Bab 6: Chapter 6

"Damn," I said.

I felt her clamp around me as she gasped, her breath becoming raspy. I started to move into her hard and quickly against the wall, and she bit into the shoulder of my jacket and wrapped her leg around me. I couldn't care less if someone entered the stairway at any time and saw me fucking her. I had to get rid of her from my body.

My lower lip was taken between her teeth as she raised her head off of my shoulder and began to bite up my neck.

She hissed, "Close," and cinched her leg around me to yank me in even farther. "I'm near,"

Perfect.

When I swiftly and violently entered her, gripping her ass in my hands, I buried my face in her neck and hair to hide the moan. I yanked her away before she could continue to grind herself against me and set her down on shaky legs.

She gave me a thundering expression as she gaped. Leaden quiet engulfed the staircase.

She let out a huge breath, "Really?" With a dull thump, her head slammed back into the wall.

Thank you, it was great. My jeans were down to my knees.

You're an asshole, I said.

I said as I pulled up my zipper, gazing down. "You've mentioned this," I added. She had adjusted her clothing when I glanced back up, but she still had a lovely disheveled appearance. A part of me wanted to reach out and press my palm against her to force her to come. But a bigger part of me enjoyed the irrational anger in her eyes. "What goes around, comes around, so to speak."

She gently said, "It's really bad you're such a nasty liar. As she began to go down the steps, she unexpectedly halted and spun around to look in my direction.

And it's fortunate that I'm taking the medication. I appreciate you asking, jackass.

I growled in annoyance as I watched her go down the stairs and then marched back to my office. With a loud groan, I collapsed into my chair and ran my hands through my hair before removing the torn underwear from my pocket. I briefly contemplated the white silk fabric in my hands before removing them from my desk drawer and combining them with the pair from the previous evening.

I whispered to myself as I rushed out of the stairway, "I have no idea how I made it down those stairs without breaking my neck." When Mr. Ramirez has finally left alone, he seemed sexually battered, dazed, and untidy. I hurried by the café on the fourteenth floor before leaping to the last landing. In these shoes, it wasn't simple. I pulled open the metal door once I was outside and leaned against the wall to collect my breath.

What occurred just now? Is it true that my boss and I just had sex in the stairwell? My hands flew to cover my mouth as I gasped. Is that what I truly told him to do? God, oh, God. Why am I so flawed?

I wandered up a couple of flights of stairs to the closest bathroom while in a haze. I turned the latch on the main entrance after making sure none of the booths were occupied. I cringed as I walked up to the bathroom mirror and saw myself. I seemed to have been thrown after being used. All of the painstakingly created waves in my hair were knotted up in a jumble in my hair. My hair must have been more to Mr. Ramirez's liking. The idea of recalling it made me cringe. Say what? From whence did that come? I wouldn't keep it in mind. I smashed my fist on the counter and looked in the mirror.

My clothing was stretched out and barely fitting me, and my lips were puffy and caked with makeup. I was once again without my pants. Oh, dear. The second pair was those. What exactly was he doing with them?

I panicked and cried out, "Oh, God!" as I searched for where my underwear may be. I questioned if they were stacked up in the conference room or whether Mr. Ramirez had thrown them out. I considered asking him but decided against it since I wouldn't even give him the pleasure of knowing what this was.

I shook my head and used my hands to wash my face. This morning, I had a strategy in mind. I was going to tell him to shove it and throw the receipt in his face. But when he arrived, dressed in that incredibly stunning charcoal Prada suit, I simply lost all ability to think clearly. Pathetic. Why did he make my head mush and my underwear wet, and what was it about him? This was a bad idea. How could I stand in front of him without picturing him naked?

When I realized what I had just said, I muttered, "Oh no." to myself.

I briefly pondered giving up, but it didn't seem right. Even though Mr. Ramirez was the biggest jerk in the world, I liked my job and knew how to cope with him since I had worked with him for nine months. Even though I hated to admit it, I like seeing him at work. He was a complete jerk because he was a paralyzingly impatient perfectionist. He didn't tolerate anything less than the greatest effort and held everyone to the same standards he set for himself. Even though I didn't always agree with his approaches, I valued the requirement that I perform better, work more, and go above and beyond to complete the task at hand. He and his family members were all true marketing geniuses.

Then I began to consider his family. My father was in North Dakota, and Elliott Ramirez had been kind to me when I began working there as a receptionist while I was still in college. All of them had. Henry, another top executive, and Robert's brother was the kindest person I'd ever encountered. I was here because I loved everyone, therefore leaving was not an option.

I responded in a hurry, "I should question him to make sure. They weren't piled up someplace in the conference room, were they? Could it be that he grabbed them and flung them aside?" I inhaled deeply and shook my head while using my hands to touch my face. "God, I'd really messed up."

When I arrived at work that morning, I had a plan. I was prepared to resign and fling the receipt in Robert Ramirez's direction. But when he arrived, dressed in a Prada suit, I was unable to think clearly. He made my head mush and my underwear wet, which I detested. This was a bad idea. How was I supposed to look him in the eye without seeing him naked? Although I hadn't really seen him entirely stripped yet, what I had seen gave me the chills.

I briefly considered leaving my work, but it didn't seem right. I had put up with Mr. Ramirez's haughtiness for nine months and I enjoyed my work. I was the only one who could manage him. I enjoyed seeing him work and was grateful for the encouragement he gave me to do better. His whole family was a marketing genius, including him. And ever since I began working as a receptionist when I was still in college, his family had been kind to me. Henry, another top executive, and Robert's brother was the kindest person I'd ever encountered. Simply said, giving up was not an option.

After making that choice, I realized I needed a strategy. I was required to maintain my composure and ensure that Mr. Ramirez and I never had sex again. He was still an ass who preferred to hold back orgasms even though it was the hottest, most intense sex I had ever experienced. I yelled at myself, "Ass." I was a powerful, independent woman with a future to create. My body and intellect were not subject to desire. All I had to do was recall what a jerk he was. He was a womanizing, cocky, and pigheaded asshat who believed everyone was stupid.

As I grinned at myself in the mirror, I relived some recent Robert Ramirez recollections. I appreciate you getting me coffee, Miss Brown, but if I had intended to drink mud this morning, I would have dipped my cup in the dirt from the garden. "Miss Brown, I'd appreciate it if you kept the door separating our offices closed if you insist on banging your keyboard like you're hammering gophers at home." "Why is it taking you so long to get the contract drafts to legal? Does fantasizing about farm lads consume all of your free time? I understood that it would be simpler than I had anticipated.

I adjusted my clothes, combed my hair, and marched out of the restroom with a renewed feeling of purpose. I thought to myself, "I just had to recall what a jerk he was. I soon found the coffee I was looking for and swiftly made my way back to my office, being careful to stay off the stairs.

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