I close the space, one step at a time, until I’m close enough to breathe her in. I dip my head, scenting along her throat, letting my nose skim the curve where her pulse flutters.
Her smell has shifted—not the fevered desperation of heat, but something warmer, steadier, threaded with the unmistakable spark of arousal.
“I’ve been behaving,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I’ve been doing my best to stay away from all three of you, because I didn’t want to have to pick.”
“We would never ask you to pick,” I murmur against her skin, my lips brushing her pulse.
She leans back enough to meet my eyes, her green gaze lit with something that knocks the breath out of me.
“Yeah,” she says softly, a hint of a smile tugging her mouth. “So, when I tell you I’m a little turned on from seeing Beau earlier, and now you… how does that make you feel?”
“Ravenous.” The word is out before I can stop it, raw and sharp.
Her lips curve. “I don’t know what it is about you three that makes me feel so on edge.”
“Are you on edge now?” I ask, my voice low, dangerous.
“Yes,” she moans, the sound slipping out unguarded.
Shit.
I can’t stop myself. I cross the room to close the door. I suddenly find myself wishing we had locks on these.
When I turn back to her, she’s watching me with wide, hungry eyes. I walk to her, every step heavy, deliberate. And then I’m there, my hands braced on either side of her thighs, my mouth crashing against hers.
The kiss is sloppy, wet, everything I’ve been denying myself. Her lips part instantly, her tongue sliding against mine, desperate and sweet.
I groan into her mouth, cupping her face as she clutches at my coat like she wants to drag me closer, impossibly closer.
It’s stupid, reckless, everything I’ve told myself I’d never do in this building, but I can’t stop.
I break away just long enough to rasp against her mouth, “It’s stupid to do this now. Someone could walk in.”
She parts her legs wider on the exam table, her sundress riding up. “I know,” she breathes. “But you’re supposed to help, and I need help.”
“Your fucking mouth,” I curse, the words raw as I press my forehead against hers.
My hand slides between her thighs, brushing over her panties—damp already, heat radiating through the thin fabric. I bite back another curse, pressing down with my palm, and she arches into it, undulating shamelessly.
“I’m not going to fuck you here,” I grit out, my fingers sliding along the soaked seam of her underwear. “It’s unprofessional, and you know it.”
“I know,” she gasps, rocking against me anyway.
“You’ve got a lot to think about before you decide anything,” I tell her, even as my own composure splinters.
“I know,” she moans, her hips chasing the pressure of my hand.
“But I can’t send you away when you’re in need, right?”
Her eager whimper answers me better than words.
“Be quiet,” I hiss, slipping two fingers under her panties, sinking into the slick heat of her. Her walls clench down, greedy. “Or someone will hear.”
Her nails dig into my coat sleeve. “Fuck me,” she moans, voice breaking.
I curl my fingers, stroking inside her as my thumb grinds her clit, every motion precise, clinical, except for the way my chest is heaving and my cock strains painfully against my trousers.
Her breath comes ragged, her body jerking with each thrust of my fingers, slick dripping down my glove. “Simon,” she gasps, her head tipping back, throat bared.
