Charlie's lips touched down on her throat. Dylan's pulse leapt in response; goosebumps erupted down her skin.

"Charlie." When had her voice faded to a husky whisper? It sounded too deep. Too sultry. "Charlie, I…can't."

"What can't you do?" His hand roved along the swell of her hip. The silken fabric of the dress rode up beneath his touch. She knew how easily he could tear it from her. A part of her almost wished he would.

"This thing between us. I can't." She struggled to form a coherent protest as his lips grazed along her collarbone.

"I want you to tell me what you can't do," he whispered into her skin. "Itemize it if you want. Don't hold back on the specifics."

How could she possibly break it all down for him? She was a doctor, and he was her patient. It didn't get simpler, more specific, than that. But detailing the taboo out loud—for the both of them—might be her only chance to get out of this.

Because she had to get out of this, right?

"You can't…secret me away and expect to sweep me off my feet."

"Can't I?" He sounded amused. She wished she could see his expression, but his head was bowed beneath her as he continued his exploration of her throat. God, he looked so good in his black suit, with his blond locks swept back from his thick neck in a tight bun. She didn't know how he found the time to nip new marks into her skin while he challenged her.

"You can't kiss me like this," she pressed on.

"What? Too public a setting?"

Charlie hauled her off her feet all at once and pinned her against the door. The move startled Dylan, sending thrills of electricity shooting through her from where her pelvis brushed against his. The feeling of his muscles bunching between her legs, beneath the skirt of the dress, was shockingly inappropriate.

He let her know, in no uncertain terms, that nothing about the boundaries of the dress he had bought for her were sacred—not where he was concerned. He would clothe and disrobe her as he willed.

Dylan suppressed the instinct to wrap her legs around his waist. It didn't matter. Charlie's hands cradled her ass, digging indents into the tight swell of flesh. He held her off the floor with no obvious effort; his strength was breathtaking. She had never guessed she would be on the receiving end of it. Not like this.

"Your office." He groaned the suggestion into her throat.

"Charlie…"

His lips renewed their campaign on her neck. Dylan's head fell back against the door, and she shuddered at the heavenly sensation—hot and wet and relentless. How was she supposed to say no to this? Her control of the situation, her willpower, was slipping away from her as easily as his hands promised her the dress would.

"It's unlocked." The words were hers, and they were all the agreement she was able to give.

It was all the consent Charlie needed. He pulled her off the wall and hoisted her against him, kissing her as he carried her down the darkened hallway.

They didn't have far to go. One of Charlie's groping hands dropped away from her only long enough to locate the handle to her office door, and they were in. Dylan shoved it closed behind them with a glancing blow as he carried her to her desk. Her ass hit the polished wood surface, and Charlie shoved her legs apart. She heard the distinct tear of fabric as the short skirt gave way to his demands. Documents and pencils scattered everywhere.

Charlie reached beneath her dress and yanked her black nylons down. Dylan gasped and arched; she lifted herself into him, and momentarily off the desk, as he skimmed them all the way down her legs. Her heels clunked to the floor, one after the other. The cool air of the office hit her bare thighs. Charlie balled her nylons into his fist and flung them into a far corner of the office.

"You're wet," he murmured as his lips came back to her. Dylan shuddered. She wanted to refute his claim more than anything—he had a way of making it sound so cocky, so self-impressed—but the truth was she had just been made aware of the exact same thing. His hand smoothed back up her left thigh, trailing goosebumps, before disappearing back beneath the torn fabric of the dress. She felt it brush against the soaked fabric of her panties. Charlie slotted a finger between her folds, petting and coaxing her. Dylan moaned and strained closer.

"You're going to need a new pair of panties," he whispered. "You're overdressed, Dr. Rose. You shouldn't have bothered wearing them."

"Did you have this planned all along?" she gasped. In answer, Charlie hooked his fingers in the cotton fabric and tugged her underwear away from his prize. She shifted again to allow him to get them all the way down.

"No. Maybe. It was on my mind the moment I saw you in that dress."

"You've been on my mind since the moment we first met,"

Dylan confessed. She wound her arms around his neck and pushed her breasts against his chest.

"Me too. But you sure as hell made me feel like it was all in my head."

