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She gave a disbelieving snort and immediately wished she hadn’t. But it was out now, and so were her words. ‘You’ve got your secret velvet love tunnel and you—’
‘Beatrice!’ He snapped her name.
She stopped and looked at him, and no one was pretending now. His black eyes were focussed on her mouth and then he moved those eyes up to hold hers. He took a strand of her hair and rubbed it between his fingers. Though his skin had not touched hers, and her hair had no sensation, the action was so intimate and so forbidden.
He put his glass down on the table beside her, and still she did not move. His hand cupped her cheek and they stared at each other.
‘I’ve been told,’ he said, ‘by you, to be careful.’
‘Yes.’
‘No indiscretions. My liaison aide was most insistent...’
She should go. Absolutely, she should leave.
Beatrice knew she could remove his hand and tell him to keep on behaving; she knew she could leave if she wanted. Yet it felt as if the air in the room was shared: as he breathed in, so did she. She was rooted to the spot. Of course he must think she knew what she was doing. Possibly because right now Beatrice felt as if she did.
She already knew how to smile only for him, and she did that now...just a little. And she had touched his tie so many times when she closed her eyes and imagined him that it was almost rehearsed, and she played with the pointed end near his belt and felt the thick silk between her fingers.
‘Perhaps she’d forgive one indiscretion.’
One.
He removed her bag from her shoulder and dropped it to the floor as if it displeased him.
A first kiss was supposed to be awkward, tentative, but she knew there was not a chance of him knowing that she was new to this, for there was no thinking, no anything, other than the relief of his lips brushing hers. Her head moved to one side to chase his mouth as he moved his lips to her cheek, to her eyes, then down to her neck, as though he were tasting her.
‘Oh, God...’ he said, as if he very much needed to.
And he moved his hands to hold her hips and kissed under her hair, burrowing at the side of her neck. His tongue was wet and his hands were steady. Beatrice arched her neck and he came up for air.
‘Let’s go through,’ he suggested, with a hoarse edge to his voice, and then he lowered his lips again to hers and lingered there, until she parted to the slip of his whisky-laced tongue.
Beatrice sighed at this very new bliss, the slight shock of his tongue sliding against hers, the taste of her first kiss, and that sigh seemed to light something in them both. His mouth demanded more and more, his tongue parting her, tasting her deeper.
This was no typical first kiss; it was every kiss she had ever wanted. And she was kissing him back just as hard, knotting her hands in his newly cut hair and lost in bliss.
Her back was to the wall. His hands took hers from his head and held them against the wall so she was pinned there while he kissed her. He released her, but just for a second, so he could hitch her dress up and lift her so that she was able to wrap her legs around him.
Somehow he picked up her bag and started moving towards the door, and she realised he was taking her to bed. But even as they began to cross the room Beatrice began to slide down his body, and the moment she made contact with his buckle, and realised she was lodged against his erection, all those weeks of fighting it seemed pathetic—because nothing could have stopped this.
They couldn’t even get to his apartment.
And now her bag was God knows where, and Jordan’s desk was cleared in one swipe, and Beatrice’s shoes were half off so she kicked them away.
Why, she asked herself, had she waited so long to know this, to allow this? To be on a desk with him parting her knickers as he kissed her ear, sucked her neck, and brought her closer to frantic completion than she’d imagined possible.
‘Not here...’
It was Julius who was attempting to slow things down, even as she lifted her bottom to assist him in sliding her knickers off. He looked at her plain cotton multi-pack knickers and gave them no more consideration than Beatrice had when she’d purchased them. Rather he was looking at her pale blonde curls! And he’d clearly changed his mind about trying to get to the apartment. Instead he just slid her knickers down and got straight back to what he’d been doing.
‘Or maybe here,’ he said, parting her thighs.
He was no longer kissing her, and they were both watching him play with her shining pink lips, and as he stroked the little knot she’d long denied herself he groaned when she shivered beneath his touch.
Her throat was too constricted for her to speak, and she continued to watch him stroke her, fascinated not just at herself but at the sound of his response.
‘Come on,’ he said, as if she should be able to jump off the desk and walk steadily.
