Borden 2

“Yeah?”

“A total dick.”

“You’re making my dick hard right now.” He looked me over, those blue eyes growing warmer as he took in my skirt and form fitting button up shirt.

“No,” I snapped at him, pointing my pen at his face. “Do not look at me like that.”

“I’m not touching you,” he argued. “I can fucking look at you.”

“With eyes like those, I feel touched. Work needs to be done. You can’t just fuck me in the middle of the day anymore. There needs to be boundaries. I feel like a paid hooker when you screw me on the job.”

“Calm down, psycho. Like I said, I’m not touching you right now. I’m just admiring my merchandise.”

I nearly coughed at his words. “Your merchandise? You’ve been spending too much time with Hawke, haven’t you?”

“Why?”

“That’s totally sexist, Borden!”

He smirked, leaning back in his chair as he continued to ogle my breasts. “Don’t go all feminist on me, baby. You like to be objectified by me. Admit it.”

“No,” I lied, turning to my computer. “I do not.”

“Bullshit. You like me talking dirty to you too. Like me telling you I want you on my lap right now. Want your sweet little ass riding me –”

“Borden!” I hissed. “Enough!”

I could hear him laugh at me, and I fumed, throwing my pen at his face. To my dismay, he caught it. I cursed under my breath and resumed ‘working’, which consisted of staring at the screen wondering what else he would do and wanting that pen back because I didn’t have any others on my desk (it wasn’t the first time I’d thrown a pen at him).

“Come here,” he finally said after several silent minutes.

“No,” was my stubborn, haughty reply.

“I want to touch you now.”

“No.”

“Come here, doll.”

I pretended not to hear him.

“Emma, don’t ignore me.”

“I’m not going anywhere near you, Borden. You’ll end up with your tongue in my mouth and your dick inside me.”

“In other words, I’ll fuck you and you’ll like it.”

“I like working more.”

“Work doesn’t give you an eight inch cock in your pussy.”

I gasped. “Borden! Enough.”

He smirked. “I just want to touch you.”

I laughed sarcastically. “Sure, you do.”

“I promise I won’t fuck you,” he said. “Come here.”

With a defeated sigh, I got up and went to him. His black sleeves were pulled up, his tattoos on full display. Fuck, this guy was hot with his arms exposed. Such a tank. As I neared, he wrapped his strong hands around my hips and pushed me to the edge of his desk.

“Sit down,” he told me softly.

I sat on the edge and he stood up. He rested his hand on either side of me, caging me in with his arms, and leaned down to my level. His face was inches away. He smirked at my guarded expression, and I fought within not to get swept up by those glowing blue eyes. It was a deep kind of blue. Navy blue, but bright at the same time.

“Look at those tense shoulders,” he murmured. “Have I pissed you off?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“How badly?”

“Very badly.”

“Ask me to kiss your anger away.”

I hesitated. Always demanding shit out of me, this guy.

“Come on, doll,” he pushed. “Ask me to kiss away your anger.”

I licked my lip and his eyes dropped to my mouth at the act. His lids lowered as he pinned me with his demanding stare. I deliberately waited several moments, until his face flashed with something dark. He hated waiting, and I loved winding him up. We made a great couple.

“Kiss away my anger,” I told him, already feeling my stomach tighten and my heart jump.

That dark look didn’t go away as he closed in on me. He kissed me, and his lips worked deceptively soft against mine. I purposely kept my lips closed, fearing his tongue, because it was always that tongue that unravelled me. I needed to focus –

His tongue licked at my bottom lip and I sagged against him, opening my mouth immediately. I let him in, getting lost in the taste of him. He was too damn good of a kisser, and I was weak. You couldn’t blame me for it. I wrapped my arm around him and deepened the kiss, feeling the heat of him all the way down to my toes. His tongue searched my mouth familiarly, lapping against my own tongue, filling me with his taste. His movements sparked feverish tingles down my stomach and between my legs. I ached for more than just a kiss. I wasn’t angry anymore. I was nothing but a ball of tingles and needs that only he could gratify. My arms slid down his back and to his hips. I tried pulling him to me. Maybe he could grind me to orgasm without sticking his dick inside me.

He pulled away abruptly, his chest rising and falling fast. “Roll your skirt up,” he told me in a low breathless voice.

Without pause, I grabbed the hem of my skirt and pushed it up over my hips, revealing my white thin underwear to him.

“Spread your legs.”

I spread them for him and kept my eyes pinned to his face. I didn’t want to look at the sight of me. I was flushed and unsteady, milking his orders with everything inside of me because I needed those fucking orders like my next breath. I didn’t know what he was going to do, and I waited with bated breath for him to unzip himself and fuck me. Instead, he dropped back down to his chair and stared between my legs.

At the look of his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip, my heartbeat faster. Seconds passed that stretched to infinity, but he didn’t touch me.

“Borden,” I whispered needily.

He looked up at me. “Yeah, doll?”

“Do something.”

“What do you want me to do? You told me not to fuck you. We’re in a bit of a bind, hmm?”

I didn’t respond, and my cheeks grew hotter as his stormy eyes returned to my centre. My lips parted to tell him to ditch what I said and just take me, but then there was that annoying smug look he’d give me afterwards that said, “baby, you always crumble for me” and I didn’t want to goddamn crumble again. This was a battle of pride I was failing. For once I needed a victory, goddammit.

“Borden,” I whispered again, wetting my lips in a deliberate slow move.