The Stranger Behind My Orgasm

Abigail

I picked up the document my jerk of a boss had oh so gracefully flung at me, thumbing through the pages. It was on a deal with the German company Muller on the car compartments we were building for the Muller vehicle.

"Could you be more specific,Sir?"

Those green eyes glared at me so sharply, they could have cut glass. "Page four. The acceleration estimate for the vehicle. Would you like to explain to me why they’re different?"

I turned to page four, read it, 8.00005%, then turned to page two to check the numbers, 8.00000%. He got mad because of this? The difference was so small, it was almost insignificant. He really was a perfectionist, I understood why he was respected by everyone because who noticed such a tiny detail?

And for someone who paid so much attention to such tiny details, how did he not figure out I was Aphrodite? I stole a peek at him and bit back a wince when his green eyes lanced through me.

"I see the problem,"

"Enlighten me." He said dryly and I narrowed my eyes, strutting around the desk.

My heels dug into the carpet with each distance I covered between us and came to stand beside him, close enough that I could smell his cologne, that devastating Tom Ford scent, that I absolutely did not have a physical reaction to, not at all, not even slightly.

I placed the document flat on his desk in front of him like a dignified person instead of the barbaric way he flung it at me and pointed to the email timestamp at the bottom of the page.

"This version of the proposal was submitted by James Tyler in engineering at four fifty-three pm last Wednesday." I tapped the timestamp.

"I received the final briefing folder, Thursday morning. My name is on the cover sheet because I compiled and distributed it. But the figures," I flipped to page four, "...were already wrong before the document ever reached my desk. I simply worked with the data I was given, Mr Wolfe. I didn’t realis it was a mistake."

"You should have done more than that," He snapped. "You were at the meeting, I do not employ you to simply just work with what you were given, you should be fucking smarter than that,"

And you should be less of an asshole.

I almost said, wondering why he was behaving like a Neanderthal today. Again. Did he thrive on being an asshole or what exactly went wrong?

"I apologize,sir." I picked the document up, mouthing my next words in a low tone "not everyone can be a perfectionist like you,"

"What did you say?"

The look he gave me could have frozen the Mississippi solid. He rose from his chair, which was a mistake on his part because now he was standing, I was standing and we were approximately fourteen inches apart.

The man was tall, his shoulders broad, his sleeves were rolled up.

Do not look at the tattoo, Do not look at the tattoo, Do not-

I looked at the tattoo.

Fuck me, he drove me insane and angry and I was so damned putty for him.

Black ink spiraling up his muscular forearm was right there, inches from my hand, and suddenly I wasn’t in his office anymore. I was on the floor of the Sanctuary arena with his fingers in my hair as he stuffed my throat full of his cock. That same tattooed forearm had flexed while he dismantled me completely, left me ruined and absolutely out of my mind.

A tiny broken whimper left my lips, coming from somewhere low in my belly before I could stop it. My thighs pressed together instinctively under my skirt. His eyes dropped to my lips and they blazed.

Something shifted in those green depths, hot and searching. His gaze dropped to my pressed thighs for just a fraction of a second before snapping back up to my face and my skin prickled everywhere his eyes moved.

"I said, is there anything else I could do for you, sir or can I go on my lunch break now?"

But even as the lies slipped past my lips, I knew he had heard me the first time.

Not only did he have a perfectionist syndrome, he had perfect ears, too?

"The next time," he said very quietly, "you speak to me like that, you’re fired."

"Yes, sir." I said dryly, taking a step back, grateful for that warning.

If he ever found out I was Aphrodite, I was fired, I just knew that. I turned to leave when his hand shot out to grab mine. A gasp left my lips when he yanked me closer, his hot breath whipping against my face.

"I do not make threats, Abigail,"

A huge lump pushed down my throat. Gosh, the way my name rolled off his tongue. The first time he had called me by my first name had been in the elevator, and I had been too busy struggling to breathe, to revel in it.

Now, it washed all over me, stroking and teasing my skin, my nipples tightening.

Then he shoved me away from him slightly and the moment was over. I strutted briskly toward the connecting door, very aware of his eyes following me and made sure to roll my hips and make my ass jiggle with each step because I could, duh.

I had barely plopped on my seat, sighing in relief when my intercom buzzed.

"Clear my schedule from one o’clock." He grunted through the speaker. "Order white peonies and have them delivered here before noon."

"Noted, boss," I said, in my most pleasant professional voice, pulling up the florist’s website on my laptop.

Where was he going this afternoon that required flowers? This was the first time since I started working here that he had demanded to have his schedule cleared.

Maybe he’s seeing someone?

I shook my head, tapping the keyboard rapidly to enter the office address for delivery of the flowers. He didn’t seem like a man who would go to a sex club when he had a lover and it didn’t help matters that the man had a private life. There was nothing personal splashed on scandalous websites about him.

I sat back and told myself very firmly that the hollow feeling in my chest was hunger because I had skipped breakfast and definitely not because I wanted to know who was getting peonies from my caveman boss.

My phone buzzed with a text from Annette.

Annette: Babe. That address from the files? I traced it. Here’s the number connected to it. Let me know what happens.

I tapped the phone number immediately, dialling it. It rang twice then someone picked up.

"Hello,"

"Hello," a deep voice spoke from the other end. It was quite noisy. "Who is this ?"

"My name is Abigail Kellerman. I’m calling about an address that was found-"

The line went dead. When I called the number again, the service operator was kind enough to let me know the number did not exist.

Bull shit. What exactly was going on? Another dead end?