The Naughty Office Affair
"He rumbled, walking her back toward the edge of her desk and cupping her backside so he could lift her onto it. He pressed himself into her, using one thick, lean thigh to push her legs apart so he could nestle against her warmth."
"What're you doing still here?" he asked.
"I was waiting for you; I wanted to ask you something." Rafe was pretty certain that he knew what that "something" was, so he shut the door to the office and closed the blinds, giving them some privacy.
"Go on, then."
"I fired him."
"Why?" Rafe licked his lips and frowned.
"Are you seriously asking me why? Because he assaulted you, and I'm not having a lowlife like that working here. It's not fair to you, or any other woman he might take an interest in." Mattie nodded her head; she wasn't sorry to see him gone.
"And people were saying there were droplets of blood on the carpet near his desk?" she asked, pointedly. Rafe merely shrugged. Mattie bit the inside of her cheek and narrowed her eyes at him in assessment; he was unusually evasive.
"What?" he snapped; his face crinkled into an impatient snarl.
"Maybe he tripped on his way out," Rafe said, scathingly.
Mattie sighed, and reached out for Rafe's hands, taking him by surprise. His eyes widened at her touch as it seared his skin. Mattie held his hands in front of her and looked at the telltale redness to the knuckles on Rafe's right hand.
"You hit him?" she asked, softly, no hint of accusation.
"He tried to hit me twice. I hit back the second time."
Then he smirked and quite proudly said, "It was a good punch, right in the middle of his face. He reckoned I broke his nose."
"Do you think you did?" Mattie asked, grimacing.
"Maybe," Rafe said, with an idle inclination of his head. "He certainly bled a fair bit."
"I guess I should thank you then, or something?" she said, uncertainly.
She didn't know what the etiquette was in that sort of situation. Ought she to take Russ's firing as a matter of business — for everyone's benefit — or a sign that she mattered?
"Don't thank me," Rafe said, his voice low and with an edge to it. He reached out one hand and wrapped it around Mattie's small waist, pulling her roughly to him.
"Don't thank me. Don't talk. Just feel," he murmured, his lips seeking hers, and she didn't fight him because she'd been starved of him for weeks and she wanted to feed from his lips until she couldn't bear another kiss.
"Mattie," Rafe rumbled, walking her back towards the edge of her desk and cupping her backside so he could lift her onto it. He pressed himself into her, using one thick, lean thigh to push her legs apart so he could nestle against her warmth.
"Mattie," he urged, "tell me to stop now, or I won't. I'll have you. Right here, right now, on this uncomfortable desk."
Those gray eyes peered down on her, so intent in their gaze, as though he was trying to see inside her. It should have been unnerving; she should have felt cheap and ill-used. She shouldn't have liked him at all. But she did like him. She didn't feel cheap. She wasn't unnerved. His look was so full of fierce desire, that she'd never felt so special in her life. No one had ever looked at her in such a way, with such undisguised want and need. But behind that burning lust, there was a hidden softness, the part of him that was asking, seeking permission so he wouldn't wound her. In truth, he didn't need her permission, not verbally, because everything about her look, the way she clung to him and kissed him, the way she arched her body into him, told Rafe that Mattie was just as hungry for him as he was for her. But still, he wanted to hear the words.
"Mattie?" he urged, holding his breath.
In a heartbeat, Rafe's lips were at her jaw, trailing down her neck and seeking the crevice of her breasts. One hand meandered languidly down her body, cupping that soft, feminine swell, before seeking the hem of her dress and pushing it upward, whilst his other hand worked feverishly at his belt.
"Mattie, Mattie, Mattie..." Rafe sighed. "You have no idea ... no idea..." he whispered, his fingers finding her heat, finding her ready. "I can't wait, Mattie. Don't make me wait."
"You don't have to," she whispered, compliantly, running her fingers through his dark hair, as he thrust into her. Her breath caught as a satisfied hiss escaped his lips, and once he felt her relax, he moved his hips, rocking against her without caution. It was quick, and fiery like his temper; the eruption violent, before he rested above her, panting into the crook of her neck.
"I'm sorry that you didn't—" Rafe mumbled, contritely.
"Don't worry," she tried to reassure him.
"Did I hurt you? Was it no good?"
"No! No, it was very good, but I need a bit of preamble," Mattie said, blushing.
"Like cocktail cherries?" Rafe asked, with an arched brow and a sexy drawl.
"No," she laughed. "Like kissing. I need to know it means something."
"It means something," Rafe promised, kissing her firmly on the lips. Mattie ran her fingers through his hair, tugging him back to her lips when he made to lift himself from her. And finding her eager for his proximity, for his tender affections, Rafe relaxed into her, knowing that this — that quiet moment of kisses — was what made her so special to him.
"Come home with me," Rafe urged. "Spend the weekend."
"A whole weekend? Would you not resort to murder if you had to spend a whole weekend with me?"
"Maybe," Rafe chuckled, wryly. "Stay until I can't stand you any more, then."
"And you're not going to try and make me work somewhere else?"
Rafe shook his head.
"No. I'm going to keep you close, so you can't flirt with any other boss." And he kissed her soundly, preventing the indignant retort he saw upon her lips.
"What was that?" Mattie asked, her eyes wide and anxious, as she pushed firmly on Rafe's chest. He stilled and listened; definite footsteps making their way through the office.
"Shit," he cursed, pulling away and buttoning his trousers, as Mattie hurriedly straightened her clothes.
(Except the title, the post has not been edited by Team Kamuklife & originally appeared at Cosmopolitan.com)