บททั้งหมดของ Paperwork and Hearthbeats: บทที่ 71 - บทที่ 80

“You have no idea what the image of you wearing my clothes does to me,” Oliver murmured between kisses, his breath hot against her skin. “Show me,” Harper muttered between sweet moans. Oliver’s control shattered at the sound of her breathless encouragement. With a guttural groan, he pushed her back against the pillows, his larger frame caging hers beneath him. The lamplight caught the sharp planes of his muscles as he settled between her legs, his hardness pressing insistently against the thin silk separating them. “I will show you,” he promised roughly, his voice thick with need. “I will show you exactly how much I want you when you talk about wearing my clothes and smelling like me.” His tore through the delicate silk fabric of her light blue nigh gown, like it was tissue paper. The silk ripped apart easily under his impatient fingers, baring her breasts to his hungry gaze. “Fuck,” he breathed reverently as he stare

Eventually, Oliver decided he should probably use the bathroom before she stirred awake. Carefully extricating himself from her embrace required considerable effort– every fibre of his being protested leaving this comfortable cocoon. He moved silently across the room to grab his clothes from yesterday from the floor and padded quietly into the attached bathroom.Once inside the bathroom, Oliver dressed in his wrinkled suit pants and undershirt. He emerged a few minutes later with damp hair combed neatly back from his face, looking significantly more put-together despite the early hour. Returning to the bedroom he found Harper stirring slightly beneath the covers. Her eyes blinked open slowly as consciousness returned, and a sleepy smile touched her lips when they landed on him standing by the bedroom. “Morning,” he greeted softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Sleep well?” he sat on the edge of the mattress facing her, one

“You could always go out with Knox again,” Harper suggested. Oliver’s spoon clattered against his mug as he froze mid-stir, his head snapping toward her with wide-eyed surprise. “Knox? The designer who thinks wearing socks with sandals is a fashion statement?” Glen burst out laughing at his horrified expression. “Oh, come on! Knox is not that bad. He just has– unique taste.” Oliver shuddered dramatically. “Unique is a generous word. I one saw him wear a leather jacket to a beach party. In eighty-degree weather.” he turned back to look at Harper with a pleading look. “Glen went on a date with Knox. Everything was going smoothly until Glen criticised Kilts,” Harper explained. Glen sighed dramatically. “I am not Scottish, sue me,” he complained.Oliver nearly choked on his coffee at Glen’s dramatic recounting, his shoulders shaking with a silent laughter. “You criticized his hilts? Kn

At Harper’s desk, or her old desk, the new secretary was already seated. As Harper approached, she looked over the new hire. She has long, black hair that falls naturally past her shoulders, slightly tousled but well-kept, framing her face. Her complexion is smooth, and her facial features are soft yet defined, with dark eyebrows, calm brown eyes and a neutral, composed expression. She is wearing a dark grey blazer that fits close to her body, giving a tailored, structured look. Underneath, she has a simple dark top, keeping the outfit understated and cohesive. Around her neck is a delicate necklace, subtle but noticeable. ‘Damn, she is pretty,’ Harper thought as she went to stand beside the new hire, feeling a pang of jealously she quickly supresses. “Good morning,” Harper said with the friendliest tone she can muster. “Oh, good morning. You aren’t from IT by any chance?” she asks in a professional tone of voice. “No, I am&helli

Harper just smiled softly. “Yes, sir. I– I will see you at lunch time,” she said and moved over the the desk to pick up her purse. Oliver’s icy blue eyes followed her movement as she retrieved her purse from the desk that was no longer hers, the casual way she called him ‘sir,’– it all felt like a deliberate provocation. “Do not be late,” he called after her, his voice carrying just enough authority to sound like an order rather than a request. His gaze lingered on the doorway long after she had disappeared down the hallways toward the elevators. The familiar scent of her perfume seemed to linger in the air. “Sir? Should I forward these emails to your personal account?” Stella asked hesitantly, holding up her tablet. Oliver forced his attention back to business though his mind kept replaying her parting words. Lunch. Another opportunity for casual conversation disguised as professional obligation.The elevator