Mixing business and pleasure is never a good idea. Or is it?
Find out in Slave to Love by Julie A Richman
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There are risks to mixing business with pleasure...
IF A MAN HAS AN AFFAIR AT WORK, HE'S A STUD.
He was a royal prick.
The night we met, he ignored me.
Then Mr. Big Shot CEO grabbed my ass in a business meeting.
My boss just loaned me out to this guy.
Now, we’re working on a major project together.
And our chemistry is dangerous.
If I allow it to ignite, I’ll risk losing that promotion.
Worse, what if I lose myself in him?
IF A WOMAN HAS AN AFFAIR AT WORK, SHE'S A SLUT.
From the moment I saw her I knew she was trouble.
It was the combination of her fresh face, smart mouth and nipples that seemed to know my name.
This woman could satisfy my needs both in the boardroom and the bedroom.
But there was more to it than that.
I wanted her.
Really wanted her.
And I was in the position to change the course of her life.
But I’ve got secrets, secrets that could destroy her.
And either make her mine or drive her away forever.
Slave to Love: Chapter One
By Julie A. Richman
© 2015 Julie A. Richman
I am a slave. Seriously, I am. My shackles may not be what you’re envisioning, as unfortunately, they are not crafted from leather with a hot, sexy dominant on the other end, flogger in hand. But they are trendy and cool and golden. Yes, my handcuffs are golden and they come with stock options, a 401(k), oodles of frequent flyer miles and hotel points and an Admiral’s Club membership at the airport. I wear my handcuffs 24/7.
And I have no freaking idea where the key is.
Eight-twenty A.M. and I already need an effing shower. Ugh. Running late for an eight-thirty A.M. meeting. I thought a cab ride would be the answer and certainly cooler and quicker than walking, or God forbid, taking the dreaded subway on a sweltering Manhattan morning. But no. I emerge from the cab, with my now translucent white silk blouse pretending it’s a soggy second skin gearing up for our fabulous win in today’s “Who’s Got the Perkiest Nipples” contest. Shoot me. Just shoot me.
As I slide sideways into an elevator, the doors already half closed, I have the distinct honor of joining two techy nerd boys returning from their eight-fifteen A.M. smoke. Lucky me. The unkempt duo reek of cigarettes, yet I can’t decide which is worse, that, or the stench of their general shoddy hygiene and filthy jeans. Nerd Boy #1 is enjoying my transparent, wet tank blouse and my not-shy nipples. I catch him and he pretends to look at my necklace, a gold mermaid, just grazing my cleavage.
The door opens on my floor. Eight twenty-six. I’m not late yet. On my way out of the elevator, I lean over and whisper to Nerd Boy #1, “Great necklace, isn’t it. Would be better if it were pearl.”
I hear him choke as I exit. Schwing.
I’m really not quite sure what to do with her. She’s not like the women I date. She’s not like the women I fuck. Yeah, I have women in my company, just not in my inner circle. So, I’m not sure how to balance having a close work confidante that I want to bang. So damn bad.
Would it be a bad thing to keep her in the conference room after dismissing the rest of the team, lock the doors, pick her up and seat her on the edge of the conference room table. Feel her melt into my hand as I run my fingertips down the front of her silk tank top. When she shivers, twist her taunting nipples until they harden, then stop and listen to her moan. Would that lost animal sound be coming from what I was doing to her or because I stopped? I wouldn’t wait to find out as I pushed her underwear aside, and harden even more, the moment I feel her wetness. Using her slick juices to moisten her clit, I’d finger her until she is gasping for air and reaching for me. I’d let just her nails and the tips of her finger graze my hard cock as I hang just out of reach. I would totally get off knowing that it is her need to grab me, making her wilder, and that crazed instinctual desire in her eyes would have me titanium hard. I need to be buried deep inside her.
I know my face is portraying a practiced and perfected look of deep concentration when my VP of Product Development asks for the second time, “Can we get the go-ahead on that, Hale?”
Shaking my head and drawing my brows together, “Give me your full brief in writing.” I act as if there’s something bothering me in what he presented, when in actuality I’m just buying time because I didn’t hear a word he said.
About the Author:
USA Today Bestseller Julie A. Richman is the author of the highly acclaimed NEEDING MOORE SERIES trilogy (SEARCHING FOR MOORE, MOORE TO LOSE & MOORE THAN FOREVER), BAD SON RISING & HENRY'S END. Saddled with the affliction of serious wanderlust, Julie can often be found behind a camera lens in locales from Paris to Alaska.
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