Night Is Darkest by Jayne Rylon (books recommended by bts .TXT) 📕

“Then do you have a problem with me personally?”

Was it a problem that he was imagining pinning her up against the wall and ramming into her until she screamed her release? How the hell did he explain that to her without getting slapped with a sexual harassment suit in addition to the discrimination one?

“If I didn’t have complete confidence in your abilities, you wouldn’t work for Hauberk, and Chad wouldn’t have personally chosen you as team leader.”

That must have been the answer she was looking for. She nodded, and her shoulders imperceptibly relaxed. “Thank you.”

“I’m pis—ticked off at whoever is sending those damned photographs, and I fu—frickin’ don’t like having to accept that I had to ask my own people to protect me. Leaves me damned twitchy. So don’t take my grouchiness personally, Ms. Ramos. It’s not directed at you.”

No, what was pointing directly at her was his goddamned dick.

The elevator bounced once before the doors slid open, and Sam waited for her to precede him.

Aw, crap. Now he had to watch that bitable ass of hers walk along the hallway and that did nothing to help him control his raging hard-on.

She’s your employee. She’s a crack shot with that Glock 11 she carries. He almost groaned as the image of her bending over on the firing range, wiggling that ass at him, had his cock so hard it hurt.

She can stomp on your nuts and have you singing soprano without breaking a sweat.

Didn’t work. All his dick thought of was wrestling on the ground with her body pressing against him, over him, under him. Around him.

What was in that coffee of Sandy’s today that left him so fucking horny? Spanish fuckin’ fly?

As they approached the door to his apartment, the door to 1202 opened and Kris nodded. “Evening, Mr. Watson.”

Sam couldn’t help but notice his newest and youngest operative standing at attention, a worried frown marring that baby-smooth face of his. Aw hell. He’d stomped on that poor boy’s ego pretty good earlier. Hadn’t he been a bucket of sunshine today?

He stopped, and blew out a breath. “Look, Kris, I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have yelled at you this morning. I’ve been…”—a festering pile of self-centered dogshit?—“under a lot of pressure lately.”

Yeah, right, and if you buy that one, I’ve got some land in the Okefenokee for you.

“It’s all right, Mr. Watson. I don’t think I’d be feeling too happy if someone threatening me had access to my apartment and personal information either.”

He might have bought Kris’s smile if it hadn’t been for the Mr. Watson. Unlike some of his employees, Kris had never had a problem referring to him as Sam. Or even “buddy” on occasion in the gym. Mr. Watson meant he still had some fencing to mend.

“Chad told me you and Walters got those cameras in place.”

“Sir, yes, sir. It was no problem at all, sir.”

First Mr. Watson and now sir. And not just sir, but the military sir, yes sir. Well, he supposed it was natural for Kris to fall back on his naval training.

“I didn’t expect you’d have a problem with it, son.”

Son? Son? Kris is twenty-five, you idiot, not eight the way you’ve just made him feel. He’s not young enough to be your son.

Okay, technically he probably could have been a father at fourteen thanks to Becky Sue’s idea of a birthday present that year. Thank the good Lord above, she’d stolen a condom from her brother Billy’s bedside table before sneaking out. Not that he’d needed another condom for a coupla years after that, but if she’d not had the forethought that night, he could have been a daddy by his fifteenth birthday. But he sure as hell wasn’t old enough to call Kris son.

“Mr. Watson?” Rosie said, touching his arm. “Are you okay?”

An electric shock jumped from her fingers and crawled under his skin in a tingle that caused his breath to hitch. He’d noticed that she was a toucher, seen her patting people’s arms or hands to calm them or support them, but she’d never touched him before. His cock hijacked his thinking processes and started him imagining her tiny hands closing about Sam Junior, milking…

Shit on a stick! She’s your employee, not a member of the Rouge.

“Yeah.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled as he forced his mind back onto the scene in the hall. “Look, Kris, I didn’t mean to imply you’re not a good CPO. Chad wouldn’t have assigned you to the team if he didn’t have confidence in you.”

Color crept up Kris’s neck. “Thank you, sir.”

“Sam.”

“Sam,” Kris repeated, his smile breaking out.

Feeling that at least one corner of the world was back on its axis, Sam headed toward the end of the hall and his sanctuary.

Rosie stopped him as he pulled his keys from his jacket pocket. “Let me get that for you.”

His teeth threatening to splinter when his jaw locked down, Sam stepped back and let her unlock the door with her own key. She drew her gun and entered his apartment. Chad had reported they’d monitored the cleaning service doing their thing that afternoon, so they knew the apartment was clear. Though he couldn’t fault her vigilance, it was what she’d signed on for when Hauberk hired her, but damned if it didn’t shrivel his balls that she was willing to take a bullet meant for him.

This professor’s final exam includes a spanking.

Dear Sir, I’m Yours

© 2009 Joely Sue Burkhart

There’s no house restoration too challenging for Rae Jackson, a.k.a. “The Fix-It Lady”. There’s no fixing the past, though. Like the day she left college. A semester of flirting with her English professor ended when he spanked her to the best orgasm of her life. Afraid of her own eager willingness to comply with the sexy dom’s commands—no matter what—she fled.

Yet not even five years can dim her memory of his masterful touch.

Conn never forgot the