Mr. Big Shot (Suits & Sevens #1) - Isla Olsen Page 0,21

holding his forefinger up and reaching for a landline phone with his other hand. I can only assume he’s calling up to Spencer’s apartment to make sure I’m allowed in.

When he hangs up I’m half expecting him to tell me to go away, that Spencer doesn’t want to see me; or, more likely, that he’s not home, because it’s a Saturday night and Spencer Cox is likely not the kind of guy to spend his Saturdays home alone. Instead, he offers me a kind smile and gestures toward the building’s elevators. “Go on up—top floor.”

Part of me is tempted to just forget this whole thing and make a break for it right now, but Spencer already knows I’m here so I figure I may as well go up and see him. I can always come up with some lame excuse for my presence that doesn’t involve me begging him to break his no-employee rule.

I spend the elevator ride trying to formulate this excuse, but the journey’s pretty quick and my brain’s a little fuzzy from the drinks I shared with my friends. By the time I ring the bell for Spencer’s penthouse I’m still drawing blanks about what I’m planning to say.

“Will?” he asks after answering the door, his brows knitted together in confusion.

I’m unable to form a response as I just stand there staring at him like a complete idiot. Can you blame me, though? Spencer in one of his designer suits is sexy as fuck, but put him in a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt and it’s a whole other level. I have no idea why. Maybe it’s the bare feet. For some reason bare feet just make everything sexier. And then there’s the fact his hair is still a little damp, which tells me he’s only recently gotten out of the shower, and that sends my brain into all sorts of naughty places…

“Will? Are you okay? What are you doing here?” His expression is full of concern as he ushers me into the entrance hallway of his apartment, closing the door behind me.

Right. Of course. What am I doing here after midnight on a Saturday?

“I have a question for you,” I finally manage to say.

“Okay…”

I stare at him for a long moment; he stares right back, the confusion in his hazel eyes is mingled with what I’m certain is the same heat I’m pretty sure I’ve been getting flashes of every now and then over the past month and a half.

I draw in a deep breath. “If I were to accidentally trip right now and my lips landed on yours—pure accident—would you be obligated to report me to HR?”

The corner of Spencer’s mouth twitches upward and his gaze dances with amusement and anticipation. “Well, I mean, if it were an accident…it wouldn’t really be your fault…”

That’s all the permission I need to step forward and tug him against me for a hungry kiss that he doesn’t hesitate to return. We cling tight to each other, our tongues tangling in a heady, addictive rhythm.

“Whoops,” I say a little breathlessly once we finally break apart.

He chuckles and claims my lips again, prompting a groan from the back of my throat as the kiss grows even more intense.

“You’re very accident prone, aren’t you?” he murmurs against my mouth.

“A fucking walking disaster,” I confirm.

I take no notice whatsoever of my surroundings, with my attention one hundred percent fixed on Spencer as he guides me through the apartment, finally pulling us onto the sofa with me straddling his waist.

“I have a confession,” I tell him as I move my kisses along his jaw and down his neck.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. My real question wasn’t the HR thing. I want to know something else.”

“Uh huh, what’s that?”

“Fuck,” I hiss, while Spencer lets out a groan of appreciation as I roll my hips against him, grinding our hard cocks together.

He grips me at the waist and prompts me to do it again, and for a moment I’m completely speechless as I just enjoy the unbelievable friction of us grinding against each other.

“What’s your question, baby?” he presses.

I can’t fucking think right now, so I grab a tight hold of his wrists and remove his grip from my waist. He tries to snap his hips upward to get some more friction but I adjust my position so I’m kneeling over him and am out of his reach.

Leaning over, I murmur in his ear, “It’s been killing me for two weeks. I want to know what you