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That traitorous muscle pounds in my chest as I ram the door open, making a thud echo throughout his office. Slipping the pistol out of the holster in the blazer, I point it directly at her.

“Step away from him,” I say, surprised by the quality of my own voice. Xander’s face flashes with surprise as he takes me in—his blazer drowning my frame, his gun held in both of my hands, pointed at his assistant. His eyes darken as he lets go of Penelope and leisurely strolls to stand by my side.

Her hands shoot up in surrender, and her body trembles. “This isn’t what it looks like,” she placates.

I don’t know what comes over me, but I’m filled with so much jealousy that I don’t even recognise my own voice. “I think it’s exactly what it looks like,” I retort.

She slowly backs away towards his desk. Her heels catch on the carpet, and she thuds to the floor.

“The door is the other way,” I warn, following her movements with the gun.

“O-okay,” she trembles. “I’ll leave,” she says as she slowly lifts herself off the floor.

“And never come back,” I finish.

“What?” she squeaks, casting her head towards Xander. “Are you just going to let her do this?” She whips her head towards me. “You have no power here.”

Xander’s hands are resting in his pockets, his muscular back leaning against the wall, lips curled up in a smirk. “She does now. And what a glorious fucking view.”

Penelope’s face morphs into embarrassment as she gapes at Xander.

“Chop, chop, bitch,” I smirk.

Penelope huffs and speed-walks past me to the door. I step out of the way as her heels click out into the hallway, and she slams the door behind her.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding as my arms go slack, the gun hanging from my right hand. I take in rapid breaths, fixing my gaze on the black carpet.

What the fuck is wrong with me tonight?

I can feel Xander right next to me.

His tattooed hand comes up, gripping my neck and guiding me towards him. “Angel, look at me.”

I do.

His eyes roam over my face, my body, and the gun in my hand.

Then his lips are on mine.

Claiming. Demanding. Hungry.

He walks us backwards. My back hits the door as his hand on my neck bolts me in place. He locks the door, and then his hands are gripping my thighs, hoisting me to curl around his waist.

Heat rushes low in my stomach as his tongue works the inside of my mouth. His thick length grows rapidly against my core.

His hand tangles in the back of my hair and pulls back, a delicious kind of pain accompanying the movement. His lips kiss towards my neck, and I moan as he sucks on the sensitive spot behind my ear.

His movements are hurried but thorough. Like he can’t get me quick enough.

My hands grab at the top buttons of his shirt, ripping them open, buttons flying across the room, making tiny pinging sounds.

His shirt falls to the ground. My hands roam the hard contours of his muscles as he attacks my mouth with his again.

His hands work to slip his blazer off me, and I hadn’t realised I was still holding his gun until it snags on the material.

“Shit,” I mumble into his lips.

“Keep it,” he mumbles back as he throws the blazer to the side.