AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“What?”
He cocks his head, the punchline to his joke burning bright behind his eyes. “Do I look like the type of man that gets on his knees, Penelope?”
“I-I don’t understand.”
He regards me for a few beats, as if drinking in my confusion to quench his own enjoyment. Then he feigns a look of surprise.
“You didn’t think I was going to kiss you on your lips, did you?” He shakes his head while he unbuttons his cuffs. “Why, that’d mean I owed you a million dollars.”
My ears ring, then the realization settles like dust on my skin, cooling the fire beneath it. My limbs grow heavy, and my brain fogs.
“You said you’d kiss me,” I whisper, too numb to care how whiny my tone is.
“And I will.”
“B-but, you said there was no catch.”
He frowns. “There isn’t a catch. I said, if you win, I kiss you, and if I win, you kiss me.” A sinful glint heats his eyes. “I didn’t say where.”
Heart palpitating, I step back and press my shoulder blades against the glass. The condensation does little to cool my blood or bring a rational argument to my brain. Surely, he doesn’t mean…down there? My gaze slides up and clashes with Raphael’s, and we enter a new battle—one of wills.
I stare at him.
He stares at me.
Since I stepped on this Coast and stomped down those stairs, Raphael and I have been playing a game of chess. Both of us play dirty, and neither of us likes to lose. Now, I’ve found myself alone on the board without so much as a fucking pawn to protect me.
What options do I have? I either walk over to his desk or I walk out the door. And if I choose the latter, not only will the defeat eat me up from the inside out, but this arrogant asshole wins twice over.
So, I take the six steps over to Raphael’s desk. His eyes darken to something more sinister as they track my movements. I wonder if he thought I’d choose the door instead of calling his bluff?
As my ass slides over the edge of his desk, a rush of nerves scrape through me, settling into a wet heat between my thighs. My breaths are louder than the storm beating on the windows, and with every tense second that drips by, they grow more ragged.
Raphael, on the other hand, is the dictionary definition of cool. He leans back, brings his vodka glass to his lips, and clinically assesses the sight in front of him over its rim. Finally, he sets the drink next to my right thigh, the cold glass singeing me through my work pants.
He licks his lips. Meets my defiant stare. Then, with a sigh that suggests following through with this bet is as exciting as filing his taxes, he leans forward.
My vision dims as he runs his flat palms up the fronts of my thighs and comes to a stop at my hips. He hooks two index fingers into my waistband, pinching my pants and the band of my thong together. He paints on a charity fundraiser-worthy smile that’s at odds with the sinner that lives behind his eyes.
“May I?”
It’s not a question. Not really. If it were, he would have waited for a response before roughly tugging off my bottoms. They slide down my legs like butter, but only because the shock of it made me throw my palms behind me and arch my back.
Raphael takes his time sliding my pants over my feet. He’s still and expressionless as he untangles my thong from the fabric and holds it between his thumb and forefinger in the space between us. My pulse flickers at the sight of him holding the scrap of lace. Like he’s just had the inconvenience of finding it in his dry cleaning.
He rakes an eye over the thong. Swallows. “This is highly inappropriate for work, Penelope.”
The tautness in his tone only makes my skin burn hotter.
In silence, he straightens my pants. Folds them in half on his lap and half again, then drapes them over the edge of the desk beside me. Then, he starts to do the same with my thong. Every slow, silky movement he makes is another second of torture endured. It’s as if he’s avoiding the inevitable, either as a punishment to me or to himself.
The anticipation is making me dizzy, and I can’t stand another second of it.
Dropping back to my elbows, I part my thighs. Through a half-lidded gaze, I watch as Raphael stills. He doesn’t look up from my work pants, and the delicate fabric of my thong disappears inside his fist.
Eventually, without moving his head, he slides his gaze between my legs. His eyes darken and he runs a hand down his throat.
“You’re…” his jaw ticks. “Natural.”
