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“Of course not.” Her eyes dart away.
I press my lips together.
Jealousy is a natural thing. I still seethe when I see her ex-boyfriend hovering around her.
But I let him be.
Because I trust her.
And I trust that I treat her so well, she would not even think to leave me.
Does she not trust me the same?
A warm hand falls on my thigh, turning me to liquid silver. “Are you upset?”
“It is fine. I will not mention meeting your parents again.”
How strange.
Disappointment. Yearning.
All feelings I thought had died along with my first marriage.
And yet, Dejonae has my heart in a chokehold. When am I going to stop falling for her? When will I reach the end of this obsession? Why is it so much harder to remain balanced and distant when it comes to her?
Her lips quirk up. “You’re cute when you sulk.”
“A grown man does not sulk.”
She shakes her head. “Did you know your dimples flash when you pout?”
Intent on proving my point, I pounce across the table and kiss her so passionately that her chair goes flying backwards.
We bounce into the wall.
Dejonae gasps. “What was that?”
“Proof that I am not angry. Or petulant. Or any other emotion that you wish to tease me about. I respect you and I will follow what you want. There should be no confusion about that.”
She smiles and jumps out of the chair, wrapping her arms, legs and mouth around me. I grab her tighter, sipping from her lips as if she is rare, premiumsake.A liquor I could easily get drunk on.
My fingers skate across her jeans and cup the back pockets. I kiss her ferociously, desperate for every stroke of her lips.
Her limbs turn languid, fingers sliding off my hand and melting against my shoulders as if she has lost all bones. Her low moan slides against my neck and invites me to do my absolute worst.
Do not worry, kitten. I will.
I carry her to the desk, setting her on the edge of it and keeping her thighs spread. Her mouth is pure danger against mine, unleashed desire, the hottest flames.
I press into her, finding the center of her with my trousers. She bucks her hips, every whimper skittering out of her bruised lips telling me that I am not the only one who wishes to take things to the next level.
My thirst for Dejonae has been burning me up inside. Every night when I have to roll out of bed for a cold shower, every glimpse of her dark lips in the middle of a meeting, every brush of her hand and sound of her laughter drives me to the brink.
I slip my hand under her T-shirt.
Delirious.
Desperate.
