Out of Love

In an attempt to calm my out of control hormonal urges whenever I’m near Foster, I rise from my desk and walk over to enter the small conference room where we keep kitchen supplies, including the sacred coffee maker. I set down my empty coffee thermos on the small counter top to refill it, but before I can reach for the coffee pot, two firm hands suddenly grip my hips, pulling my ass back into an impressively hard cock.

My eyes fall closed, and I barely manage to stifle a moan as one hand drifts upward to graze over my breast, toying with my nipple while his lips find my bare neck, teeth grazing it and sending shivers through my body.

“I like it when you wear your hair up.” His voice is gravelly and low. “Makes it easy to do this.” His tongue darts out to taste my skin while he rocks his hardness into me. “What I wouldn’t give to lift up this skirt of yours and slide my cock inside you right here, right now.”

His words send a rush of arousal through me and I feel myself getting wetter. As if he knows exactly what I’m thinking, I can’t withhold a moan at his next words, spoken softly against my neck. “You’re wet right now, aren’t you? If I slide my fingers inside your sweet pussy, you’d soak them, wouldn’t you?”

His hand slides down my body and beneath my skirt, skimming my underwear before slipping beneath it, two fingers diving right inside of me.

“Foster,” I gasp, already so close to release. The moment he slides a third finger inside, thrusting, his other hand still gripping my hip, I know I’m going to come. As wrong as this is, as much as we had made it a point to try and remain the same at work—to try and keep that line firmly drawn—it all goes up in flames.

When he commands in his hoarse tone, “Kiss me,” I turn my head, our lips meeting, feeling the prodding of his hard cock against my ass and I come apart. My moans are swallowed by his kiss, his tongue twining with mine, his fingers slowing their thrusting as my orgasm recedes.

Only to hear the door to the office open.

Frantically tugging my skirt back down and attempting to fix my appearance, I hear Miller call out, “Hey, I forgot my thumb drive that has my master copies on it in case they’d like any more.” There’s a brief pause. “You two getting coffee at the same time, huh?”

Shit. So much for trying to fly under the radar.

“Jafar here is arguing with me over needing more of the unbleached coffee filters.” I turn, my eyes flashing a warning at Foster as I step toward the door to exit the conference room. And I swear I hear Miller mumble, “Is that what you’re calling it these days?” before, “Gotta run. Leaving for real, this time.”

Laying my forehead against the doorframe, my eyes fall closed, shoulders sagging in relief. “That was way too close.” When Foster doesn’t respond, I add, “We shouldn’t have done that. Especially not here. If he would have come in seconds earlier…”

“He did.”

My head whips around to stare at him. “What?”

His lips press thin. “He did. He stepped back out and waited a moment before he came back in the office.”

“Oh, my God.” I cover my face with my hands. “I can’t ever show my face around him again.” Frantically, I throw out my arms to the sides. “Foster, we can’t do this here. I don’t want to be seen as the office floozy who’s sleeping with the boss!”

He closes the distance between us and takes my face in his hands, gazing deeply into my eyes. “No one thinks that—nor could they ever think that about you—Noelle. You’re not a floozy. You’re the furthest thing from a floozy. Miller knows that, trust me.”

“But he just—”

“Miller isn’t going to say a word to anyone. Aside from his wife, Tate, of course.” He pauses to dust a soft kiss on my lips. “It’s okay. I promise.”

I feel myself soften at the sincerity of his words. “No more finger shenanigans in the conference room, Kavanaugh,” I warn.

The grin he gives me is smug as hell. “Maybe not in the conference room…” With a quick kiss, he leaves the room to head to his desk.

Leaning my head against the doorframe, I close my eyes because one thing is certain. When it comes to Foster Kavanaugh, I’m screwed.

In more ways than one.





Chapter Forty-Nine


Foster



We’re holding an event in the karaoke bar section of Shenanigans to benefit the local charity foundation supporting wounded combat veterans and their transition to civilian life. There’s a large sign posted next to the karaoke DJ’s station, just as it read on the Facebook page where the event was announced:

Have some karaoke fun while supporting our combat veterans!

Sing your song of choice for $1.00 or five songs for $4.00

Spotlight someone else to sing your favorite song for $5.00 or have them sing five songs for $15.00

If you want to sit back and enjoy the night, buy yourself immunity for $25.00



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