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And I can't afford to have a meltdown here. Today is too important.
“I’ll be right out if anyone asks.” I look pointedly at the door. “Please.”
Go away.
Stay and hold me.
Maybe hold me, then go away.
He nods. His voice drops an octave. “Whatever you need." Why do I feel like he's saying something different? He turns on his heels and starts to leave. When he reaches the door his hand pauses on the handle and he stills for a moment.
Debating.
Don’t turn back. Don’t.
“Please,” I whisper. I'm not sure what I’m begging for.
“Fuck this.” He curses. And spins on his heel. My heart lurches as he takes long strides across the small room. Oh God, what’s he doing? I’m not ready—
In two seconds flat, he’s rounded the desk. Before I can ask what the hell he thinks he’s doing, he drags me out of my chair, plants my butt on the table, and crushes his mouth to mine.
I freeze in shock. Then my hands push against his shoulders, but they are useless against the bulk of hard muscle. His mouth devours mine in a wildly savage kiss. My senses kick into overdrive, drowning in his unique taste, the familiar delicious scent of his skin, the feel of his large palms cupping my jaw. His hands are rougher now, more calloused. I imagine how they would feel against my naked breasts, the soft skin of my thigh, and a whimper escapes me.
Like the first drops of rain after a long, hard drought, my body eagerly drinks him in and I can no longer resist parting my lips beneath his insistent ones. The stroke of his tongue into my mouth sets me ablaze. My hands creep up his shoulders and tangle in his hair. The kiss goes on and on until I’m breathlessly straining against him and moaning.
He breaks the kiss, looking deep into my eyes.
“Bree. It’s been so long—”
“Don’t stop, not now, not yet—”
I pull his head down to mine and kiss him. I sink my teeth none too gently into his lower lip then suck on it to soothe the sting. I do it again and he lets me, relishing the bites. He moans and I can’t resist drawing his tongue into my mouth so I yank hard on his hair instead. I want to hurt him. Take a bite out of every inch of his skin and punish him until he begs for mercy.
In a single sweep of his arm, stacks of paperwork fly to the carpeted floor. He pulls my open thighs flush against his bulge while he presses me backward onto the desk. The world tilts as he gives me his weight, settling his erection against my throbbing core, then takes my mouth in another deep kiss. This time he controls it, and the hunger it evokes is unbearable. I’m so aroused I feel myself grow slick between my thighs and my clit throbs painfully. I start rubbing myself on his hardness which only increases my need to be filled.
Eight years of unanswered questions, repressed need, and forbidden desire surge to the surface and I’m powerless against the raging torrent, drowning under its onslaught.
His hand covers my breast and he pinches my hard nipple through my silk white shirt repeatedly while he kisses a path along my jaw until he reaches my earlobe which he nibbles on. A keening sound makes it out of my throat and I rub against him faster, trembling. I’m so close to coming.
I dimly register that if I keep up what I’m doing there would soon be an embarrassing patch on my light gray pants but between that, and the possibility of dying if I don't come in the next five seconds, I decide I can always deal with a wardrobe malfunction.
He suddenly draws back and I want to scream in frustration. He still leans over me, his weight now supported on his elbow. I want him back on me. Just for a few more seconds until I come.
“Why Bree?”
My brain can’t process what he’s saying. I’m still trying to rub against his erection. He puts a hand on my hip to hold me down and looks at me. “Answer me.”
“What?” I raise my heavy lids and stare into his lust-filled eyes, his face is tight with restrained desire. My core clenches. He’s hanging on by a thread too. “Why are you even talking right now?”
“Why did you shut me out?”
“You jump me at my exhibition even though I begged you to walk away and now you want to chit chat?”
“You don’t want to talk?” He looks surprised.
“I don’t even want to look at you.”
The anger is surging back, but my arousal hasn’t flagged one bit.
