Page 23 of Christmas By Design

Her breath hitches, and her eyes go wide, but she doesn’t look nervous. She looks excited. Anticipatory. Like she wants to scream, holy shit, this is actually happening.

“I think we owe it to ourselves.” Her voice is surprisingly calm. “Considering all the flirting.”

“We should get it out of our systems, probably,” I agree.

“Exactly.” She leans forward slightly, her eyes dark with desire.

I slowly brush her curls away from her face, scanning every inch and counting every freckle. No need to rush. We have all night for this, and if I can only have one night with her, I plan to take my time.

Her eyelids flutter closed, and she breathes in deeply. I trace my finger gently along her jaw, and she exhales a little whimper.

“You can keep those pretty eyes closed for now, Gemma,” I whisper, “but I want to see them open and watching me later.”

She gasps, and her eyes fly open. “Oh my god,” she moans. “Are you serious?”

I chuckle. “Not a fan of dirty talk?”

She swallows hard and shakes her head. For a moment, I’m pretty sure I fucked up by hitting the gas too fast, but she practically melts into the contact my palm is making with her cheek and breathes, “I’m very much a fan, but… say my name again.”

“Gemma,” I whisper, then lean in.

Chapter 14

Gemma

His lips are featherlight on mine. It’s the barest brush, like he’s taunting me. I remain unmoving, letting him take the reins. Just like when he held me in the office earlier, it feels so good to let him be in control for a minute. To let him in.

Even the skim of his lips sends a fire through me. The layers of clothes and jackets we left on to ward off the chill are now way too thick.

His fingers curl into my hair, and he angles my head as he pulls slightly away. My eyes flutter open as I frown at him.

That’s it?

He looks almost pained. Tortured. Like that wasn’t enough for him, either. But he searches my face for something and asks, “Are you sure about this? Because if I start kissing you, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“You won’t be able to stop kissing me? Or you won’t be able to stop yourself from going further?” I intend to tease him with this question, but my voice is low and raspy. I think it’s probably pretty obvious what answer I’m looking for.

“You’re in charge here, Gemma,” he says, and my breath hitches when he uses my name again. “But I would very much like to explore the second option.”

“Just for tonight,” I repeat, as if saying it again could make me believe it.

Beckett huffs, and for a second, I think he’s going to tell me he wants more than just one night. Instead, he whispers, “Well, maybe the morning, too.”

A whimper escapes me all on its own, and Beckett smirks at the sound. I haven’t wanted anyone in a long time—not the way I want Beckett right now. I want to drag my fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair and hold on tight as he presses himself inside me. I want to see what he can do with all that experience he boasted about a few minutes ago.

But I don’t know. He’s a coworker. And until very recently, I’m pretty sure he’s hated my guts. Not to mention that technically, he’s a rung or two above me on the office hierarchy. So, no. I definitely can’t.

Can I?

Desire is plainly written on his face, too—from his hooded, dark eyes to the gentle part of his lips and his shallow breathing. I don’t think anyone has ever looked at me like that before.

There’s no harm in this if he wants it as much as I do, right?

Ugh, I just want to turn my brain off for one damn second. It feels constant. A never-ending freight train of questions and worries and trying to be perfect all the time and inevitably fucking everything up anyway. Why can’t I just let go and enjoy wanting someone who so clearly wants me?

Beckett pinches his brows as if he’s watching this war play out over my features, which is decidedly the least sexy thing on the planet.

It’s probably now or never.