Page 91 of Elevator Pitch

“You don’t want to talk about my book right now.” I instantly hate how I’ve diminished myself. Dismissed his interest in my work. I’ve been reading and re-working what I’ve already written, polishing up holes in hopes to solidify where the story should go next. Where the characters want to lead.

“I do want to discuss it, but I’d rather you sit on my lap while talking, and then let me help you find more inspiration.”

My gaze falls to his muscular thighs covered in expensive suit pants. Is there anything this man doesn’t wear well? Baseball pants. Athletic pants. Suit pants. No pants.

Nope. Don’t think about Ross naked. Not yet.

We already discussed our one-night phone sex. How much he liked it. How it had helped motivate me. Motivate my characters, that is. Not me. I wasn’t writing about myself. Or him. I was writing about fictional people.

Is it suddenly too hot in here? Because I can’t take my eyes off Ross’s lap.

Quickly, Ross stands, wraps his arm around my waist and tugs me to him. We tumble together to the couch, me landing on the lap I’m trying to ignore, narrowly missing our heads knocking. I release a strangled laugh, and my legs fall open when Ross cups the backs of my knees, forcing me to straddle him and settle on his lap.

“Better,” he sighs playfully. “Now. Your book.”

How the heck am I supposed to concentrate when I’m spread over his thick legs, conscious of my dress riding up and his soft suit pants against my thighs? What’s my name again?

“I’m just at a standstill again, but it will work itself out.” At some point, an ah-ha moment will strike, and I’ll be back at the keyboard.

I toy with the collar of Ross’s dress shirt, avoiding contact with his eyes which I feel watching me. He removed his suit jacket earlier, leaving it in his truck. Unable to help myself, I smooth my palms over his shoulders and then down his chest.

“Then let’s talk about question two again.” His sandpaper on wood sound rumbles up my middle.

My gaze snaps to his eyes. “We already discussed it.” We had our moment on the phone together. A rather spicy moment that I had not anticipated happening. Ross’s voice had dropped, and he was so descriptive. Like a damn good audiobook narrator, Ross made me feel the moment. My body reacted in a way I hadn’t expected and the next thing I knew I was following his lead, touching myself, bringing myself pleasure with just the sound of his voice.

I shiver a little at the reminder, and the movement rubs my thighs over those soft pants of his. Ross notices my reaction. His hands cup my cheeks, and he gently pulls my face closer to his.

“This time, I want visual aids.” Then his mouth captures mine in a kiss that’s both seductive and sweet, drawn out by the slow lap of his tongue, sweeping against mine, before he pulls at my lower lip with his.

Suddenly, I’m hoisted into the air. Ross’s uncanny strength on display. I squeal, wrapping my arms around his neck and latching my legs around his waist. He shifts only a foot or two, before settling me in one of the high back chairs. The lamp between the two seats is the only illumination in the room and suddenly too bright.

Ross lowers to one knee before me.

“What are you—”

“I’ve missed your skin.” His palms smooth over my knees, forcing my dress to my lap and exposing most of my thighs. “You’re so soft, sweetheart.”

As the late April night is still cool, I wear knee-high boots. My legs quiver as he starts at the back of my kneecaps and massages up my inner thighs forcing them apart.

“Ross,” I moan. Whether warning or wanting is yet to be determined.

“Let me see what I’ve been missing, Vee.” He concentrates on my legs, his attention focused on massaging them, while keeping them spread.

“We don’t have to have sex.” His voice dips, like he’d very much like to have sex, but he’ll respect my wishes. “And we don’t have to sleep together.” His voice drops, almost as if he’s more disappointed in that loss. “But I want to touch you.”

Permission is hardly out of my mouth before my thighs are pressed open as far as the chair will allow, and Ross tugs me closer to the edge of the seat. My dress is bunched at my hips. Then his head is between my legs, his nose nuzzling my center. He hums and inhales deeply before kissing me there.

I jolt. As if I hadn’t been expecting the touch, anticipating it, wanting it. Because I do want Ross Davis. I want his hands on me and his mouth as well.

Quickly, he removes my underwear, leaving my boots on. I clamp my legs together, but Ross gently prods them apart again.

“Let’s see what’s mine.”

My head falls back at the declaration. I’m in so much trouble with this man.

He hitches one of my legs over the armrest, then wedges his midsection against the other one, fully exposing me to him.

“So pretty.” He stares unabashedly at me and my newly waxed area. His eyes are heated. His voice just as warm. “And so ready.” With his finger, he swipes where I’m slick and anxious for more from him.