Amelia’s hand. In my hair.

Fuck.

She tugs a few strands near my nape, then rubs her nails over my skin. “Did you do it after work Friday?”

“Before the party,” I manage.

She rubs her hand over my head, ruffling my hair gently. “It looks nice.”

That feels nice. So fucking nice, my dick is throbbing in my boxer-briefs.

I grit my teeth and shut my eyes, and within seconds, I can hear her shoes clink on the floor and feel her warmth diminish. When I open them, I find her sitting in her chair. It’s rolled away a few feet, as if she can sense my want of her and she’s reacting with some distance.

Thank fuck.

I don’t need this. I don’t want or need to fuck with her. Scratch that: I want to, but I definitely don’t need to. Far from it. I spent the weekend raking myself over the coals because I touched her Friday. She was drunk, and I was stupid. Unforgivable, again.

I don’t want to toy with her, so when I came to work today, I tried to be as open and as friendly as I could be, just so she’ll know where we stand and maybe think we can be friends. It seems stupid, but…I don’t know. It’s all I’ve got.

I feel like shit that she kissed me. If she still wants me…

Any feelings she might have for me, beyond hate or irritation—all the things I thought I got from her when our work first started here—are misplaced, and a sign that what happened with us left a mark on her. I fucked her up, I fucked her over.

I take a slow, deep breath and tell myself to get out of my head. Flip to a fresh page in my pad and start sketching. My hand around the pencil is sweaty, though. I put that work aside and get on the computer, choosing color palettes.

Nearby, I can sense Amelia moving, but I don’t dare look at her. I don’t allow my gaze to wander till she stands up. She walks slowly behind me. I hear something clink on the floor.

A pencil. She dropped it right beside my office chair. I could reach it if I—

Ammy leans down, showing me her ass in white dress pants. I hold my breath and wait for her to straighten up. Instead she laughs.

“Oops.” She crouches and waddles slightly toward the pencil, giving me a Grade-A view of her round ass. It’s in my fucking face.

Just when I’m thinking she’ll stand back up, she does…but instead of stepping back to her chair, Amelia leans over the desk right beside me, tapping something into the keyboard, jutting her hip out as she does it.

“Just need to check…” Her mumbles grow so quiet, I can’t hear them. But I can see her thrust her hip out further. I can smell her: warm skin, lotion, female.

She throws the pencil down again—I see her do it!—and then crouches back over to get it.

“Sorry to keep staying in your space here,” she says, sounding cheery. My dick twitches as the fabric of her pants pulls, shaping her ass; I can almost see her ass crack through the thin fabric.

My dick pulses. And then her pants slip down a little. I can see her white thong. My hands reach for her without permission, closing around her hips and squeezing.

“What are you playing at?” The words are growls. Goddamn, I need to pull her closer, but I won’t let myself.

“What do you mean?” Her voice is thin and high: and I know her. I fucking know this girl. I know she means this. She’s fucking with me.

My fingers press into the curve of her hips. “Is this your idea of punishment?”

I swear I can hear her heartbeat… Or maybe that’s mine.

In a breathy voice, she says, “Is it working?”

For a full moment, I think I heard her wrong. Then I see the pulse thrum in her throat. I can feel heat gather underneath my fingers.

“Yes, damn you.”

She moves out of my grasp, then pushes my chair away from the desk and thrusts that round ass toward me. When she fails to make contact with my crotch, she sits down, wiggles on my lap.

My teeth are gritted so hard I can almost feel them cracking.

“Am…” I grab her elbow. “You’ve gotta stop.”

“Or what?” she whispers, breathy.

I seize her hips again and press my throbbing cock against that pert ass, where it wants to be. “This isn’t a game,” I growl.

“No?”

I wind an arm around her waist, cupping her pussy with my palm. I feel a jolt of shock as she rubs against my hand.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” I warn.

“Why don’t you tell me, Mr. Frasier.”

“Don’t overestimate my self control, Amelia.”

“I’m not estimating at all. How you handle yourself isn’t my problem.”

“No?” I lean up, biting her earlobe. She cries out and squirms. “I don’t want to fuck this up, Amelia. You’re making it difficult.”

She looks over her shoulder, and I can see her top teeth sink into her lower lip. “Don’t you mean hard?”

I can’t believe the way she’s looking at me. Can’t believe it when she turns around, standing between my knees, and reaches for my cock. I let her. Damn me, I shut my eyes and nearly come into her hand. She rubs around a little—I hear myself groan—and then her hand is gone. I open my eyes and find her in her chair beside me.

Fuck me. What is this shit?

I blink at her a few times, but she doesn’t look at me. She rolls her chair away, settling in front of a monitor seven or eight feet away.

I’m hard as a rock. My head is spinning. I don’t get it.

Yes I do.

She’s fucking with me.

I can only imagine her reasoning for it… Why she’d need to. It makes me feel like shit, so I lean my head back against my chair and cover my face with my hand.

Goddamnit.

Why didn’t I tell Weiss I know her on day one?

A few deep breaths and I’m more in control. Trying to resume what I was doing. Because I can’t touch her. I can’t instigate anything. Not with Amelia. Not this time.

It’s only a few seconds before I feel dizzy.

Like I can’t breathe.

I grit my teeth and tell myself she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know my secret. I need to leave. Go home right now, before I fuck up either one of us.

I stand abruptly. “Think I’m gonna go home early.” I slap my sketchpad, my sweaty palm knocking it to the floor. I don’t stop to pick it up.

I keep my eyes away from Ammy as I make for the door.

And then my palm touches the handle. The coolness grounds me. My mind surges forward, then back…

Did I ask for that?

I didn’t ask for what just happened.

It was all Amelia, playing games.

Fury fills me. That and lust.

I turn back to find Amelia standing in front of her chair. When she doesn’t speak, just blinks, I feel my pulse hammer. “Tell me, Am, what do you want? If you want me to go, you better fucking it.”

She licks her lips, her face twisting: uncertain.

“Go on. Say it. Say ‘Dash, go home.’”

She shakes her head.

“I can’t do this shit, Amelia. I can’t fucking do this.”

I give her time: seconds to say something. When she doesn’t, I twist the door’s lock and close the distance between us. Then I drop down to my knees. My hands are steady on her pants button. Steady as I unzip her dainty, pantsuit zipper.

Underneath, I find the thong—first with my hands…then with my mouth. When my tongue trails over tender flesh, Amelia gasps, and her knees buckle.

“Sit down.”

She does.

I peel her pants down to her thighs and lift the thong up. Then I look into her face.

Stop me. Say something.

She sinks her hand into my hair—and so I drag my tongue through her slick heat. I eat her thoroughly, the way I’ve wanted to for years, since that first time.

I slide a finger into her and give her everything I’ve got. I’m fed with her moans, her little sighs, the tremble in her legs. I feed until I’m full—and she’s come twice.

Then I pull the thong back and stand.

“See you tomorrow, Amelia.”