His hands keep moving, dragging over my skin, memorizing every dip, every curve, every shiver. His touch is tender, as if he’s proving the point with only his hands. I stand there, exposed and trembling, basking in a new feeling.
Is this what it’s like to be chosen?
Wanted?
Craved?
I should step back.
I should make a joke about HR violations.
I should remind him that he’s my competition, and this entire night is a terrible, reckless detour.
But the sheer force of my will just… cracks.
The red numbers on the digital clock seep into five a.m., and that mental “conflict of interest” file I’ve kept so neatly organized is gone, incinerated by the heat of his palms tracing my skin.
But it’s more than his hands—though,damn, they are making a very convincing case.
It’s the eyebrows.
The Grandpa Milbert eyebrow story, delivered with playful seriousness. It’s the extension cord ball that saved an entire town. It’s the way he said “fall in love” as punctuation, touched my stomach like a destination, and adored me in red lace as if I was worth worshipping.
I am in serious, serious trouble.
His lips brush my throat again, slower this time. He’s giving me room to pull away.
I don’t.
My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him down, and then my mouth is on his. No warning. No hesitation. Just heat and hunger, my body pressing into his because I’ve finally stopped lying to myself about what I want.
He groans into the kiss, hands sliding down my back, gripping my hips through the lace. My body arches instinctively, heat flaring low and fast.
“You’re killing me,” he mutters against my tongue.
“So dramatic,” I breathe, though my pulse is sprinting.
“You sure you can take another round?” His voice drops, rough and careful at the same time. “Trying real hard to be a gentleman, Stopwatch. But fuck I need you again.”
The sound that leaves me is embarrassingly needy. “Yes. I want you. Stop asking.”
That’s all he needs.
He walks me backward, step by step, his touch staying on my skin until the bed catches behind my knees. He slides his fingers inside my panties, his knuckles grazing my heat, and groans into my ear, “You’re trouble.”
“You started it.”
“I’m not taking it slow this time,” he growls, “I’m going to hear my name on your lips while I’m fucking you senseless.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “There’s that cocky mouth again.”
“Doubt all you want. You won’t be sassing my cock after I prove how bad you crave it rough.”
He pushes me back onto the mattress and drops to his knees in one fluid motion. He spreads my thighs wide, and before I can even process the view, he licks right up the middle of my red lace panties. The friction of the fabric against my clit makes my hips arch off the bed in a blind reflex.
“Cole!”
His hands press me back down, thumbs hooked in the lace at my core, dragging the fabric aside just enough to give him access.
