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How was she going to work with him every day wondering if he was thinking these thoughts?
Her body shivered.
Fletcher tugged her under him playfully, but those green eyes of his burned intensely as he lay over her.
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to,” he growled. “But yes, every time you ran that red stuff over your lips, my cock would...”
“Would?” she prodded, knowing she shouldn’t.
“Harden at the thought of your lips wrapped around them.”
Fletcher slipped his hand under her top, working his way to her cotton bra. Her nipples hardened.
They stared at each other, both lost in their flashbacks of meetings together and how that could have easily happened. They were alone often in his large private office.
“So many times I wanted to ask you to get on your knees.”
Olivia swallowed.
Would she have done it?
“I imagined sliding my zipper down, pulling out my hard cock and watching your gloss-covered mouth open, eager for it.”
She smirked.
“What?” he asked, surprised.
“Such a boy fantasy.” She laughed.
He glowered at her in such a masculine and primal way it nearly took her breath away.
“First, I’m a man, Olivia Miller. Secondly, do I need to prove it to you again?”
She swallowed.
He had nothing to prove. Absolutely nothing, but that wasn’t the question.
Did she want him again? Hell yes.
Should she?
Her panties were completely soaked, and it wouldn’t take much for him to slip his hand inside her sweatpants and discover it. He knew she wanted him.
She shook her head.
“My bad. You are all man, Fletcher Dufort.”
“Are you telling me you never imagined anything like that? Ever?”
She blushed.
Fletcher grinned and pinched her nipple. “Confess. Come on, tell me what girls fantasize about.”
She swatted his hand away. “Woman, I’m a woman, seeing as we’re getting technical here.”
Fletcher returned to her nipple, and she let out a little moan.
“Continue.” He grinned.
