The next second, he’s got an arm braced against the elevator door, keeping it open, while the other slides around my waist and hauls me against him so hard the air leaves my lungs.
Oh.
Oh wow.
His mouth moves against mine with the same confidence he argues with. Slow. Certain, like he’s winning and knows it.
My fingers fist in his hair, yanking him closer, and he doesn’t just take the green light; he floors it, deepening the kiss. I tilt my head and give him more access.
His tongue slides against mine.
Every single thing I believed about the organized, prepared, always-three-steps-ahead Ivy Ellison gets absolutely vaporized.
Gone.
Ash.
Right now, I’m throbbing in places I didn’t even realize I had. His teeth graze my bottom lip, his stubble rough against my skin, and a pleading whimper tears from me. My tongue is begging him not to pull away, not to let this end.
And then, with peak poor decision-making, my leg hooks around his thigh.
My own leg. Out here, making executive decisions. Not approved by management.
Well. Hello there, Mr. Obvious Erection.I feel the hard, thick ridge of his cock pressed against my center, and my clit purrs. I rise on my tiptoes, grinding into him, testing the weight of his desire—
WRRRRRNG! WRRRRRNG!
The elevator alarm shrieks.
We jerk apart. He stumbles back into the hallway, and I slam into the elevator wall. We stare at each other across the six feet of crackling space, breathing like we just set a tornadoloose.
His hair is destroyed.
His mouth is—
The panels slide.
The last thing I see is his eyes: not smug, not performing, not any of the Cole Hartwell expressions I’ve learned to deflect. Simply shaken.
The doors seal.
Oh. My. God.
Kisses are not supposed to do that.
Melt my bones. Scramble my brain. I think I left my soul back there with this mouth.
This is bad.
I went and gift-wrapped the Director of Strategic Campaigns position and handed it to Cole Hartwell with my tongue.
The elevator doors ding open on my floor.
I walk out and cup my mouth, as if maybe I can keep the feeling in.
I should be freaking out. I should be spiraling.
Instead, I’m standing here, wishing he’d do it again.
