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I can imagine him sneaking steamily down the hallway, an intense look of near-release on his face, only to find me wedged under the desk with my ass sticking up in the air.
Oh…
But what if he liked that?
What if he saw my ass sticking up and he let out a carnal growl, and then tore a savage hole in my pants and started dragging his tongue up and down my exposed pussy.
I imagine him sucking on my clit hard, making it burn, making it feel like it’s going to erupt and send shrapnel of pleasure surging through me, euphoric waves pulsing and quivering.
I leap out from under the desk.
I really need to get a grip.
If a desk is making me horny, there’s a problem.
I spend the next couple of hours trying once again to immerse myself in the story, but just like last time sinking into the prose is impossible, especially when I’ve got the memory of Miller’s hand on the small of my back, the way his touch lingered moving through me like flowing hot waves.
I grip the edge of the desk.
“Focus,” I whisper fiercely under my breath, the same way I sometimes noticed my aunt doing when I spied her at her typewriter.
She was old school and often worked at a typewriter, saying she preferred the crunchiness of the keys.
That was always the term she used.
Crunchy.
It always made me giggle when I was a little girl with no freaking clue about what she meant.
But now I know, even if I don’t use a typewriter.
It’s when the writing becomes so passionate that I start hammering the keys, properly slamming my fingers down, and the crunch-crunch-crunch noise becomes the most satisfying thing in the freaking universe.
I push away from the desk and pace around the bedroom, shaking my head at myself.
Okay, so this is getting really bad. To try and avoid thinking about Miller with his possessive alpha hands and his searing eyes I’m thinking about crunchy freaking keyboards?
I drop onto my bed and lie back, staring up at the ceiling, annoyed at myself for only getting maybe eighty worthwhile words done, and that’s being optimistic.
Writing has always been my safe place, my refuge from the world, the place I can disappear into and not have to worry about everything else.
Writing has always meant disappearing in that sense.
Macie goes, the characters arrive…
But now I feel like my real life is so much more compelling because Miller is in it, as though the fantasies I normally write about have sprung to life.
Miller is my giant.
I’m his fairytale princess.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I mutter, as though saying the words aloud will let me realize just how foolish I’m being.
But even if I know it’s true, I can’t stop my hands from sliding down my body, down, down, until I’m sliding under my pants and down my panties.
I can feel the heat before I reach my wetness, and then I close my eyes as hard as I can and I picture the way Miller looked when he stood in the hallway, gazing hard at me, the way his jaw tightened as he devoured me with his gaze.
Only this time he doesn’t stride away from me.
He strides toward me.
“You horny fucking thing,” he growls in my fantasy. “I know you’ve been waiting for this since we laid eyes on each other.”
This fantasy version of Miller grabs my hips, grinding his manhood against me, as he lets out a feral snarl.
Chapter Ten
Miller
I sit at my desk in my office, staring blankly at the Word document.
I’m supposed to be typing up a report…
Well, no, that’s not completely true. I’m supposed to be trying to get some sleep since it’s almost gone midnight and I’ve got an early start tomorrow, but when I close my eyes all I can think about is Macie, the way she shivered when I placed my hand on the small of her back and pushed her into the bedroom.
I had to virtually sprint from the room after I’d done that, certain I’d leap on her if I allowed myself to drink in the sight of her shivering body from a simple touch.
If a touch makes her move so captivatingly, what about a kiss or a real touch?
How would she react if she awoke to my hand sliding up her thigh, toward her sex that must be hot, sticky, tangy, and alive with her young fertile need to give me children?
I have to feel how wet she is, how bad her body wants to take my massive cock up inside of her. I have to hear the way she moans and shivers when I drive up inside of her, drive deeply and possessively, pressing forcefully deep, deeper until she’s singing out in lust.
Before I know it, I’ve pushed away from the desk and I’m walking through my apartment.
