DAMON

"Five million dollars?!" Javier slaps today's New York Times newspaper on my desk. "Have you lost your damn mind?!"

My gaze floats to the photograph of Quinton and me on the front page, Emery standing off to the side. NovaTech Pharmaceuticals and Cavanaugh Industries Donate a Record-Breaking 20 Million Dollars to Manhattan Children's Hospital. No mention of my apparent 'assault' as Life Weekly reported yesterday. While the trashy tabloids are still reveling in my outburst, the more respectable publications have shifted focus to the opening of a new cancer wing courtesy of our donation.

Quinton managed to expertly brush off all questions pertaining to the altercation between us at the gala.

"Oh, it was nothing. Simply a case of backyard wrestling gone bad. I bobbed when I should have weaved. Entirely my fault."

My jaw ticks. If it weren't for Emery, Quinton would have paid a premium price for a front-row ticket to my inevitable demise.

"It'll be a tax write-off," I say, pushing the newspaper away and glaring up at Javier. "Anything else?"

He shakes his head. "You could've made a statement, Damon. A statement wouldn't have cost us seven figures. How do you plan to explain this to the board?"

I roll my eyes. "I cleaned up a mess that I spilled. No other explanation is required."

"You—" Javier's eyes widen as he runs a frantic hand through his hair. "Are you purposely trying to get ousted? Is that what you're doing? Jesus, Damon, I said fix it, not make it worse!"

I grit my teeth. "I did fix it. The discourse has shifted. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"No!" Javier growls, slamming his hand on the edge of my desk. "I wanted you to stop acting so fucking erratic! This—" He points a firm finger on the newspaper. "Pledging five fucking million dollars to a charity without board approval? This is erratic!"

I lean back in my chair and fold my arms across my chest. "It's not like the money isn't there. And it's for a good cause."

"That's not the point, Damon. You know that. We have protocols, procedures..." Javier trails off, his voice growing hoarse with frustration.

"I know," I say, with a resigned sigh. "I just..." I pause, searching for the right words. The last thing Javier needs to know is that this was Emery's plan, not mine. That would guarantee my institutionalization. "This was time-sensitive. I needed to act right away. I didn't have the luxury to follow proper procedure."

Javier's expression softens slightly. "I understand that, Damon, but we have procedures in place for a reason, especially when we have a corporate budget to uphold."

"It won't happen again," I say in a clipped tone. "I've already sent an email to the board explaining the situation. It's dealt with Javier, okay? You—"

A light knock sounds from the door. "Am I interrupting?"

Javier snaps his head at Emery. "Ye—"

"Not at all. We're done here," I say, glowering at Javier. "He was just leaving."

Emery lets out a small gasp as Javier storms past her, nearly knocking her off her feet. "Well, someone's in a bad mood," she says, closing the door behind her as she steps into my office. I drop my head into my hands, releasing a heavy sigh. "Oh, and apparently it's contagious. What's wrong?"

"About five million things are wrong, Miss Jones," I grumble as she rounds my desk. "The board's on my ass about your little donation." I peer up at her, and she gives me a cheeky little pout. "What?"

"You looked stressed," she hums, dropping a folder on my desk before striding toward me. "Are you stressed, mister Cavanaugh?"

"Is it that obvious, Miss Jones?" I spin my chair, follow her, and lean back. The mischievous look in her green eyes jolt my system, blood rushing through my veins with anticipation. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Maybe..." She gives me a coy shrug as she settles between my parted legs and leans over. The top button of her emerald blouse pops open, her breath tickling my ear as she whispers, "I'm a little stressed too."

"Is that so?" I rasp, gripping the armrest as her wandering hand finds the outline of my cock, rubbing it up and down in slow, calculated strokes.

"Mhmm..." Her teeth graze against the soft shell of my ear before she bites down, a brief burst of pain flaring my arousal. "I think we both need a little break, don't you?"

"As much as I'd love to take a break, Miss Jones—" I swallow, intoxicated by her humming voice. "We both have a lot of projects to complete today and—" Emery's pressure deepens, and my spine curves from her menacing touch. "Jesus Christ..."

"Oh, come on, mister Cavanaugh..." Her tongue trails a wet path down the length of my neck. "We deserve to celebrate, don't we? We avoided a giant PR crisis..." Her voice drops to a debilitating timber as she sinks down on her knees in front of me, those big fucking eyes of hers peering up at me through a black veil of lashes. Biting her bottom lip, she slowly unbuckles my belt, thumbing the zipper and dragging it down. "Looks like someone wants to celebrate," she says as my cocks springs free, standing erect and throbbing before her. She tilts her head, palming the base of my shaft. "Just a little? Hmm?"

"I have a—" Fucking brat. My thigh muscles clench, hips bucking forward, a ripple of pleasure washing over me as she bends over, taking all eight inches in that smart mouth of hers. "Fuck..."

I place my hand on the back of her head, fingers weaving her through hair, gripping the roots as she bobs up and down, spit dripping down my cock. Sensing my preferred speed, she does exactly what she's not supposed to, and speeds up, cupping my balls in her free hand and rolling them in her palm.

"Slow down..." I rasp, closing my eyes, my sac hard and heavy and pulsing in her tormenting hold. "Slow—"

A low, devilish chuckle escapes her lungs as she comes up for air, replacing her mouth with both hands. With teary eyes and smeared makeup, she strokes my cock, unflinching and unafraid as her eyes meet mine. "Are you going to come already, mister Cavanaugh?"

"Is that what you want, Miss Jones?" I grunt, cupping her chin roughly between my fingers as she picks up speed. "You want me to come for you?" She nods, moaning as my thumb dips in between her dirty fucking lips. "Open your mouth for me, mami. Open your fucking mouth so you can taste me—" My command is drowned out by three hard knocks on the door. Fuck. I snap my head at the clock. He's fucking early. "Shit! It's Quinton."

