Crossing The Line

MERET

There should've been a handbook for situations like this.

How to Recover After Making Your Boss Orgasm Before Office Hours.

Step one:

Don't stand there staring at the stains on your blouse like an idiot.

Unfortunately, I was still stuck on step one.

If there were a support group for women like me, this was probably where I'd introduce myself.

Hello, my name is Meret Sterling, and I just cheated on my husband with my boss before eight o'clock in the morning.

God.

I was going to hell.

What the hell have I done?

The thought didn't crash through my mind.

It slipped in quietly, cold and precise, like a scalpel sliding between my ribs.

My gaze drifted to my hand.

It was still sticky.

Still glistening.

Still carrying undeniable proof of what I'd done.

"Go clean yourself up," Adrian said, his voice as calm as ever. "Unless you want the staff to see the stains on your clothes."

I looked up at him.

Just... look at him.

Utterly composed, as though he hadn't just dismantled my entire moral compass in under ten minutes.

"What just happened was a mistake," I said, my voice paper-thin as I forced the words through my dry throat. "And it can never happen again."

He released a slow, unhurried breath.

The sound alone sent an infuriating wave of heat through me.

"There's no need to overreact."

"Overreact?" I echoed, my voice rising despite every effort to keep it down. "I am a married woman who just gave her boss a handjob in his office, and you're calling that an overreaction?"

I stared at him in disbelief.

"Don't you see how wrong this is?" My voice cracked. "How completely fucked up this is?"

"Oh, you knew exactly how fucked up it was," Adrian murmured. "Yet you didn't take your hand off my cock."

He tilted his head ever so slightly.

"Or should I remind you how you were standing in my bathroom a few minutes ago, devouring me with your eyes?"

Say something, Meret.

Defend yourself.

I parted my lips, desperate to throw up a shield of righteous indignation.

Nothing came out.

It was amazing, really, how quickly the moral high ground crumbled when someone pointed out you'd been an active participant in your own downfall.

I wanted to play the innocent victim.

The loyal wife who'd been overwhelmed by her powerful boss.

But Adrian wasn't buying the performance.

He'd had a front-row seat to my hypocrisy, and now he was using it to peel away every last layer of it.

"Stop pretending," he purred.

He took one slow step closer, trapping me between his body and the desk once again.

"And get used to the taste of trouble, Meret."

His dark eyes held mine.

"Because your hands were just the warm-up." His voice dropped to a dangerous murmur. "Next time, you're going to use your mouth."

"You're an asshole," I snapped.

I took a sharp step backward, putting as much distance as I could between his warm body and my trembling one.

"You're out of your mind if you think there's going to be a next time." My voice shook despite my best efforts to steady it. "I don't want to be part of whatever... whatever this is."

I swallowed hard.

"We're done. From this moment on, we maintain a strictly professional boss-and-secretary relationship. Period."

Without waiting for a response, I spun on my heel and made a beeline for the heavy oak door.

"We'll see how long you keep that promise, Meret," Adrian called after me.

His voice was infuriatingly calm.

The voice of a man who already believed he'd won.

My fingers curled around the brass handle.

"Oh," he added casually, "nice earrings, by the way."

I froze.

"The pearls suit you."

Not even my husband had noticed I was wearing the earrings he'd bought me.

But Adrian had.

In the middle of an illicit encounter...

He'd noticed the tiny pearl studs resting against my ears.

A strange warmth unfurled inside my chest.

Ashamed of it, I buried the feeling as deeply as I could, pulled my trench coat tightly around my waist to hide the stain on my skirt, and stepped into the corridor without looking back.

I spent the next twenty minutes hiding in the bathroom, scrubbing at my blouse and skirt while giving myself the same speech over and over again.

Forget what happened.

Pretend it was just another one of those dreams.

Walk out of this bathroom, be the married woman you are, and remember that the only man you're supposed to have eyes for is your husband.

You know what they say.

It's always easier said than done.

