“You don’t get to have theprofessionalismtalk with me after,” I add, hammering my point.
“Fuck being professional.” His teeth nip at my skin, and I make a frankly embarrassing little noise as his fingers slowly pull at the bottom hem of my shirt. “Fuck it all.”
His words alone make my head spin. He’s not taking it back. He’s notstopping.
My hands fist at his shirt, pushing it up his chest a little too frantically, a steady little tremor betraying my nerves.
“This is a terrible idea,” I breathe. My fingers find his bare chest anyway.
“The worst,” he agrees, his mouth trailing back up as the hand cupping my cheek shifts, moving to the back of my neck to adjust the tilt of my head. His lips brush the corner of my mouth. “We should stop.”
“We should.”
“But we won’t,” he murmurs. “Will we?”
I manage the smallest little shake of my head before his lips descend on mine again, the hand around my waist moving, dragging down to my hips, fingers hooking in the waistband of my shorts. He pulls, tugging them halfway down my thighs, and heat rises so fast in my cheeks that my head feels dizzy.
They drop to the floor.
He lifts me like I weigh nothing, parting my legs with his hips and one hand on the back of my thigh, my back sliding up against the wall. “Legs around me, sweetheart,” he says against my lips, his voice like gravel.
I obey in an instant, wrapping my thighs and calves around him.
His hips press me back harder into the wall, andgod, I can feel him, can feel the rigid length of him between my legs, pushing against his joggers like it’s desperate to break free.
I’m not proud of the noise that leaks out of me because of it.
“Fuck,” he mutters, pulling from my lips just to drop his forehead against mine.
“Don’t you dare slow this down,” I snap at him, pushing his shirt toward his head more insistently this time. He pulls back just long enough to hook his thumb in the neck hole and pull it off in one smooth motion, tossing it onto the ground. But then his hands are back on me, under my shirt, skating up my ribs, urging my arms up.
“Off,” he grunts, his jaw locked. “Take thisoff.”
My elbow pokes him square in the ribs as I shuffle to try to get it off, and he huffs, grabbing the bundle of fabric and tugging it over my head and arms. His gaze meets my eyes before it drops, down to my collarbone, my breasts, my stomach, to the white bit of cotton around my hips I still have on. His eyelids lower halfway, his mouth parting, a slow exhale leaving him.
I don’t let it linger.
My hand ducks beneath my thighs, grabbing a fistful of his joggers, pushing down as much as my reach will allow. The waistband disappears from between us, dragging down over his thighs, and god, I canfeelthe heat of him pressing against me, rock hard, forced down from how he’s sandwiched us.
“Fuck,” he seethes. He hoists me up just enough to relieve the pressure, and it curves up against my rear, the length I can only feel, not see, staggering. “You on birth control?”
It’s so hard to think straight like this, but I find my words. “Yeah, implant.”
“Thank god for that.” His hands move, positioning me, one cradling the back of my thigh to join in the wall’s effort of keeping me elevated. The other, though, moves between us, fingers hooking on the hem of one of the leg holes of my underwear and sliding down.
The moment they drift across slick, sensitive flesh, I whimper.
“You’re soaked,” he rasps, the words almost choked as he pushes the gusset to one side. “All this from an argument and a little touching?”
I glare up at him. “Don’t get cocky.”
He pauses, staring down at me, brows furrowing and forming those two little lines he gets when something utterly perplexing lands on his desk.
But then he laughs. Genuinely, fully, his teeth biting down on his lower lip to try to contain it, and for fucks sake, why does that turn me on?
“I’m not,” he huffs, the smile morphing into a smirk as he draws another gasp from me, his knuckle brushing up and down over my clit. “I’m fucking flattered.”
He shifts me again, his arm slipping down to hook under my knee, and I feel him — not his fingers anymore, but the hot, thick head of his cock, notching against my entrance. I can’t breathe, can’t think, but my gaze drops, and holyshit.
