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And yet, here she was, supported in his arms, running her fingers through the short waves of his hair, thinking about the hard planes of his chest against her belly. Her thighs at his waist. At that moment, the idea of being crazy for one night out of her life, spreading her legs and wrapping them around him, was almost irresistible.
His fisted grip around her thighs loosened, and his open palms rested flat. The pressure against her right leg eased, while the left remained subtly secured, and she slipped down his body, the friction between her legs building as she rode over the hard bulge of his cock and tensed muscle of his thigh.
Their eyes leveled, and Bethany sucked in her breath. Her hear
t beat fiercely in her chest, her nipples bunched tighter under the sheer silk blouse, and arousal twisted a coil down her body so tight she could barely breathe. “No, Ryan. This is a mistake.” Maybe he would be more convinced than she was.
“Beth,” he whispered, giving her his serious business face. “I’m going to have to disagree with you.” He dipped his lips to her neck, skimmed along the line of it with purpose, his warm breath melting her resolve, and her body into his. “This doesn’t feel like a mistake to me.”
“It is.” Her breathy whisper sounded weak even to her.
There had been nights, after they’d spent the day in negotiations and he slept in the next hotel room over, she’d wondered what it would be like to be with him. With his easy confidence, she imagined there would be nothing tentative about his touch. She’d been right.
She should have pushed him away. Only now, to finally touch him, to know what it was like to be in his arms, she couldn’t stop.
Her right hand lingered at the back of his neck, while the left slipped down to his chest, testing the firm resistance. “I don’t have room in my life for romantic entanglements, even if it’s just the residual awkwardness of a one-night stand.”
His warm palms circled her waist then smoothed up the side and front of her ribs. “The way you work...” His teeth grazed the side of her neck. “...there isn’t room for anything in your life. And besides, it’s already going to be awkward. We should at least make it count for something.”
He was making some sense, but it was more than just the consequences at work that scared her. It was the intimacy.
“We’ve got tonight. One romantic, secluded night to work on our interpersonal skills.” He tugged her lobe between his teeth then whispered against her ear, “I know how you like to get the jump on the competition”.
“Don’t sweet talk me,” she groaned, leaning into him. He was right, the damage was already done, the coworker boundary breached. She should get something out of it. Get it out of her system. If they didn’t do it now, every time they were together they’d wonder. This way, they would know, and when everyone arrived tomorrow, they would pretend it never happened.
And with her one leg still hiked up against his hip and only the wet silk that clung to her erect nipples between them, she couldn’t deny her arousal.
He straightened, pulled her closer, and looked down into her eyes.
She skimmed her hands over the shoulders of his T-shirt, damp where the flakes had melted into the soft cotton. “This is wet. Maybe you should take it off.”
Ryan stared into her eyes, holding her suspended in time. “You take it off.”
Her mouth opened as if to protest, but she couldn’t find the words to follow through. Hands splayed over the soft white cotton and hard muscles beneath, she smoothed them down and under the thin fabric, heating them against the flat of his abdomen. He tensed at the chill of her fingers on his skin, rippling the terrain into hard rows of definition.
Grasping her right hand with both of his, he drew it toward his mouth. “You’re cold.”
Warm breath wound around her icy fingers then hot moisture encased them as he sucked one after the other into his mouth. His tongue flicked at the sensitive connective skin between her digits, and a flutter of anticipation beat within her core. Unable to keep her hands to herself, she skimmed the left up to trap his nipple within her icy clutches.
A low groan escaped him as she softly tugged at it, and it amazed her that her attention could elicit such a response. Beneath his shirt, each sinewy muscle flexed under her chilly caress. Removing her fingers from his mouth, she pushed up his shirt and marveled at his sculpted torso, even better in real life than in fantasy form. An enticing patch of soft curls trailed down from his navel and disappeared into the waist of his track pants. She wanted to comb her fingers though it, see the contrast of her shiny, red-enameled nails buried in the thicket. Her mouth watered, and desire built within her core, soaking her panties with want.
Ryan raised his arms over his head and helped her pull the shirt off, tossing it to the floor beside them. His gaze fell to the wet silk stuck against her breasts. “Your turn.”
There was no going back. She couldn’t deny her need.
Starting at the top, her fingers trembled as she worked each braided button through its slit, until her blouse hung open to reveal the white lace of her bra and smooth expanse of her abdomen. Pulling the panels of creamy silk apart, she slid the shirt off her shoulders and down to her wrists. Her cheeks flushed—she hadn’t released the buttons at the cuffs.
She pulled against her inadvertent confine but stopped when Ryan’s hands, warmer than her own, skimmed across her collarbones. One traveled to her chest to cup and squeeze her breast, testing its weight in his palm, while the other slipped down her arm to where the shirt trapped her.
He took hold of the blouse and, twisting it in his hand, cinched her wrists together behind her. She jerked back, alarmed to find herself his captive, but he drew her steadily against his body. An illicit thrill overcame her as, softly, back and forth, his mouth grazed hers, sinking slowly into the kiss as she succumbed to his hold. Her lips parted, and his tongue pressed between them, first with a tentative probe then with plundering force.
Moving to her breast with the other, he pulled the lace cup down to expose her taut, rosy nipple. He covered the tight bud with his mouth and clamped on, suckling with deep, rhythmic pulls. She moaned and tried to move her hands, wanting to weave them through his hair, only to realize she was still trapped. He twisted the fabric that bound her, tightening it, as if staking a claim, and nipped at her breast.
What was he doing to her? Every touch made her want to give in more—beg him to take more.
His free hand moved down to her slacks. He slipped his thumb under the waist and followed it around to the clasp to release it in one motion.
She had a moment’s hesitation when the soft wool slid off her hips, pooling around her feet on the floor.
