stand here, making it worse, and I have no idea why. I’m obviously a sadist or a masochist; whichever one makes me more of an idiot, that’s the one I am.
“Say something,” Eastlyn huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and standing her ground like the fire-breathing dragon she is. I know this is going to go one of two ways—she’s going to leave, or she’s going to get fucked against my office wall. And, trust me, I want it to be the latter because I am as hard as a steel rod for this woman. Pissed off and fiery has never looked so hot. “Fuck this. Boss or not, you’re a jerk, and I’m over this,” she gestures between us. “Have a great weekend, Mr. Graves,” she spits, before turning towards the door.
Taking a silent step forward, I immediately close the distance between us, my front meeting her back as her hand lands on the handle. My heart is thumping in my chest. The sound thuds in my ears, my words lost in translation. My brain warns me to back the hell up, but I can’t.
“Eastlyn, wait,” I say, getting myself under control, finding my bearings. The edge in my voice halts her in her tracks. And, regardless of her words, and I can tell by her body’s reaction that she’s attuned and affected and absolutely not as done as she says she is. She stands motionless, her hand resting on the brass door handle.
Waiting.
“Coy,” she breathes out, tilting her head up and back, looking as though she’s seeking some kind of divine guidance, or maybe simply looking for strength to deal with the battle she knows I’m about to bring.
“I’m sorry,” I say. She turns around, prepared to give me some sort of scathing reply, and meets my hard chest with her small frame.
Raising her head, her eyes meeting mine, she asks softly, “Why are you doing this? Why are you being so hard on me? I—I thought we were friends…” she pauses, her eyes shining with emotion, “…at least.”
Lifting my hand, I place it along the side of her face. I take a deep breath and move forward slightly, forcing her to step backwards, her back now against my office door.
“We most certainly are friends,” I reply, framing her face with my palms. “Actually, that’s the thing,” I finally admit, smoothing my thumb over her cheek, “I want to be closer friends.” My heart goes haywire seeing the rise and fall of her chest with the impact of my words.
“You do?” A shy smile starts to lift one side of her beautiful mouth.
Leaning down, I whisper in her ear, “I want to be the very, very closest of friends with only you,” and she whimpers. I kiss her cheek softly and she moans, her head lolling to the side.
“Hmm…” she murmurs.
I move my hands from her face, running them slowly down the contours of her body. Taking her hands in mine, I raise them above her head, pinning them against the door. I step in closer. I run my mouth down to the crook of her neck, immediately wanting to retrace the same path with my tongue. To feel her warmth, relish in her softness, and inhale the sweetest-smelling skin I have ever touched.
“‘Hmm’?” I repeat, smiling into her neck. “What does that mean, Sprinkles?” I inhale her scent, memorizing it, and feel the effect of how fucking potent she is everywhere in my body.
“It means ye—” she starts.
“I’m back, Coy,” Bev calls from the other side of the door, stopping whatever was about to happen between us.
“Shit.” I drop East’s hands and hang my head, annoyed.
“I’d better go,” Eastlyn sighs, turning faster than a tornado and opening the door.
“Thank you so much for your time, Mr. Graves,” she says a little too loudly, obviously for Bev’s benefit, not meeting my eyes. “I’ll see you later. I’ll fix that right away and get it back to you,” she adds, playing it up even more.
As she takes a step forward, I follow close behind. Grabbing her gently by the elbow, I pull her back towards me and whisper, “This isn’t over.”
“I hope not,” she hisses back, then beams and walks away.