Chapter 11

Morgan

As soon as I walked into his office, his piercing blue eyes leveled with mine, and immediately, all thoughts of keeping it professional flew right out the window.

Flashes of him ripping off my panties and my skirt, of him bending me over the desk and slapping my ass as he sunk his cock into me again and again until I came and fell apart right beneath him whirled through my mind on repeat, no matter how hard I tried to stop them.

My legs went weak as I ratcheted my chin upward and swallowed hard, hoping my emotions weren't playing out all over my face like they always did.

Glancing around, I noticed that his office was put together like yesterday had never happened. All the papers, his pens, his small clock, and his picture frame were all back in their retrospective spots on his desk. Nothing was out of place.

Except for me.

"Miss Davis," he began. "It's nice to see you again."

"Mr. Blackwater," I greeted, keeping my reply curt, to the point, and utterly professional.

Stop thinking with your pussy, goddammit.

"Are you ready to get to work?" he asked, but his gaze roved up and down my body like he was imagining me standing before him naked, and my clit throbbed with need at the thought.

"Of course," I replied, my mouth dry as cotton.

I swallowed hard, trying to think of something, anything really, to break the building tension between us.

Out of curiosity, or maybe sheer desperation, I reached out and picked up the picture frame. I turned it to see a group of children, all smiling in the direction of the camera.

I'd found no mention of children in my research. Had I not been thorough enough? Were they a product of his previous work affairs? Did they belong to other women?

A spark of jealousy ignited in my chest at the thought of him with another woman, of having children with someone else, and it took me by surprise. Immediately, I pushed it aside, embarrassed that my thoughts had taken such a turn.

Way to put the cart before the horse, crazy pants.

It was one night, and we were pretending it didn't happen, right?

"Those are kids from a local orphanage," he explained. "I volunteer there when my schedule allows. They're all in and out of the foster system, most of them because their parents lost custody over drug-related issues," he offered. I hadn't expected that.

I turned the frame towards him, my curiosity piqued. "What are their names?"

He smiled, a genuine warmth lighting up his face as he pointed to each child in turn. "That's Mia, she's the eldest, always looking out for the younger ones. Next to her is Carlos, he's a bit of a troublemaker but has a heart of gold. The twins, Ava and Bella, they're inseparable. And the little guy in the front, that's Jamie. He's the newest to the group. His mother died of an overdose just last year. He's still getting used to life in the system, but I try to make them as comfortable as I can."

I placed the frame back on his desk, doing my best to hide the volley of sadness that pierced my heart.

I couldn't have children. I couldn't be that for him even if I tried.

It was only a few years ago during a routine medical check-up that I first learned about the cyst on my ovary. The doctor's words had been gentle but firm, explaining that the cyst was of a significant size and posed serious risks. The most heart-wrenching part of the diagnosis was the realization that it made it too dangerous for me to conceive and carry a child. The risks associated with pregnancy were too high, both for me and for any potential child.

I felt like less of a woman because of it.

I swallowed past my sadness and instead focused on the man right in front of me. It was silly to even worry about children.

After all, it was simply one night. Who knew if it even meant anything?

"That's commendable, Mr. Blackwater. It's good to see someone in your position giving back to the community," I said, offering a smile to cover up the emotions surging inside of me.

He nodded, his expression turning serious again. "It's important to me. These kids deserve every chance they can get."

Did he really mean that?

He sounded genuine, but I couldn't be certain. Maybe he was just putting on a front for me. I couldn't help but wonder if this was just crafted for the public eye or even for my benefit. In the world of high-powered business and PR, appearances were often meticulously constructed, and it wouldn't be the first time I'd encountered someone whose public and private selves were starkly different.

I would hold onto my reservations until he proved otherwise.

I cleared my throat. It was time to get to work. I reached into my laptop bag and pulled out a folder with my outline for how to move forward with his company's PR.

"Would you like to get started?" I asked.

He paused, his heated gaze finding mine before he nodded once.

"To begin, one of the key strategies is to increase your visibility in philanthropic endeavors," I began, pointing to the first document. "Given your involvement with the local orphanage and the kids, we could arrange a series of public events to highlight this. It aligns perfectly with improving the company's community image."

Hunter leaned in, his attention focused on the papers. "I like that," he said, his finger tracing the outline of the plan.

I nodded, pleased by his approval. "Another approach is leveraging your advancements in nanotechnology for environmental sustainability. We could host a tech conference, inviting key industry leaders and influencers to discuss future possibilities."

"That could work," he mused, his gaze meeting mine. "It positions us as industry leaders and innovators."

His hand brushed against mine as he reached for the outline, sending an unexpected jolt of electricity through me. I wasn't certain whether it was accidental or intentional, but it only served to escalate the underlying chemistry between us.

I continued outlining the strategies I'd come up with, but my focus wavered each time our hands came into contact. At one point, as I reached for a document, Hunter's hand gently clasped my wrist, stopping me.

"And what about dealing with direct questions about my family's past?" he asked, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. My breath stuck in the back of my throat.

I looked up, meeting his intense gaze. "We tackle it head-on," I replied, my voice steady despite the racing of my heart. "Acknowledge it, but pivot to the present and future achievements. Your past doesn't define your company's trajectory."

He nodded slowly, releasing my wrist but his eyes still locked on mine. "You're good at this, Morgan," he said, a hint of something more than professional admiration in his tone.

The tension, the attraction—it was all there, simmering just beneath the surface of every word, every breath, every soft touch. We were walking a fine line, balancing on the edge of professional decorum and personal desire.

"Thank you," I whispered, his praise making my heart pound in my chest. I glanced down at the outline, trying to gather myself, and I licked my lips.

At that exact moment, my gaze flicked up to meet his, and I saw him watching the tip of my tongue journey across my upper lip.

His expression turned absolutely molten.

I wished he would just reach out, grab the back of my neck, and kiss me.

Again…