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She shakes her head and lowers her hands from her face. There’s an expression I’ve seen a thousand times arranged on her features—knit brows and lips pressed together. She’s deep-thinking.
“It’s not that.”
“Then what?”
Delphine launches herself at me. It’s the last thing a calculated guy like me expects, which says a lot. She throws her arms around me and smashes her lips against mine.
Just like that, she’s in my lap, kissing me hard. I’m so caught off guard, all I do for the first few seconds is process the fact that Delphine’s not only perched in my lap, but her soft heart-shaped lips are pressed to mine in a kiss that’s desperate.
It’s been over a decade and I can still remember in vivid detail the last time I really touched her. I hadn’t known it’d be the last time I’d have her or I probably never would’ve let her leave. I’ve craved her ever since. A craving that’s gone unfulfilled.
Until now.
She’s aggressive about it. She bites my lower lip and runs her hands down my chest before twisting her fingers in my dress shirt. Her hips rock against me and a breathy puff of air leaves her as she puts more effort into her kiss.
I want nothing more than to grab her and return the favor—restake my claim like I’ve been obsessing about for years. Devour her and have her melting in my arms within seconds.
At first, I do. My hands glide over her pear-shaped curves. Our kisses become that much more frenzied and rushed. The fizzy, fruity taste of champagne is all over her tongue. Another sign of how much she’s been drinking.
It’s a vague reminder that she’s drunk and probably wouldn’t be doing this if she were sober.
But I can’t pretend I’m not fucking turned on. My appetite for Delphine has gone unsatisfied for so long, it was a given I’d be getting hard the instant she climbed into my lap.
Her hands find their way to my crotch. She gropes my growing erection and begins peppering kisses along my jaw.
“I want to feel good. Are you going to help me?” she purrs. “Just this once.”
Her slurred plea is enough to pull me from the moment. Even more than the champagne taste of her.
This isn’t Phi. Not even happy, flirty, tipsy Phi, which I’ve experienced once or twice when we dated, and I’d given her a few sips of alcohol (underage, but with me around to look out for her).
This Delphine is different. I was right earlier.
Something’s definitely off.
In the worst possible timing, the door to the executive office flies open. Stitches walks through clutching a bottled water and wearing a broad grin. He stops and we fly apart. Delphine almost falls backward off my lap, but I seize hold of her arms and keep her planted where she is.
“Whoops,” Stitches says. “I was coming up to tell you the car’s waiting outside. Even brought up a bottled water for our intoxicated lady guest. I figured it’d help. But don’t mind me. I’ve walked in on worse. There was the time my father was chopping up some guy who owed him big bucks—talk about an awkward interruption. I didn’t know whether to stay and help or go and finish my homework. You know my dad. Messy guy. Bloodeverywhere.”
“Francis,” I grit out, “not right now. Get the fuck out. We’ll be down shortly.”
“Yes, Psycho. Should I leave the bottled water?”
“GO!”
He rushes to place the water on a console table against the wall and then he’s gone.
Silence persists in his wake. I return my attention to Delphine. She’s still in my lap, though her eagerness is gone. She covers her face again, her posture hunching.
“I’m so sorry,” she mumbles. “I just kissed you. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Phi, no more stalling. Tell me what the fuck is wrong.”
So I can fix it. As always.
When she finally meets my gaze, and I get a good up-close look at her, I see it—along her collarbone there’s a faint scrape that’s been covered up by makeup. It’s only started to rub off now that we’ve been kissing so heavily.
“Phi, what is this?”
