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“I wasn’t expecting you,” he says. I’d forgotten how sexyhis voice sounded.
Keep it in your pants, Gigi,I tell myself harshly.
Even if, ironically, that’s the exact opposite of whyI’m here.
“I know,” I say. Up until ten minutes ago, I wasn’t expecting myself here either. But after our date three days ago, I haven’t been able to navigate my thoughts in the right direction.
Everythingabout that date had shaken me. The fact that I’d finally told him why he made me angry. The fact that he’d been apologetic. And the fact that, looking back, I was finallyable to admit to myself that I’d held on to what he did for far too long. And that it was not nearly as horrible as my mind had made it out to be.
But the most important fact, the one I’d not been able to get over, was that Brandon Stawarski seemed like an entirely different person now. He was no longer the gigantic prick who made me feel like an idiot.
He is now a more mature and charming individual. Someone so charming that I didn’t even feel appalled while thinking about being in the same room.
Someone that I didn’t feel dismayed about being inme.
And the guy I’d humped my pillow to just this morning.
“Can I come in?” I hear myself blurt out.
That was notwhat I’m supposed to say, I recall as a blush creeps up my cheeks. I was supposed to march up to him and kiss him. Let him take charge.
We both want to, I feel it. But Brandon is notgoing to make the first move. Not just because he is a better man than I took him to be, but because he is well aware that I could start to think that he was only dating me to get in my pants.
And so, I’m making the first move.
Or I will,when I muster up the courage.
Brandon steps aside, and I walk into his office on shaky legs. The last time I was here, I’d been intent on telling him what a dick he was.
Now, though…
“A drink?” Brandon asks, his eyes sparkling. “It is after five.”
I am both relieved and irritated by his nonchalant, casual demeanor. I want him to be as anxious as I am. Yet, at the same time, I'm glad he's so relaxed. Perhaps it will make it easier for me to spill it out.
Especially after a drink.
Brandon walks to a small cabinet in the corner of his office and returns with two glasses of brandy.
I take hold of my glass and take a sip. His eyes are fixed on me as I place the glass back on the table, while his fingers twirl around the thin rim of his own glass.
Suddenly, I detect a new emotion in his eyes: desire. He's not just staring at me anymore; he's staring at my body. He knows why I'm here, and he knows what he wants to do to me because I'm here.
The alcohol fills me with a sense of bravery that I was foolish to believe I possessed on my own. So, I rise to my feet and stride over to his desk. Leaning in, I trail my lips along his.
A growl escapes him. He lifts his hands and places them on my hips. And before I know what’s going on, I’m on his lap, straddling him. He lets his fingers splay on my ass, possessively holding on to my cheeks.
The way I’ve been wanting him to hold me since the wedding.
He kisses me hard, almost angrily, and I dissolve into a puddle. Now that thisis finally happening, I don’t feel as much anxiety as I thought I would.
He is growing hard beneath me. I want to feel him inside of me.
He wraps me around him, stands, and backs me down into the chair. He is looking at me like he wants to swallow me whole.
“You can’t begin to imagine all the things I want to do to you right now,” he says, freeing me of my shirt and the bra underneath it. I’m seated on his chair, naked from the waist up, and not the least bit embarrassed.
He stares down at me, my desire for him growing. He bends down, kissing my neck until I’m trembling underneath him.