"Charlie, you know I can't—"

"Shhh." Charlie cupped the jut of her chin. "No more talking. No more arguing or negotiating or laying down rules. You paint that out of bounds line now, I'm going to run right over it."

His promise silenced any more protest from her. Instead, Dylan nuzzled into his hand, catching her lips around his thumb. She drew it deep into her mouth, provoking a groan from Charlie.

She bit the rough pad of it just to remind him of who he was dealing with. She wasn't going to give over that easily to persuasion.

Good thing Charlie wasn't in a persuading mood. He groaned at her sensuous little demonstration, likely imagining her mouth somewhere else—just like she had planned. She curled her tongue around him and savored the salt taste of his skin.

He unzipped her down the side and slid the dress up and over her head. The tight material had kept her breasts sufficiently tamed so that she hadn't bothered wearing a bra; now, they slipped free of the restraint and bounced back into place as Charlie finished stripping her. He groaned again at the sight. His mouth was on them before she could fend him off. Dylan gasped and clutched at his hair as he teased her nipples into pebbled rosebuds.

"Your breasts are fantastic," he mumbled into her cleavage as he moved between them, never favoring one more than the other. "Jesus. I suspected as much. Saw you this evening, and I knew as much, but having them…they…well done."

"Thank you." Dylan felt flushed and proud that her body could tongue-tie the famous Charlie Wild, who had probably seen his fair share of female breasts—artificially inflated or otherwise.

"Condoms. Desk drawer," she panted. When he raised his head to stare at her in disbelief, she couldn't help the giddy laugh that overtook her. "Of course not. What, do you think I schedule sexual intercourse regularly in my office at work?"

"I was hoping to be the first." One of Charlie's hands disappeared behind his back, and he drew his wallet out of his pants pocket. "And please don't call it 'sexual intercourse.’ Call it what it is." He tore the condom's packaging open with his teeth. The size printed on the plastic didn't escape her notice.

"Oh, fuck," she muttered.

"Exactly."

Charlie whipped his jacket and tie off and stripped his shirt from his shoulders. When Dylan's hands reached for the front of his pants, he strained closer to encourage access, planting an arm on either side of her on the desk. He tucked his chin to watch, breathing shallowly, as she undid his fly and released him.

His engorged cock slipped free, and she clutched it. He flexed a little, and Dylan felt it bob in her hands, but she couldn't bring herself to laugh at his attempts to lighten the mood. She was too busy taking in the sight of Charlie, unveiled and unfettered. She could barely circle her fingers all the way around him. His cock jutted proudly toward her, ruddy and ready and roped by veins. She stroked it, all the while wondering how the hell he was going to fit.

He passed her the condom, and Dylan did the honors. She sat back, gripping the desk and trying not to tremble, as he positioned himself between her legs.

The dome of his penis butted up against her entrance. Dylan hissed and arched her back; already she could feel that it was going to be a tight fit. Charlie must have known he was packing a battering ram. He relented, instead allowing his erection to stroke the outside of her passage and coat itself in her juices. The slightest brush set her nerves on fire. The sheer anticipation of the approaching moment threatened to overwhelm her as Charlie teased her to the brink of insanity.

"You're ready for it," he murmured into her ear. "I can feel it."

Dylan nodded, swallowing, as his swollen cock neared her entrance. He pushed forward slowly; she grabbed onto the bunching muscles of his shoulders, packed together as hard as a rock quarry. It provided the stability she needed. She knew Charlie wouldn't relent or give ground, not even when she dug her nails into his skin. The head of his cock pushed past her folds and began to fill her narrow entry. She felt herself expand around him, the slickness of her desire easing his way deeper. He slid into her another inch, and Dylan gasped. Her head fell back, and her knees quaked.

"That's my girl." One of Charlie's hands slid beneath her to cup her buttocks and pull her toward him. She took another inch into her, then another, feeling the aching emptiness inside her sated.

But the ache was fast returning. It was one thing to be full, but she needed to move, to experience that initial entry again. And again. Charlie was right—she was ready for it, and she was ready now. And there was no way in hell she was going to let this be the end of it.

