CHAPTER FOUR

It's another bright Monday morning, the conference room bathed in the glow of the early sunlight.

Across the long table, Wyn sits, her spine ruler-straight. Of course, she chose the seat furthest from me, and when our gazes meet, she flushes before looking away.

A brilliant way to start the week.

Between us lies a battlefield of pie charts and campaign projections while all the department heads prepare for the meeting.

I greet everyone individually, making small talk as I work my way down the table until I reach the one person I want to talk to the most.

"Good morning, Wyn. Another Monday meeting."

She glares at my subtle reminder that we're a week closer to the deadline of our bet. I wait for her to say anything, but Wyn remains infuriatingly silent.

"How's the Dover campaign shaping up?" I prod, refusing to give up.

Wyn regards me with dark eyes, no doubt trying to figure out what I'm looking for—which is nothing more than the private delight of hearing her voice.

"It's coming together well."

Her melodic voice reveals none of the irritation simmering beneath the surface that my Boggart senses easily pick up on.

"Is it now?" I raise a brow, wanting her to continue—she doesn't. "Last I checked, we were still behind on client feedback loops, or was it sorted out over the weekend?"

My question is genuine. It wouldn't be the first time that Wyn's saved our asses and worked miracles for this company.

Across the table, the barest tinge of color blooms on Wyn's cheeks confirms my thought.

"We've addressed the delays, Mr. Ettin."

A tingle runs down my spine at the formal way she says my name. Even though I ask her weekly to call me Bash, I get some sort of sick pleasure at her refusing me, as well.

"Excellent. I would like to talk more about it after the meeting."

"As you wish."

At the tight set of her jaw and icy tone, I frown. A storm brews in her gorgeous brown gaze—a tempest that I have no hope of quelling.

It seems that no matter my intentions, I always manage to rub Wyn the wrong way, and I hate myself for not knowing how to fix it.

My compliments emerge as critiques, and my attempts to draw her out transform into accusations that have her hackles rising.

Every word I offer her way is like a live grenade, and I never know which one's going to blow up in my face.

Wyn's this incredible combination of fire and ice that I can't help being attracted to, and all I want is for her to be happy with her job…and with me.

After the meeting starts and our talks wind down, I go through the remaining agenda items before I finally call an end to it.

Everyone slowly filters out, except for Wyn, who remains seated half a world away from me. There's a crease between her brows that I have the overwhelming urge to reach across and smooth away with my thumb.

What I wouldn't give to be the reason that she smiles for once.

"Any issues over the weekend? And you know to give accounting any extra hours you worked, right?"

"No issues, and I did turn in my overtime, thank you."

"Good, it looks like those new marketing methods you pioneered are working well. How are they impacting our numbers?"

I lean forward, encouraging Wyn to meet my gaze. In return, she traps me with a scalding look that could strip varnish.

"As I said last Monday, my marketing skills are on point. In fact, efficiency is up seventeen percent, and we're projected to go beyond our target earnings for next quarter."

"Seventeen percent? That's impressive."

"And yet you still doubt me."

Wyn spins, leaving me more confused than ever after our encounters. Underneath all her anger and defiance, I sense the undertow of self-doubt that Wyn tries to hide from the world.

Just that flicker of suppressed hurt is like a punch to the stomach. I never meant for any of our interactions to make Wyn question herself.

Or to make her think that I distrust how she works.

Massaging at the dull ache above my eye, I return to my office a floor above Wyn's and drop heavily into my chair.

This pull between the two of us can't go on forever, but even as I vow to restrain myself next time, a part of me thrills at the promise of our next encounter.

With a sigh, I wonder whether I should go and apologize to Wyn, or if this will only anger her more.

No matter what I say, she'll probably interpret any attempt to connect right now as patronization. Wyn needs time to cool off—maybe later I'll bring her a coffee.

With that idea in my mind, I set to work. Files are stacked in my inbox, but I have no fucking desire to even start.

All I can focus on is Wyn's fascinating contrasts, her prickly exterior as well as her hidden vulnerability.

I ache to uncover the warm, soft side I glimpsed once in an unguarded moment when she was talking to another coworker about her son and didn't realize I was there.

The bite of regret for upsetting Wyn weighs bitterly on my tongue, even though I have no idea what I said or did wrong.

My computer dings with email notifications, and I also have my quarterly reports to go over, but instead, my mind drifts to the one woman I shouldn't be thinking of.

Pushing aside my worries, something else unfolds—something much more inappropriate.

Glancing across the room at my closed door, I note it's not locked, but at this time of day, everyone is gone for lunch.

Regardless, my intent is stupid, and yet here I am, hand wandering beneath my desk as I recline in my chair, proving my own foolishness.

"Fuck," I groan under my breath, my thoughts twisting with my lust. My fingers curl around my tarse, testing the hard length with a savage stroke.

In my fantasy, Wyn's naked, spread open with her back against the cold, polished surface of the conference room table.

The scene is so vivid in my mind, I swear I can feel the satin smoothness of Wyn's skin. Here, she's mine to command—mine to control.

"Is this what you want?"

It's a rhetorical question that I growl out loud, as if the real Wyn can hear me through the floor.

My imagination supplies her response, a heady mix of defiance and surrender that makes me throb with need.

I move my hand rhythmically, envisioning Wyn touching herself, cupping her full breasts before tugging on the dusky nipples until they're stiff little peaks.

The scent of citrus and jasmine tantalizes me as her chest flushes with her budding desire. I slide between the valley of her breasts, our breaths mingling in the charged air of forbidden desires.

"Tell me you want me."

Fantasy Wyn doesn't even hesitate, mewling out her agreement as I lap my tongue over the flutter of her pulse.

Rising above her, I thrust my tarse between Wyn's ample cleavage, the slick length easily gliding back and forth thanks to the natural lubrication male Boggart's create.

My pace quickens as I seek dominion over the gorgeous woman, and even though she gives me exactly what I want, Wyn is the one who holds all the control in her hands.

It's power at its most primal, and I'm lost to it as my grip tightens in real life. I chase my passion to the edge of oblivion, craving more than just my thoughts.

"More."

Everything disappears except the searing image of Wyn beneath me as my fantasy grows more and more heated. It's raw and consuming, stoked by every fiery glance and barbed exchange.

Picturing her body trembling, that pouty lower lip of hers tucked between her teeth as I fuck her harder, sends a jolt through me.

My pulse roars in my ears as Wyn begs for me to come all over her, and I explode—hot, uncontrollable—just as my office door slams open.

"If you don't doubt me, why the hell did you make that stupid bet in the—"

Wyn's angry words fizzle out when she finally looks at me. Time stretches taut, and everything grinds to halt.

All except the electric blue threads of cum erupting from my tarse.

Her wide eyes take in the scene, and to my horror, I moan out her name, sending another spurt of pleasure coursing through me.

Wyn opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. The air between is thick with tension and the musk of my release.

"Shit, Wyn, I…"

The words are ragged, torn from my throat as I scramble for dignity that's beyond reach.

Quickly, I shove my tarse back into my pants while trying to reconcile the moment.

Wyn stammers an apology, the sound strangled, before she turns and dashes away like she just caught her boss in a compromising act.

Oh wait, she did.

"Wyn!"

I stand up to chase after her only to realize that there's a giant puddle of cum all over my desk.

Banging my head against my chair, I groan at the catastrophic turn of events.

HR is going to kill me.