My boss's filthy words haunted me for the rest of the day.

It didn't even matter that he was barely around.

Every time my eyes wandered toward his office, the memory of that morning replayed itself in vivid detail.

And every time I remembered the way he'd moaned my name...

Heat pooled low in my stomach all over again.

I let out a sigh, pressing my thighs together before forcing my attention back to the mountain of paperwork waiting on my desk.

Thankfully, the workday passed faster than I expected.

The second the clock signaled it was time to leave, I grabbed my bag and hurried out of Beaumont Global Holdings.

Distance.

That's what I needed.

Because temptation was much easier to resist when it was miles away.

By the time I got home, evening had already settled in.

I twisted the front door open and stepped inside.

The rich aroma drifting from the kitchen told me Ethan was already home.

I followed the smell into the kitchen.

There he was.

Standing behind the island in a faded T-shirt, humming softly to an acoustic playlist as he stirred a pot of marinara sauce.

He looked so innocent.

So warm.

The very picture of a loving husband preparing dinner for his wife after a long day at work.

Guilt crashed into me without warning.

"You came home early today," he said with a smile, glancing over his shoulder before turning back to the stove. "How was your day?"

How was my day?

Well, Ethan...

Around 7:00 a.m., I watched my boss shower, gave him a handjob over his mahogany desk, and had to wash his climax out of my skirt before 8:00 a.m.

How was yours?

"Fine," I said, forcing the word past the tightness in my throat as I set my handbag on the dining table. "Just... a long day."

I slipped off my coat and draped it over the back of a chair.

"How was yours?"

"Mine went well," he replied, turning off the stove. "We closed that deal I told you about."

He turned to face me as I closed the distance between us.

"Wow, great." I wrapped my arms around his neck. "Guess what?"

"What?" He lifted a brow.

"You were all I could think about today," I lied, leaning in to capture his lips with mine.

Ethan kissed me back for a brief second before pulling away. His hands settled gently on my waist, a small, puzzled smile playing on his lips.

"Dinner's ready, babe. You should shower first..."

"That can wait," I interrupted.

My hand slipped past his belt and into his trousers, my fingers wrapping around his length. A rough breath escaped him the instant my grip tightened.

"Like that?" I whispered.

His answer came in the form of another hungry kiss, his lips claiming mine as his hands tightened around my hips.

Yes.

Fuck me, Ethan.

Touch me.

Fix me.

Save me from myself.

I broke the kiss, turned around, and braced my hands against the cool kitchen counter. With frantic fingers, I hitched up the hem of my skirt and arched my back, silently offering myself to him.

He pulled my panties aside, drew me against him, and thrust into me.

A loud moan tore from my throat as he settled into a fast, punishing rhythm.

I needed the heat.

The weight.

The familiar friction of my husband.

Anything to drown out the memory of my boss's office.

"Faster, Ethan. Harder!" I gasped, my fingernails digging into the marble countertop.

Faster.

Harder.

Wash him out of me.

Make me forget how big he felt.

Make me forget his hands in my hair.

Get Adrian fucking Beaumont out of my head—

"Argh!" Ethan grunted, his body tensing as release overtook him.

The rhythm stopped as abruptly as it had begun.

Seconds later, he withdrew and adjusted his trousers, his breathing gradually returning to normal as though he'd just finished a light workout.

"Phew." He let out a satisfied breath as he fastened his belt. "That was great, right?"

Great?

I hadn't even...

I swallowed the thought before it could finish.

"Great," I forced out, adjusting my clothes with numb fingers.

"Go wash up."

He turned back to the stove, reaching for the plates while I walked toward the dining table to collect my things.

Just as I reached into my handbag, my phone buzzed.

The screen lit up.

1 New Message: Adrian Beaumont

My thumb hovered over the screen.

I know you tried to fuck me out of your head tonight, Meret. It won't work.

See you at eight sharp tomorrow.

Wear a skirt.