"Hey, Raph. Yeah, Dakota's with me. We stepped out to grab coffee because we were both exhausted. How are you doing?" His voice was so casually normal I almost believed we actually had been getting coffee instead of getting each other off in broad daylight.
I scrambled off his lap with all the grace of a newborn giraffe on roller skates, yanking my dress down and trying to finger-comb my sex hair into something that didn't scream 'just fucked in a Mercedes.'
My face felt like it could power a small city with the heat it was generating.
"I'm fine," Raphael's voice came through, all commanding CEO with a side of suspicion. "And you two need to get back here. Titus and the rest of the team are waiting for the daily meeting."
"On our way," Stephen said, ending the call with a tap that felt way too casual for the nuclear-level awkwardness we'd just navigated.
"Coffee. Really? That's the euphemism you went with?" I slumped against the leather, still processing what just happened. "Could've been more creative."
“Would you rather I told him the truth?” he asked, smirking as he adjusted himself without a trace of shame. “‘Hey, brother, just made Dakota come so hard she forgot the alphabet. See you soon’?”
"We fogged up the windows. In a Mercedes. In broad daylight."
"And yet, no one called the cops. I’d say that’s a win."
I turned to stare at him, genuinely concerned. "You're actually insane. The way your brain processes events should be studied by scientists."
"This is the problem though." His grip tightened on the wheel, knuckles white. "When I stop making jokes, I have to deal with the fact that I want to do that again. Immediately. Repeatedly. In various locations. Possibly with my brothers watching. So yeah, I'm gonna keep being an asshole because the alternative is pulling over and making this situation infinitely worse."
My heart skipped like it missed a step. I looked at him, and the world went a little quiet.
"That’s… unexpectedly honest," I whispered.
"Don’t get used to it," he said with a wink. "Honesty ruins my mysterious allure."
The drive back was silent except for my internal screaming. Twenty-four hours ago, I'd been a sexually frustrated workaholic whose biggest concern was proving myself worthy of inheriting Freeman Industries. Now I was apparently starring in my own personal reverse harem anime, complete with car sex and terrible decision-making skills.
The meeting was a special kind of torture. The Sullivan brothers sat around the conference table like completely normal business partners, discussing structural load calculations and permit applications while I tried not to flashback to the previous night. Or to twenty minutes ago. Christ.
Titus presented quarterly projections with his usual quiet intensity, and all I could think about was how those same hands had—nope. Professional thoughts only.
Raphael commanded the room with his CEO presence, and my brain helpfully supplied images of him commanding very different situations.
Stephen smiled and charmed the other team members, and I wanted to throw my coffee at his stupidly handsome face.
The next two weeks were their own special brand of hell. Work continued as normal—meetings, site visits, architectural reviews—all perfectly professional on the surface. But underneath? Pure fucking chaos.
Stephen's hand would linger on my lower back when he leaned over my desk to review blueprints. Just a little too long, a little too low, a little too knowing.
Titus would brush his fingers against mine when passing documents, each touch deliberate and charged with unspoken promise.
Raphael's stare during presentations could have melted steel beams. He'd watch me with this intensity that made me forget whatever point I was trying to make about load-bearing walls.
The worst part? They never pushed. Never made obvious moves. Just these subtle touches and loaded looks that were slowly driving me insane. Like they were waiting for something. Waiting for me to crack.
Well, congratulations, boys. Mission fucking accomplished.
It was a Thursday night, the office empty except for us because apparently we were all workaholics with terrible boundaries. I'd been staring at the same CAD drawing for twenty minutes, accomplishing exactly nothing except giving myself a tension headache.
"Okay, what the hell is going on between us?" I spun around in my chair, facing all three of them with the kind of exasperation that comes from two weeks of sexual frustration and professional confusion. "Because this weird professional-but-not-professional thing is making me lose my mind."
The relief on their faces was almost comical. Like they'd been holding their breath for two weeks, waiting for me to open this door. Right. Because I'd been the one who said everything happened on my terms.
"Thank God," Titus breathed, and it was the most emotion I'd heard from him in days. "I thought I was going to implode."
"Do you miss it?" His voice was quiet, vulnerable in a way that made my chest tight. "That night?"
Before I could answer, Raphael leaned forward, his commanding presence softened by something almost hesitant. "Have you thought about doing it again?"
My mouth opened, then closed. Yes, I'd thought about it. Constantly. Obsessively. To the point where I'd worn out my vibrator battery and started shopping for a plug-in model.
But before I could form words, Stephen dropped a bomb with his characteristic lack of filter.
"Something already happened between us again," he announced, casual as fuck, like he was mentioning the weather forecast.
The room went silent. Titus and Raphael turned to stare at him. I felt my face go nuclear again.
"Stephen," Raphael's voice was dangerously low. "What do you mean, 'again'?"
Stephen just smiled, that charming diplomatic mask morphing into something distinctly predatory. He leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, looking like a man who'd just won the lottery.
"I always get what I want," he said simply.
The silence that followed was the kind that made you hear your own heartbeat. Titus was looking between Stephen and me with dawning realization. Raphael's jaw was clenched so tight I worried for his dental work.
And me? I sat there wondering if it was possible to die from embarrassment and arousal simultaneously.