me like I was a naughty puppy. He may have me at his feet, but that doesn’t mean he can walk all over me.
With a devilish smirk, I decide to take advantage of this situation. The thing about Warren Knight is that I know him. Maybe better than anyone else, because I’ve seen him behind closed doors when no one else was around, and I’ve seen him drop the mask he wears. I’ve followed him for two whole months, never going a day without watching him for at least a few hours at a time. Don’t judge.
All of my dedicated watching has put me at a great advantage. I know that whenever he’s a dick, people always back down and let him win. But that’s just not gonna work on me. See, I’ve seen this guy jerk off more times than I can count. Once you know their O face, their mean face just isn’t as impressive.
I think it’s time someone in his life doesn’t let him win.
Reaching down, I carefully untie his shoes, my touch light enough so that he can’t feel it. When I have the black laces undone on both shoes, I tie them together. It takes a few tries, but I finally manage a solid knot. Then I go higher.
Gentle, but firm enough to make him feel it, I start to run my hands against his shins. Right over the fabric, I let my fingers graze him up and down, my touch slow and methodical. Surprised, he jolts in his chair, and I snicker to myself.
He quickly tries to recover by making it look like he was just straightening up, before diving into more shop talk about some real estate he wants to buy from Mr. Abner. I stop, making him think my assault is over, but just when I see him relax, I start trailing my hands over him again.
He tries to shove me away, this time using his feet, but I grin as I easily bypass the jerky movements.
Unfortunately, I don’t expect him to bury a hand beneath the desk and pull me between his knees to get me to stop moving, so I fall forward with a surprised puff of air as he locks me in place.
He closes his knees around me, trapping me between them in order to stop my movements. I can tell by his posture that he thinks he’s won now. His thigh muscles look particularly arrogant.
Please. He thinks this will stop me?
I squirm, trying to get an arm free, but his thighs just press tighter around me.
Wow. Okay. I spoke too soon. His thighs have every right to look arrogant, because they’re really fricken strong. I can’t get free no matter how much I try.
I stop struggling, pursing my lips to the side as I consider my next move.
Instead of trying to get my arms up, I simply let my hands drop around to the underside of his calves, and then I pinch the shit out of him.
He jerks again, his thighs coming apart for a split-second as he covers up his yowl of pain. The release is short-lived, but it’s all I need to get my damn arms free.
I’d raise a fist in victory if I had enough room, but for real, this desk space is cramped. You’d think a billionaire could afford to get a desk with better underneath space for occasions like this.
Mr. Bachelor Asshole tries to lock me into place again, but I already have my arms lifted out of reach, so when his knees lock around my torso, I welcome it like a damn hug.
He wants to hide me under his desk and trap me between his legs? Then I guess he won’t mind if I make myself right at home.
Excitement makes my pulse jump as I place my hands on his thighs and slowly start sliding my palms up, up, up.
His skin flinches under my touch, and I see an immediate reaction happening at the front of his slacks. Ha! I knew he liked me.
He shifts in his chair again, but he’s no longer trying to kick me away or hold me hostage with his knees. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s inviting me to keep going, because his legs go wide like his dick is opening the doors for VIP access.
I snort.
“What was that?” Mr. Abner says.
Warren coughs. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“Oh. Well. Uhh, as I was saying…”
My hands continue to move up his thighs, all the way to his belt. But