Not How I Planned

EMERALD

This was not how I intended lunch to go when I left the penthouse.

This was not how I expected it to go when I walked in here to see a storm raging.

But damn if this wasn’t exactly how I wanted it to go. Well…maybe not ~exactly~.

“What are you waiting for?” Tate smirked, and I returned it in kind as I got up and walked around the desk.

Instead of going to him, though, I leaned on the desk, crossing my ankles and arms, tapping on my chin thoughtfully.

“That ~sounds~ good, but there’s a small problem,” I said and tapped on the pictures under the forgotten food boxes behind me. “There’s been a very big mistake made, Tate.”

He looked pained as his eyes flitted to the photos, then back to me.

“You can’t fly off the handle like that.” I gestured behind me with a thumb. “That’s a dangerous, dangerous area to venture into and can lead to places you’ll never come back from.

“I will put up with the world on our doorstep for us, but I ~will never~ stay where ~that~ happens. Is that clear?”

“Crystal.” He nodded. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, I swear.”

“Good. There’s one more thing.” I moved closer to him, and he turned his chair so I was standing between his knees.

“You hurt me, Tate. I understand the anger, and it’s justified, but you believed ~it~ over everything else. Automatically, I was guilty.”

I moved so I was straddling him, holding onto the back of the chair behind his shoulders. Sitting like this, I was eye-to-eye with him. Not bad tree-climbing skills, huh?

“I’d never do that to anyone, least of all you. You know that, right?” I asked him. “That kind of ~dishonesty~ is disgusting.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“You and I? We’re together. A team. And we’re at our best when we’re ~together~ completely.” I ran my hands through his hair, which was barely long enough to cover my fingers.

“I’m sorry, too. I’ve been doubting how serious this actually is to you. Judging you by things you’ve done in the past, not by what you’re doing now.

“It really isn’t fair to you when you’ve done nothing but be amazing to me. A dick in delivery, though.”

“God, I am. Such a dick,” he agreed.

“But you have a good heart.” I smiled at him, putting my hand on his chest. “I promise not to doubt you if you can promise the same. Deal?”

“Deal. Should I call legal and have it drawn up?” He smiled and rubbed his hands up the outsides of my thighs to rest on my hips.

“I have a better idea.” I smiled and grabbed the back of his neck, kissing him hard.

“Much better idea,” he said against my lips as he slipped his hands around to grip my ass hard, his hands covering the cheeks nearly completely.

I was turning into the walking definition of that impossible romance cliché. The assistant crushing on the boss, agreeing to marry him, sleeping with him.

Now, we were about to have sex in his office. How? How did this happen? I was a smart person. I liked to think I was, anyhow. So how did I end up like this?

I put myself here. I agreed to marry him. I agreed to the chance of a relationship. And here I was, agreeing to the final nail in the coffin.

Sex on his desk.

I can’t lie and say I’d never thought about it before. What it would be like if Tate sat me on his desk and pushed my legs apart for his mouth to claim.

Or if he bent me over the desk and made me come all over it.

What didn’t cross my mind, and it’s kind of silly that it didn’t, was this chair.

~His~ chair.

The place where only the bossman’s ass was allowed to rest.

I’d already made a faux pas by climbing into his lap, but it didn’t feel like it was real, exactly.

This small part of me kept saying I was dreaming all of this up. If this was a dream, I hoped I would never wake up because waking up would be a nightmare.

Tate pushed at my hips, making me stand up for an instant before I was sitting on the desk.

The one that, oddly, starred in most of my dirty fantasies about the man currently pulling my yoga pants and underwear down my legs while I pulled his belt open.

I had to smile when I noticed it wasn’t one of the fancy ones that were too complicated to rip off during spontaneous moments like this.

Once I got his button and fly open, Tate shoved them and his boxers down and grabbed my hips and pulled me to the edge.

“Condom,” he snapped, like he had almost forgotten it, as he bent to grab his wallet from his pocket.

“I’m usually worried about wallet condoms,” I panted as he tore it open and rolled it down.

“I put it in there yesterday,” he said as he lined himself up and pushed forward slowly.

His hands slapped onto the desk as we both groaned. I held on to his shoulder with one hand and braced with the other behind me, not wanting to make a food mess along with the furniture mess.

I sure as hell didn’t want rice and sauce in my hair.

So far, we’d only had sex at home. In our bed. There, there was no time limit to what we did, so it was softer and focused on pleasure over satisfaction.

Here, we’d already used most of the small amount of time we had for eating.

“Soft” was replaced by “frenzy,” turning the smooth, even strokes into a hard, rapid thrusting that made my toes curl and my inner deviant to roll over and purr for more.

The edge of the desk, though beveled, still dug into me with each mind-rocking thrust.

I was about to say something, but Tate knew this office better than anyone and lifted me up to sit in his chair again without pulling out.

Even now, when I had the perfect position to take control, he led the way closer to orgasm.

His fingers dug into my hips as he lifted and lowered them to meet his thrusts.

My body took control of itself and started twisting my hips just right to get the magical G-spot to dance.

“Fuck, Emerald!” Tate growled. The rumble in his voice tickled my nerve endings and sent me into oblivion.

Stars sparked to life only to burst in a firework display before my eyes, time stood still yet carried on at warp speed, and I swear, I heard the Big Bang echoing through the universe.

When my orgasm faded into euphoria, I looked at Tate to see him grinning like a child on Christmas morning.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since your first day here.” He smiled wider.

I giggled and let him help me lift up and off of him. He got up, kissed me while turning me around, and made me sit down.

“I’ll get something to clean up with. Sit here for a second,” he said, pulling his pants off all the way before going to the tiny, ill-used in-office bathroom.

It was only a sink and toilet, but it must have been nice not to have to share with the public. It always freaked me out—using public bathrooms.

Questionable cleanliness aside, there was no real privacy. The person next to you could be having explosive problems, and you’re the one having to suffer their poor choices in dietary intake.

Even worse, they could be heaving up their poor choices in dietary intake. I was a sympathetic vomiter. Just knowing someone was vomiting made my stomach roll, so hearing it often led to joining in the fun.

Tate came back with a wet cloth. Yes, this pampered jackass had real cloth towels in his potty room at work.

“Wow,” he said, pausing just outside the bathroom door for a moment. “I will ~never~ forget this sight. Damn.”

“Shut up and hand that over, Treeman. We have furniture to put back,” I laughed, holding my hand out for the cloth.

***

I had just gotten out of the elevator at the penthouse when I smelled perfume. The classy kind that the older generations would wear, not some new scent you’d expect to smell on ninety percent of the female population these days.

I also smelled something sweet and warm, like cookies, but not finished yet.

I carried the mail with me as I slowly walked to peek into the kitchen. I blinked—twice—to make sure I wasn’t seeing things.

I wasn’t.

There really was an older woman there, mixing a bowl of ingredients, her shiny gold bracelets clinging together in a metallic symphony that fit with her appearance.

“Um, I kind of feel silly asking this, but who are you?” I asked, completely confused when she looked up and saw me, giving me a smile.

“I’m Sophie King, Tate’s grandmother. You can call me Gran. Or Sophie,” she answered.