Emery's eyes widen with intrigue as she glances at the door. "Oh..." She lifts a scheming brow, casting me a cunning smile. "This should be fun." Before I can protest, she shifts her position, crawling under my desk, her grip around my cock unyielding. "What're you waiting for, Damon?" She giggles. "Let him in."

This woman will be the death of me. What in the actual fuck?! "You'll pay for this," I whisper in a harsh tone, rotating the chair and inching closer to the desk. Her hand tightens around my dick in response. I suppose I'm in no position to make threats. Clearing my throat, I call out, "Come in!"

Quinton swings open the door and glances around my office. After judging my decor choices for an appropriate amount of time, he lets out a condescending whistle. "Lovely office, Cavanaugh. It's very you."

"Thanks," I grumble out, motioning him to sit down.

"It wasn't a compliment, mate," Quinton grins as Emery shifts under my feet, restarting her ministrations at a painfully slow pace. "This space is far too dark for my liking. It's like a dungeon."

"I'll pass your feedback along to my decorator," I say, keeping my expression flat despite the little slut that's pressing her tongue against my cock. Jesus Christ! "Let's get this over and done with, shall we?"

"Why? In a rush to get me out?" Quinton places a funds transfer document on the table, three signature lines tabbed with blue markers. "You really should show me some gratitude, Cavanaugh. If it weren't for me, you'd most likely be out of a job today."

"Let's not pretend you did what you did for my benefit," I state, scribbling my signature on all three forms as Quinton sits down. "There." I push back the paper. "We're done here."

"Not for your benefit?" Quinton hikes his ankle over his thigh, crossing his arms over his chest, making himself comfortable. He's not leaving any time soon, is he? "And for whose benefit did I do it for?"

"Even you're not that stupid, Quinton." Emery's hot tongue flicks the tip of my dick, and I grip the pen in my hand. Fucking devil. Clearing my throat, I add, "I'm not in the mood to play games with you today. I trust you can see yourself out."

Quinton expels an animated sigh. "Not everyone has ulterior motives, Cavanaugh. Do you truly believe I would set aside all our differences and help you because of a woman?"

Emery pulls back, her strokes shorter, distracted. And I don't like it. Not one bit. "Cut the shit, Quinton. We both know that's the case." I hate saying. I hate knowing the truth.

"Or—" Quinton leaves over, lowering his voice. "Perhaps the reason I allowed you to stand beside me was purely selfish. Did you think of that? Perhaps I don't enjoy the media calling me a victim, hmm?"

"Sure—"

"Or..." He gives me a shrewd smirk. "Perhaps my motive was far more sinister than you thought. Perhaps..." He cocks his head. "It's because I want you to be in my debt. Think about it, Cavanaugh... We were at stalemate not 48 hours ago, and now?" He chuckles. "Now I own you."

"Get out," I grunt, wrapping my hand around the back of Emery's neck, forcing her to stop her sloppy fucking licks. "Now."

Quinton clicks his tongue, sighing. "I would, Cavanaugh but—" His sharp gaze snaps down, and he grins. "But I don't want to miss the show." My body stiffens, ears burning hot as he raps his knuckles on the side of the desk. "You can come out now, little Emery..."

"Get the fuck out," I growl, feeling Emery shimmy between my legs. I snap my head down, fuming as I say to her, "Stay there."

Quinton feigns a frown of disapproval. "How dare you speak to her like a common mutt? She's a lady, Cavanaugh, not a tramp." He taps his fingers melodically on the black glass. "Come here, darling. You know I won't bite."

"Don't you dare—"

With a defiant and unabashed gleam in her eyes, Emery crawls out from under me, straightening out her blouse as she smiles down at Quinton. "Good afternoon, doctor."

"Great afternoon," he smirks at her, licking his lips. "You look..." He glances at me, disgusting and predatory as he finishes, "Messy. So...fucking...messy." He snaps his attention back to Emery. "Do you like being messy, darling?" He cocks his head. "A little dirty?"

Every single atom in my fucking body with bouncing with wrath, the need to protect what is rightfully mine. Bastard. Fucking cunt. If he thinks he can—

"I do," she whispers in a breathy tone, her chest rising and falling, almost in slow motion. "I like it a lot."

Rage blinds me, hearing muffled as I'm unable to accept the fact that she's answering him. In that tone. With that goddamn look in her eyes that makes me want to incinerate every single man on the fucking planet.

Quinton's eyes darken, a sly smile clipping the corner of his lips as he asks, "Are you wet right now, little Emery?" He pauses, meeting my livid eyes. "I think she's wet, Cavanaugh."

"Get. Out."

"I will..." He leans back into the chair, relaxing into the leather. "After." He pouts at Emery. "Look at the poor thing, Cavanaugh. Look are her pink little cheeks. She wants you." He cocks his head. "You want him, don't you, darling? Well, go on now. I'd love to see the show."

I want to ignore it. I want to pretend that I don't see her skin fucking glowing at the idea. But I can't. It's blinding. Her lust. Her need. Her goddamn desire to have him watch. Such a little slut. Such an insatiable fucking whore. Blood surges straight to my fucking cock, and in that moment, I know I have no control over anything. Not me. Not her. Not him.

"Tonight. The Playground," I say to Quinton despite my better judgment. I face Emery, her eyes chock-full of surprise. I was wrong about her. I once called her rain. She's not rain. She's not a delicate pour of nature. No. She's a storm. A violent hurricane. And Quinton was correct. I can't tame her. I can only chase her. "You can watch the show then."

The second she registers my words, something happens. Something rare. Something I've never truly seen. She smiles at me. Genuine. Pure. Thankful. And I know I'll be chasing that high forever.

***

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