"God, you feel amazing," Charlie growled through clenched teeth. He bent his head, his chin butting up against her forehead. Dylan was overcome by the wild urge to let his hair down and bury her fingers in it, but even perched on her desk, Charlie was still too tall for her. She settled for running her hands down his back, trailing over the deltoids and trapezius she had only ever admired from a safe distance. Charlie flexed, giving her a better feel.

But other, more immediate concerns threatened to blow her mind first. As Dylan moved into position against him, Charlie eased out of her slowly. Just when she thought he was about to slip all the way out, he thrust his cock back into her, his hips smacking against hers. She arched as she felt herself filled to bursting, but it still wasn't enough.

"I don't want it slow," she begged.

"I know you don't."

His total command of the situation, his complete assurance that he already knew how she wanted it and where, almost sent her over the moon.

His grip tightened on her ass, and he yanked her against him again. His other hand cupped the back of her neck forcefully, exerting a thrilling heat and pressure that might cross the line at any moment. Rather than clench his hand at her nape, Charlie's fingers pushed up into her hair. He collected it all and made a fist; the sudden tightening at her roots sent pleasurable sparks shooting through her vision.

"Yes," she moaned. She dropped her head, lips parted in wanton astonishment. She wanted to see the way their bodies moved together, but the sight of Charlie's thick cock disappearing inside her again was almost too much. She would have never believed she could take that much.

"Yeah, baby. Work for it. Work that dick just like you want to." Charlie egged her on in filthy whispers, his teeth grazing the shell of her ear. Was he mocking? Was this a sleazy invitation or another in his long series of challenges? Dylan wanted to fire back, but all she could do was moan like an animal as another wave of pleasure rocked through her. God, she was letting him take control of her like this in her own office…

Her body moved of its own accord. She rocked her hips against Charlie, tightening her abdominals and undulating. "Oh fuck, can you be any sexier?"

Charlie cursed. His hand dropped from her hair to clutch her back. His own shoulders were slick with perspiration. Was it taking more effort than he wanted to acknowledge to hold himself back?

Dylan pulled away, holding onto the back of his neck as she worked him with her hips. She revolved and bucked, revolved and bucked; they watched, mesmerized, as their bodies came together in sensuous union. As soon as Charlie had picked up on her rhythm, he started to pick up speed.

"Ah! Ah! Ah!" It was at the back of her mind to stifle her cries, but she couldn't hold onto a thought long enough to put it into practice. Each panting breath burst from her lips unrestrained; each cry of ecstasy felt ripped from her throat against her will. Charlie rocked forward and pinned her back against the desktop. She sprawled beneath his chest, impacted by his heavy breaths as he surged into her. His cock was like a piston pounding into her. She was senseless with the force of it.

"You want it hard? Just like that?" Charlie demanded. Dylan could hear herself cursing incoherently. She didn't know whether her string of expletives was directed at Charlie, or if his thrusting provoked it. "Yeah?" He answered her as if she had managed to smash an actual sentence together.

"Yeah. Oh, Charlie, just like that."

Hearing herself plead with him shouldn't have been such a striking and unexpected turn-on. Had any man before him ever reduced her to this?

"I'm going to make you come." He growled the dark promise into the wood grain of her desk, right beside her ear. He ground his hips into her, his cock nailing her somewhere deep, somewhere new. Dylan gasped beneath him and nearly lurched off the desk, but he settled his full weight on top of her. She wasn't going anywhere. "Every time you come into work, you're going to remember how I had you. Right here. In the middle of meetings, the memory of getting fucked by me will hit you out of nowhere."

Charlie gripped her flank and propelled himself into her to emphasize his point. Dylan cried out and grabbed for the lip of the desk to hold on.

"You're mine," Charlie said.

"Yes. Charlie, I'm going to—!"

The words choked themselves off. He had her pinned his beneath his torso, but his lower half worked independently of the rest of his body, pushing into her harder and faster, until he was jackhammering Dylan into her desk. The desk rocked beneath her and banged on its foundations, just like a headboard against the wall of a bedroom…

Dylan seized suddenly, hitching one leg up over his waist; he wouldn't release the other. Orgasm ripped through her like a tidal wave, crashing in her blood and surging through her veins. Dylan wailed. She didn't care if she could be heard through the walls. She had to let it out, or she would come apart.

