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“Angie, do you have any idea what you are doing to me?” he asks solemnly. He plays with an errant strand of hair, rotating it in between two fingers. “You are making me do things I promised myself I would never do.”
It is as if he is blaming me for something. As if this—whatever the hell it is—is my fault.
His body inches even closer, invading the only free space left between us. He looks conflicted, like he is battling internally with himself over his next move.
It is a seductive dance.
Push and pull.
Give and take.
His eyes lock with mine and study me. I feel like he is X-raying my thoughts. I fight to resist falling over the edge. It is as if we are both dangling by a frayed thread that holds our self-control.
“Fuck it,” Graham snarls. He presses his knee between my parted legs, resting it right against my pussy.
My mouth opens wide and is quickly covered by his lips. He swallows my moan, capturing it and making it go unnoticed. His kiss is full of need. My tongue slips into his mouth, and his teeth nip at it playfully. We are so deeply connected that I can no longer tell if I am breathing on my own or if he is doing it for me.
The skirt of my dress rides up to accommodate him. I use my hands to anchor myself to the car to keep from falling over—breaking the seal of our lips. I take a breath. One labored breath.
My core grinds against his knee, and I mold my body against his. We fit together seamlessly, like water to the shore. My arms wrap around his neck, and I desperately shift my body to get more friction.
He leans down and chuckles into my ear.
“You want me, don’t you?”
My eyes connect with his.
“Admit it,” he demands.
His words snap me into the present like a band pulled too tight. He is testing my limits, mocking me. It is then that I hear the cars driving past and people chatting while exiting the building. I push on his chest to get him to back away from me.
“Yeah, I thought so,” he huskily whispers, releasing me from his grasp. I miss the warmth of his breath on my skin. “It’s okay to be shy about it, Angie,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “I find that just as sexy.”
“We need to go,” I say quietly, changing the subject. “I have to get home.”
I swallow hard and grab the handle to the rear door. Graham nods to Collins who efficiently moves to enter the driver’s seat. Has he been standing on the sidelines this whole time? Watching us?
Disgust washes over me. I wonder just how many agency girls Collins has driven home or back to Graham’s place. I wonder what number I am on his spreadsheet of names. I feel faint.
“My bag. I don’t know where my handbag is,” I say in a rush.
“It’s here,” Graham says softly, reaching for it from the hood of the car.
I have no idea how it ended up there. It’s as if my mind is playing tricks on me.
Graham helps me to get situated inside, fastening my seatbelt for me despite my protests that I can do it on my own.
“I look forward to when we can do this again,” he responds. He leans down into the frame of the door and kisses my forehead. “I’ll be in touch.”
“What?”
I watch in confusion as he gives Collins some nonverbal cue that manages to get some message across. He shuts the door and the car pulls out swiftly, leaving Graham on the sidewalk of the street. Alone. I stare out the tinted windows into the night, watching Graham walk back into the building, his cell raised to his ear. The silence in the car is suffocating as I decipher the reason as to why Graham isn’t accompanying me home as well. His request to see me home alluded to the notion that he would be with me. Why does it even matter? Why should I care so much? It’s not like I would have invited him inside my place.
You aren’t his type.
I resist the urge to grill Collins with questions. The man is obviously quite nervous around me. I find it a bit comical, but I am in no mood to entertain that tonight.
At some point during the ride home, I must have dozed off because the sound of the back door opening startles me awake. I hear a cough.
