Page 157

“These are hardly business professional. I’m afraid you leave me no alternative.”

I shiver as he slips my panties down my legs. He lifts my foot, once, twice, and I watch over my shoulder as he stuffs my panties into his pocket.

“I’ll have to expense those.”

“You do that.” His jaw flexes. “Spread wider for me.”

“What?” I blink, all owl eyed and confused. Is he angry suddenly?

“Slide your feet apart. I want to see what I have to work with.”

Oh my Lord. That shouldn’t make my insides pulse and heat. But . . .

I drop my head, my cheeks stinging red as I take that step. More cool air on heated flesh. I feel like I’m burning from the inside out.

Troy gives a low rumble as his finger skates up and over one cheek.

“Does it look like something you might be able to manage?” I ask, hiding now under the fall of my hair.

“I think you already know the answer to that.”

I give a whimper as the pads of two fingers swipe through my center. My heels come up off the ground at the sensation as every nerve ending within my body seems to relocate to the space between my legs. A teasing circle, and I whimper, feeling myself growing wetter. But Troy says nothing as he continues to toy, until his fingers thrust. I cry out.

He withdraws immediately and I almost sob. His fingers appear in my line of sight where he rubs them together as though allowing me to examine the silky properties of my own pleasure.

“Do you know what this does to me?” His voice is a puff of air against my cheek.

My hair falls in my face as I shake my head, but there’s something in his voice that gives me pause. “You, the boss,” I whisper tremulously. “Or you for real. I don’t know which role you’re playing.”

“Who says I’m playing a role? Everything I say to you, everything I do, is always true. The escort, the boss, the guy in the bar, they all want to pick you apart, to feast on your body until all that’s left are your sighs.”

He doesn’t sound at all happy about it.

The moment, this interlude, is more complex than I’d intended. It was stupid to think that jam-jar sex would insulate us from messy consequences. I’m in over my head. I think I’ve known that from the start. I want to be his—his forever—not just for now. For what remains of these short months.

Emotion swells in my chest. Not now, not here, I tell myself as I force those thoughts from my head. But as a soft whoosh sounds, my brain instantly empties out. I make a garbled noise and my center throbs in the aftermath of the swift connection of Troy’s palm to my pussy.

Did he really just do that? Did he really just slap me there?

And if I ask him nicely, will he do it again?

“Get out of your head, Clara.”

“I—” The second time, I don’t care how embarrassing I sound as the impact shifts me across the desk.

“Get out of mine.” The metallic clink of his belt buckle sounds. “Fuck, you’re the only thing I’ve ever failed to contain in my life.” His voice turns suddenly sweet as his lips brush the nape of my neck. “Maybe the only thing I’ve never wanted to.”

My eyes begin to leak bittersweet tears. I screw them tight at the sense of his body curving over me. His right hand lands next to mine, his thumb hooking around my pinkie finger.

“I’ve needed you,” he whispers. “Needed this.”

I whimper when he puts the head of his cock to my center. I’m so wet that, when he rolls his hips, he seems to enter me so effortlessly, his lust-filled groan liquefying my bones. I’m stretched so exquisitely, as we just stay like that, absorbing the moment. It might not be satin sheets and scattered rose petals, but there is no doubt this is lovemaking.

I love him. The thought escapes and my body jolts.

“Do that again.” He rubs the day’s stubble across my shoulder. Presses his lips there.

“No action replays,” I whisper, forcing myself to make light of the moment.