"Oh, my God," she heard Charlie whisper. Seeing her reach climax must have been what finally put him over the edge, because suddenly he was clenching her with his hands hard enough to bruise. He rammed his cock deep into her and hugged her close. Dylan grabbed for the back of his head, holding onto his hair as he came into her hard. She thought the desk would splinter beneath their combined weight.

Charlie slumped onto her with a heavy expulsion of breath.

"That was…" Dylan started to say.

"Yeah."

The room was dark, but Dylan could still perceive the shimmering of his eyes. She thought she could make out the expression on his face and could only imagine the one she herself was wearing.

The same arrogance that drove her crazy during the daytime threatened to unravel her in a completely different respect now. Charlie had been studying her all along, taking careful notes on every aspect of her personality and plotting how to best satisfy them physically. In her own fantasies of him, she had gotten him all wrong: he wasn't a selfish lover. Not entirely. His easy confidence only came to him because he was certain he could give them what they both wanted without any need for compromise.

She broke eye contact first, looking down as she shifted a bedraggled piece of hair back behind her ear. It was only the first of a million and one details out of place—any small oversight might give her away, and that was just the little things. As she gazed around the room, Dylan realized the full extent of the damage they had wrought. It looked like a tornado had blown through Lockhart General and swept up her office specifically; papers lay scattered on the floor, and the force from their session had knocked most of her desk drawers open. Articles of clothing were strewn everywhere. She doubted they would be able to recover them all without turning the lights on, but she was adamant they remain off. She didn't want to give any passing observer the slightest indication of where she and Charlie Wild had disappeared to.

Oh, God. How long had they been away from the fundraiser? Surely someone would have noticed by now. It felt like they had been at it for hours. Charlie could certainly boast of superhuman endurance both on and off the field.

Charlie withdrew from her, and Dylan slid down off the desk. The room smelled sharply sweet, the office air heavy with another clue to their transgression. She crossed to inch open the window as Charlie pulled his slacks up. A cool evening breeze caressed her bare breasts, stirring her imagination—what it would be like to be cornered by Charlie outdoors on a starlit hillside…

But there could be no next time. Could there? The sex was so good Dylan almost couldn't find it in her to care about anything else. Sex like that was almost worth giving up everything for.

And that's what she was afraid of. It felt like more than just a hot hook-up, and from the way Charlie now avoided looking at her, she was certain she wasn't alone in her assessment. Somewhere along the way—between all the arguing and flirtation and pushing of one another's limits—her relationship with Charlie had completely shifted into another gear. It had just taken them gunning the gas to know it.

She felt something brush up against her back and realized she had been standing in front of the slatted blinds for a solid minute, lost in thought. Charlie's chest brushed up against her back; he had put his shirt back on. He reached over her head to shutter the blinds fully.

"Want help putting the room back together?" His breath gusted across the top of her hair. Already Dylan could feel her desire for him stirring again. This was bad. She hadn't expected it to awaken her need for him so fully.

"Sure," she whispered. "But let's…avoid turning the lights on and drawing attention."

Charlie's left hand stroked down her shoulder. It was the most chaste touch he had laid on her all night, almost reverent. He should be familiar with her every slope and curve by now, but Dylan could have sworn he was touching her for the first time. She turned her head into her shoulder, wanting to imprint the memory of his hands on every part of her.

"Let's sneak out the back." Charlie's suggestive whisper sent chills down her spine. "Anyone asks, I'll tell them I took you home. It won't be a lie."

"It's not lies I'm worried about," Dylan muttered.

"My knee held up, didn't it?" Charlie moved back, and Dylan turned into his chest. He grinned. He was obviously trying to lighten the mood. Dylan sighed and bent to snatch up her discarded dress.

"Yes. It did. Congratulations."

"I'm not the only one that should be congratulated, Doctor. That was…"

"Let's save any discussion for tomorrow." Dylan needed to get out ahead of this. She needed to break down every pro and con; she needed to curl up alone at home with a pint of ice cream and list every reason this was a one-time thing. She might even need to consider referring Charlie to someone else…in fact, she was certain that she should.

But the things she should do weren't coming as easily to her anymore.

She dressed herself quickly as Charlie gathered up her papers and straightened them out of order on her desk. Then he took her by the hand, and Dylan let him spirit her down the hallway and out the back door to his pickup.