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He straightens up but doesn't move away, the tension coiling between us, delicious and daunting.
He goes back to his desk, and I stay at mine, trying to focus on my tasks, but I feel his gaze heavy on me.
The day unfolds like a game of chess, each move calculated, each word laced with double meanings. Merrick leans across me to grab a pen, his arm brushing mine, lingering just a heartbeat too long. Our fingers tangle briefly as we exchange papers, and every touch sends my heart racing like a drum solo.
"Accidental" brushes become our language, a dialogue written in the silent spaces and the static that crackles when we're too close.
"Need help with that stack?" Merrick offers, gesturing to the pile of folders on my desk.
"It’s your call, boss," I grin, watching as he scoops up half the load. His hand brushes mine again, and this time, neither of us pulls away immediately. There's an audacity in his touch, a silent challenge.
"Always ready to rescue a damsel in distress," he quips, his tone light, but his eyes are dark, stormy seas threatening to pull me under.
"Who says I'm in distress?" I tease back, leaning in just enough to make him aware of the curve of my hip, the softness of my blouse. "Maybe I like a bit of chaos."
"Chaos can be…exhilarating," he murmurs, stepping closer, the word hanging heavy and ripe with suggestion.
The banter continues, each remark more daring than the last, steeped in innuendo until the air is thick with it. Laughter comes easy, but it's a cover for the crackling energy that builds with every passing second. It's a dance, a push and pull that's all rhythm and no rules.
"Careful, Merrick," I warn playfully, my pulse hammering in my throat. "You wouldn't want to start something you can't finish."
"On the contrary, Abby," he counters, his smile wicked. "Finishing what I start is exactly what I intend to do."
And God, the promise in those words sends a thrill racing through me. Every cell in my body is awake, alive, and screaming for one thing: more.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Abby
The clock ticks past three, the sound a metronome to my racing heart. It’s as if time syncs with the pulse of desire that thrums between Merrick and me. With each hour that passes, the office feels smaller, our shared space an intimate cocoon where glances are currency and words are laden with double meanings.
I shuffle papers on my desk, pretending to be engrossed in work, but my gaze betrays me, flicking up to steal a look at him. Merrick is leaning back in his chair, eyes on his computer screen, seemingly focused. Yet, I catch the way his glance darts toward me, quick and sharp like a spark. He's watching me too, this clandestine game heightening with every stolen glimpse.
"Abby, could you come here for a moment?" His voice slices through the electric hum of tension.
"Sure," I reply, voice steady despite the somersaults inside me.
As I approach, he points to a document on his screen, but the pretext is thin, translucent. Our fingers brush when he hands me a pen, a jolt shooting up my arm. His eyes lock onto mine, dark and smoldering, and I drown in them, willingly.
"Is everything all right?" I manage to ask.
"Perfectly," he says, but there's an edge to his voice, a low growl that suggests otherwise.
Time stutters. The air shimmers with unspoken promises, and just like that, Merrick stands, closing the gap between us with a predator's grace. My breath hitches, caught in the sudden storm of his presence.
"Abby," he murmurs, and it's not a question but an invocation.
"Ye—"
His mouth crashes onto mine before I can even breathe out his name, cutting off any pretense of resistance. His kiss is fierce, claiming, an unleashing of all the pent-up hunger we've been dancing around since morning. The taste of him is intoxicating, a mix of coffee and something darker, more primal.
My hands find their way to his hair, tugging him closer, desperate to feel more of him. His arms wrap around my waist, pulling me into the solid heat of his body. Every touch is fire, every graze of his lips a brand. We're two flames, merging into an inferno that threatens to consume us both.
"God, Abby," he groans against my mouth, his voice rough with need.
The world narrows down to the space where our bodies meet, hot and unrestrained. With each passing second, the heat between us builds, a crescendo that promises to shatter all semblance of control.
And I don't care. I don't care because nothing has ever felt so right, so inevitable, as this moment with Merrick.
