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I shake my head. “Please stop saying my name like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you wish you’d never stopped.”
Tilting my head up, I see his eyes darken with lust, liquid heat spilling into the caramel swirls. His jaw tics, the muscle jumping beneath the stubble, and he tugs me into him, the clean yet crisp scent of his expensive cologne invading my senses and making me lightheaded.
“I wish we’d never started,” he rasps, roving his gaze over my face as my body temperature spikes. “You are without a doubt my biggest regret, Fiona Ivers.”
My mouth parts, my stomach dropping at the admission. I gulp, noting how the way he looks at me, how he clutches me closer with each harsh breath escaping his nostrils, seems at odds with the venom spewing from his lips.
It feels like a lie, like he’s trying to convince himself that what he says is true, but the words ring hollow, rattling in my ears. It’s pride and pain mixing together, a way to punish me for hurting him.
Licking my lips, something strange comes over me—a sense of defiance I haven’t felt in ages, the need to prove him wrong flaring deep inside me, blazing through my veins as we stand off in the hallway.
Anyone could pass us or come out of the office at any given moment. Anyone could stroll up here and see me defiling my mother’s funeral. But that doesn’t stop me from leaning in and accepting his challenge.
Reaching down, I run my palm over the zipper of his dress pants, my mouth watering at the distinct bulge waiting just beneath. Raising up onto my tiptoes, I press my lips to his ear and squeeze. “Might want to tell that to your cock.”
“My cock and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms,” he replies.
“Is that because he remembers what it feels like to be inside of me?” Batting my eyelashes, I pull back to look into his eyes. They burn bright with molten lust as he hardens under my fingertips, making my core spasm.
A feral sound tears from his throat, and his hand slips from my hand to grip my elbow as he pushes me up against a closed door; it falls open with the force of my back hitting it, flinging us into darkness, and I get déjà vu as my ass connects with what feels like a sink.
Before I have a chance to collect my bearings, his mouth descends on mine, all of our pent-up tension pouring into the kiss. His hands are everywhere, scraping and pinching and tugging, as his lips steal the breath from my body and simultaneously replace it.
He pushes the cardigan off my shoulders and rips it from my arms, tossing it behind him, then pushes the straps of my short black dress down, sliding my arms from them one by one. My chest flushes even though he can’t see me, a gasp falling from my mouth as he dips his head, yanks the cups of my lacy bra down, and sucks one of my nipples into his mouth.
His tongue flicks against the puckered peak, making me squirm and pull his head flush against me, and he switches to the opposite breast, sucking so hard I can feel my skin breaking under the suction.
Our hearts beat in time against each other as he hauls me into his arms, pushing my dress up around my waist and shoving me against the sink. I hear rustling, his hand fumbling, and then the vanity lights come on, revealing our dirty passion.
We’re in a private bathroom, a toilet and sink and a Jesus calendar the only objects inside, letting lust block out everything else in the world. Letting ourselves succumb to it once again, like this worked well the last time.
But right now, I can’t find it in myself to care.
