Read Online Flex Time (Office Toy) by Cleo Peitsche - Free Book Online Page B

gotten his email, and he knew she’d disobeyed him. 
    “Lucky guess? You are in a deli …” she said weakly, then grabbed her soda and gulped down several mouthfuls of overly sweet liquid.
    Cunningham crossed his arms over his deep, sturdy chest. What he was thinking, she couldn’t guess. She picked up her bagel, and he reached over, took it out of her hand and dropped it onto the waxed paper.
    He pulled the paper toward him, and Elle watched apprehensively as he carefully wrapped the rest of her lunch.
    “We’ll finish this in my office.” 
    She wasn’t sure if he was talking about her food or about the discussion of her avoiding his summons. “Ok,” she squeaked. She rose, but Cunningham walked to the counter. Elle nervously chewed on her bottom lip, feeling silly standing there. 
    Cunningham said something in his quiet, rumbling voice to the dainty cashier, who grabbed a notepad and began jotting down his order.
    “Oh, I’m so sorry. We don’t deliver,” the cashier said loud enough for Elle to hear, her pen hovering in midair.
    Cunningham stiffened, then he reached into a pocket and extracted a few bills, ohmigosh, he wasn’t … but he was.
    A three-hundred-dollar tip went into the jar just so that he didn’t have to wait five minutes for his lunch.
    The only thing Elle wanted was for the cashier to tell him no. Please , Elle pleaded, please just stand your ground.
    But the cashier’s eyes nearly popped out. She looked over her shoulder and jerked her head, and another employee came hurrying over.
    “Leave them with the receptionist,” Cunningham said.
    Elle’s jaw tightened, and she stared daggers at Cunningham, who didn’t seem at all concerned. He hooked an arm around her shoulders and steered her through the hushed deli. He didn’t appear to notice that everyone was staring at them.
    And even if he had noticed, Elle was sure he didn’t care.
     
    When they walked into Cunningham’s office, Elle was surprised to find Jonathan sprawled on the sofa, reading a graphic design magazine. His tie was askew and his sleeves were sloppily rolled up, revealing lean forearms. One of his long legs was draped over the sofa’s arm. 
    Jonathan, with his playboy good looks and devil-may-care attitude, was in many ways the antithesis of Cunningham. Even their coloring was opposite: Cunningham was tan, Jonathan fair.
    Cunningham kept his hair short. Controlled. In the few months that she’d been working there, Cunningham was always impeccably put together. 
    Jonathan’s blonde hair was perennially messy in a movie star sort of way. He was so beautiful that people often mistook him for a celebrity, and he’d gotten in the habit of quickly scrawling illegible autographs rather than trying to convince the blushing fans that they were mistaken.
    Cunningham, on the other hand, would never let himself be inconvenienced by a stranger. Sometimes Elle thought the only thing he and Jonathan had in common was that they enjoyed sharing a woman.
    “Lunch is on the way,” Cunningham. He closed the door. “Elle, strip.”
    “But—” She caught herself, her eyes wide, but it was too late; she had almost argued with Cunningham. Storm clouds gathered in his eyes.
    “Bad girl, Elle,” Jonathan chided. He dogeared the page he was reading and tossed the magazine aside, then sat up and leaned forward. An anticipatory smile touched his full lips.
    The front of his pants was already tented. 
    Elle unbuttoned her silky shirtdress, soon revealing her black and tan bra and matching panties.
    Cunningham preferred her in a garter belt and stockings, so she rarely went without, but that day she hadn’t bothered; the shirtdress was a little too clingy, and the outline would have been visible. She shivered and hoped that Cunningham realized that she wasn’t trying to be disobedient.
    Jonathan reached over and gathered up the luxurious fabric as it slipped off her shoulders. He held it to his nose and inhaled, then motioned