Chapter 3

MERET

Oscar Wilde once wrote:

"The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it."

If that was true...

Then I was in serious trouble.

Because I had exactly two choices.

Walk away.

Or destroy everything I'd spent the last three years building.

The terrifying part was that my body seemed determined to make the choice for me.

Stop staring.

Take your eyes off his cock.

Walk away, Meret.

What's the worst that could happen besides getting fired?

Beaumont Global Holdings wasn't the only company in the country.

I was twenty-seven years old.

I could find another job.

...Couldn't I?

But what if Adrian Beaumont decided to make my life a living hell?

What if he made me pay for watching him in the bathroom?

What if he told people about it?

The questions crashed into one another, each one louder than the last, until I could barely hear myself think.

Adrian watched me in silence, his dark eyes fixed on my face as if he could see every frantic thought tearing through my mind.

"Scared?" he asked, his voice calm, almost amused. "Is that what this is? After six months of devouring me with your eyes across the boardroom, you freeze the moment I give you what you want?"

"This... this is wrong, Mr. Beaumont," I stammered. "I love my husband."

"Then why aren't you looking at the door?" Adrian murmured.

He took another slow step forward until his broad chest blocked out the light behind him.

"You haven't looked at the door once, Meret." His voice dropped lower, softer. "You're looking right at my cock."

My pulse kicked.

"You're terrified," he continued, "because you know the second you put your hand on me, your quiet little marriage is over."

Heat rushed to my face.

With every ounce of willpower I had left, I dragged my gaze away from him and forced myself to look into his dark eyes instead.

"You're insane," I whispered, my voice cracking under the weight of my own nerves.

"No," he replied quietly.

The backs of two fingers skimmed slowly along the line of my jaw, sending an involuntary shiver through me.

"I'm just realistic." His gaze never left mine. "And right now, you want me more than you want your vows."

I should've been offended.

Every normal married woman would've been.

Instead...

My knees felt even weaker.

What is wrong with me?

Is this some kind of fetish?

Do I have a thing for men who talk to me like this... or am I just hopelessly attracted to my boss?

You're the one who's insane, Meret Sterling.

"I..." My throat had gone so dry I couldn't force out a single coherent defense.

"You do realize you cut my morning short," he said, his voice dropping into a dangerous register. "I was seconds away from finishing before you slammed your knee into my door."

"That was—"

"Don't you think you owe me a release, Meret?" he interrupted again, my name rolling off his tongue like silk. "You ruined my high. Now you have to pay for it."

This was probably the wrong time to admit how much I loved the way he said my name.

Not that it mattered.

Before I could react, Adrian reached for my wrist.

Ignoring my startled gasp, he guided my hand forward until my fingers closed around him.

The instant my skin made contact with his cock, a low, strained groan rumbled from deep in his throat.

"Right there," he rasped.

His grip tightened around my wrist, urging my fingers to close more firmly.

"Start moving."

God.

He felt...

No.

Don't think that.

Take your hand off him.

Now.

But my hand refused to obey.

It was as though it had forgotten how to let go, frozen where it rested while every frantic thought in my head screamed at me to pull away.

"I don't think we should be doing this."

The words sounded weak, even to my own ears.

"Right," Adrian groaned. "You keep saying that, but your hand is telling me something completely different."

He was right.

My fingers had already closed around him, and my arm had begun to move almost of its own accord.

Down to the base.

Then back up to the sensitive tip.

Slowly at first, before settling into a steady rhythm.

The heat radiating from him seeped into my palm, each movement making my pulse race a little faster.

I wanted to believe I'd lost my mind.

It was the only explanation that made any sense.

I was a married woman standing in my boss's private office, arousal coiling low in my stomach as I touched another man.

"Fuck, Meret," Adrian growled.

The sound of my name falling from his lips sent a violent shiver through me.

It rolled down my spine and settled deep between my thighs.

I wanted to hear it again.

No...

I needed to hear it again.

"Look at you."

His hand slid into the back of my hair, his fingers threading through the strands until they curled tightly against my scalp, anchoring me in place as I maintained the rhythm.

"You keep insisting you're a good little wife," he said, his voice rough with strain, "but your grip is tight as hell."

His fingers tightened slightly in my hair.

"You like feeling how big I am for you, don't you?"

My throat bobbed.

"You love knowing I'm about to blow my fucking load right in your hands."

Every filthy word that left his mouth fed the fire already burning inside me.

Driven by something I no longer understood, my movements quickened.

My hand glided faster, each stroke drawing another strained breath from him until the only sounds filling the office were his ragged breathing and the frantic pounding of my own heart.

"Ah—fuck, Meret... I'm gonna cum," he rasped, his hips jerking forward into my hand as his grip tightened painfully in my hair.

A low, guttural roar tore from his throat as his entire body went rigid.

A thick, hot wave spilled across the front of my silk blouse before cascading heavily down the navy fabric of my skirt. His cock pulsed again and again, coating my clothes in its warmth.

Adrian rested his forehead against mine, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Every exhale brushed hot against my lips.

"Good girl," he whispered.

A dark, satisfied smirk curved across his lips as his gaze drifted down my body, taking in my ruined blouse and skirt.

"Look at the mess you made."

Then he stepped back.

He left me standing there, completely frozen, my hand still sticky and glistening.

The silence rushed back into the office.

It was deafening.

Ice-cold.

Oh, God.

My gaze dropped to the stains covering my skirt before slowly lifting to Adrian, who was already reaching for a towel as casually as though none of this had ever happened.

He turned to me, tying the towel around his waist.

"Don't look so terrified, Meret," he said softly. "Now you know what happens when you stop resisting."

Oscar Wilde was wrong.

Yielding to temptation didn't make it disappear.

It only made room for more.