Last Name - Dr. Rebecca Sharp Page 0,47

on the docket to be let go, the last thing Carrie wanted was for her fellow employees to think she’d slept with the new boss to avoid termination.

It was something we’d work on.

In the meantime, I’d happily drive to work separately, always leaving fifteen minutes after she did, if it made her feel more comfortable about us.

She’d had one fucker do a number on her heart. I was going to be the one who showed her what it was like to be loved by a real man—one who didn’t use his power or status to subvert her but used it to give her everything she deserved and more.

I reached for the box, the light weight lifting easily off the desk in my hand.

My brow scrunched, curious what she could’ve left for me.

Setting my coffee down, I flipped the top off and rummaged through the tissue paper until I felt the distinct texture of wool.

Pulling the fabric from the box, a wide grin spread so far over my face before it broke into laughter.

It was a beret.

And there was a note attached to it.

I’ve never slept with a fake Frenchman.

My smile disintegrated into hot desire. My cock sprang to life in my suit pants, straining at the insinuation.

Christ.

I’d been inside her less than two hours ago, yet it might as well have been two years the way the damn note made me want to fuck her.

Wearing this hat.

And making her come so hard she’d forget that my French was fake.

Fuck it.

Jaw tight, I one-eightied from my office and headed straight for hers.

“James!” She jumped when I barged through her door, surprised to see me again so soon.

Closing the door behind me, I leaned my shoulders back against it. Pulling the hat from my back pocket, I held it up for her to see.

“I got your present,” I rasped.

Her cheeks heated. “You’re welcome.”

I smirked. “Oh, I haven’t thanked you yet.”

Her perfect plump lips gasped as I turned and slowly made a show of locking the door before setting my sights back to her.

I pulled the beret on as I approached her, my balls tightening in anticipation with each step. I’d dreamt about fucking her here… at work… but I thought it would be awhile before I could convince her to do that.

I wasn’t expecting her gift.

I wasn’t expecting her invitation.

She rose as I rounded her desk, the structure large considering the smaller size of the room—another thing she wouldn’t let me change. No new office—nothing special for the woman who held my heart.

Her fingers dragged across the papers and brochures scattered over her desk, messing them as she turned toward me. “James… what are you—”

She broke off with a gasp as I cupped the side of her face and angled it to mine, bending my head down to rasp, “You asked, and I promised to obey… Mrs. Arden.”

She shuddered. “I-I didn’t mean here… now…”

Her protest was weak, especially when she began to sway into me, her hand coming up to rest on my chest; its original intent was to push me away until it turned traitor and curled into the lapel of my jacket.

“Maybe you should’ve been more specific.” I kissed along her jawline, letting my other hand drift down to the curve of her ass, yanking her against me with a groan.

“We can’t…”

“Oh, we can,” I assured her, rocking the length of my cock against her heat for emphasis as my mouth covered hers.

She moaned and surrendered to my kiss. Her arms wound around my neck, holding her to me as my hands slid around her waist to undo the buttons of her shorts.

“We really shouldn’t,” she choked out, shuddering as I shoved her shorts down and reached between her thighs.

“Let me explain to you the two pillars of being French, mademoiselle,” I growled with an angry French accent. “First, be an asshole.”

She gasped as I lifted and sat her on the edge of her desk, her hands stabilizing on the top behind her.

“Lie back and spread your legs, ma cherie,” I taunted her with the few foreign words I’d picked up over a decade of business and travel. “As your fake Frenchman… as your boss… as your husband… the only thing you should do is exactly what I say.”

Without waiting, I tugged on her legs, forcing her back to lie flat on the desk as I spread them wide, relishing in the way the fabric of her thong was stained darker with her damp desire, the spot growing with my