Page 39 of Misadventures of a Biker

“I need to run,” I replied, trying to sound like I was in a hurry. “Can you get with Kate on whatever it is you need?”

“I can’t.”

I grabbed my purse. “I’m sorry. I’ve got—”

He gave me a soft look. “I’m sorry.”

I paused. “About what?”

“The other night.”

What happened between the two of us was simple. I was attracted to him. I opened up, sexually. I offered myself to him. He rejected me. That should have been the end of it. Oddly, it seemed to be only the beginning.

My desire to be with him had increased exponentially since the rejection. I’d never been so attracted to anyone in my life. To have him reject me was crushing. An apology did nothing to change how I felt. I wanted him to want me as much as I wanted him.

I adjusted my shoulder strap. “Okay.”

“Is there a way we can start over?”

Devin had no desire to be with me, even if only for a one-time sexual encounter. Whenever I saw him, heard his voice, or Kate mentioned him, it was a reminder of that. “Starting over” meant that he wanted to patch things up between us. He’d expect me to stop by his workstation and chat. Have lunch with him and Kate. An after-work drink. Emotionally, I wasn’t ready. Maybe I would be one day, but I wasn’t there yet.

“I don’t think we need to start over,” I said, trying to walk past him. “I’m sorry. I really need to get—”

“Stop.” He reached for my waist. “Please.”

I wanted to scream. To tell him to get his hands off me. Instead, I stood statue-still and said nothing. As I savored the feeling of having him touch me, I closed my eyes.

“I wish I could rewind the clock and do things differently,” he said. “But I can’t.”

He was pouring salt on my wounds. To hear that everything was a mistake would only make matters worse. I needed to stop him from continuing. I opened my eyes. Before I spoke, he continued.

“I want to do this,” he said.

My mind swam in a sea of confusion. I blinked a few times and shook my head, hoping to clear it of the fog.

“Do what?” I asked.

“You and me,” he replied. “Not one time. Not just sex.” He lifted my chin with his finger until our eyes met. “I want to do this.”

He kissed me.

It wasn’t an indecisive peck on the lips. Nor was it an “I don’t know what I want” kiss. It wasn’t a “hey, I’m sorry for what I’ve done, please forgive me” kiss, either.

It was an “I want to make sure you know who’s in charge” kiss.

He slid his hands down the small of my back and brought them to rest on my ass. He squeezed it like he owned it. I fumbled for a place to put my hands, eventually sinking my fingers into the backs of his firm triceps.

Our tongues intertwined. Our bodies melded together. Kissing him in return as aggressively as he kissed me, I stumbled to maintain my footing. We collided with the desk. Our lips parted. I looked at him, and he at me.

Desire radiated from his eyes.

He swept my desk clean with one brisk wave of his arm. Contracts, books, papers, office supplies—everything—clattered across the hardwood floor.

He turned me around and pushed me facedown onto the desk. “Tell me you want this,” he said, pressing his hand between my shoulder blades. “Say it, you sexy little bitch.”

The side of my face was flat on my desk. My legs were tensed with anticipation. “I want it,” I said in a shaking voice. “Please. Give it to me.”

He flipped my dress over my waist. Then, he did just as I’d daydreamed. He kicked the toe of his boot against the inside edges of my shoes, forcing me to widen my stance.