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"She a good friend of yours?"
"Oh, yes." I allow my lips to curve in a genuine smile. "I’ve only been in London a few years. Not long enough to meet that many people, and of course, with my mother’s condition deteriorating—" I look away and swallow, "Uh… it hasn’t been easy to socialize. But thanks to Abby, who I met through a mutual friend, I also met Mira, and now the three of us hang out a lot. Or rather, we used to, now that Abby is married and all." I hunch my shoulders, force myself to keep the smile on my face. "It’s fine. It’s life, you know? The only constant is change."
I glance up to find he’s staring at me with a strange look in his eyes.
"What?" I half laugh. "Do I have a spot on my face or something?"
"You have a—" He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "It had come lose from your hairdo."
"Oh, thanks." I swallow. A slow, melting sensation coils in my chest. It’s different to the explosive chemistry that always stretches between us. Even now, in the car, the air is heavy with unspoken needs, wants, cravings, desires… All those things we’re taught to never voice but which, the more you don't acknowledge them, the more they grow bigger in the space. But this—whatever this nascent, fragile emotion is that curves around my heart—is different. We stare at each other; the silence stretches.
Then, there’s a screech of brakes being applied, and the car lurches to a stop. My heart jumps into my throat. I’m thrown forward and against the seatbelt—and into a heavy barrier that’s been slapped in front of me. An immovable barrier that holds me in my place. It’s his arm. I didn’t even seen him fling it out, but it’s there. His arm, encased in the sleeve of his jacket and attached to his large, powerful body, which is vibrating with so much tension, the fabric strains at the seams to hold in the muscles of his shoulders.
His chest rises and falls, the veins on his throat bulging with such tautness, surely, it must be painful. His cheekbones stand out in rigid angles that cut through the air, and his gaze is fixed straight ahead on a spot I can’t see. I touch his hand and the sinews under his skin jump. He’s so rigid, so impenetrable, something inside me softens in direct contrast.
I unsnap my belt, and before I can stop myself, I’ve slid out from under his arm and straddled him.
He lowers his gaze to my face, but he’s not really seeing me, so I throw my arms about him and reach up and fix my lips on his. He goes rigid; the muscles of his shoulders jump under my touch. His chest rises and falls, but otherwise, he’s still. So still. His mouth is hard, unmoving as I brush mine over his once, twice. There’s no response from him, nothing to indicate that I’m in his lap and kissing him and—something thick stabs me between my legs.
Aha! He’s not as unmoved as he’s trying to pretend he is. I tilt my head, deepen the kiss, and the column between my legs jumps. My stomach clenches. My pussy begins to weep. I bite down on his plush lower lip, and a low growl rumbles up his chest. I slide my fingers up the back of his neck, wind them through the short hair and tug. His chest-planes vibrate, and his entire body seems to turn into one solid mass of immovable granite.
There’s a second during which I stare into those emerald sheets of his eyes. The next, flames ignite behind them. I gasp as he plants his big hands on my hips and yanks me close enough that my breasts are flattened against his massive chest. He pushes me down firmly onto the thickness between his thighs, and without blinking, he licks the seam of my lips. The moment I part them, he thrusts his tongue into my mouth and deepens the kiss. He draws of me, sucks from my life force, drains me of every thought.
My entire body has turned into a mass of writhing, yearning, a melting sensation that strains to be one with him. And still, he holds my gaze captive. It’s as if he’s looking right into me, as if he knows my innermost desires, my most secret shameful inclinations, how I hunger for his touch, his lips, his tongue, his cock, which seems to have grown bigger and heavier and thicker against my core, as we speak. He drags his hands down from my hips to the expanse of stocking-covered thigh exposed when I drew up my skirt.
He squeezes down on my skin, and my entire body goes into a tailspin of longing. My heart slams into my ribcage, and the blood thunders at my temples. Something inside me snaps, and I crawl closer, pushing myself into him, rubbing myself up against him, aware I’m making small whimpering noises in my throat and unable to stop myself. Aware that I’m humping that thick rod between his thighs through the crotch of my stockings and his pants and unable to stop myself. As for Knight?
He continues to kiss me, continues to ravage my mouth, and continues to thrust his tongue in and out between my lips in an imitation of how he’d, no doubt, shove his dick inside my pussy. He drags his palms up to my butt and squeezes it hard. I yelp, but he swallows the sound and pulls me even closer, until the heat of his body surrounds me. It wraps around me like a caterpillar in a cocoon that it’s woven around itself and is never going to be able to shed.
The air thickens, pulses, pushes down on my shoulders and holds me in place as surely as his hands that cup each butt cheek as if he’d like to imprint himself on my body. In me. All over me. A trembling screeches up my spine, and oh, my god, is it possible to orgasm from a kiss alone? Surely, I’m going to—
The muted sound of a horn cuts through the charged space, then Rudy’s voice comes over the intercom, "Sorry about that, Knight, but we’re clear of the traffic now."
We break apart. My chest heaves, my lips throb, and a thousand little fireflies spark through my veins. Knight’s eyes blaze at me for a few seconds, then that emerald curtain descends over them. He lifts me up, deposits me on the seat next to him, then leans forward to push a button on the panel. "Change of plans. We’re dropping Ms. Easton home."
* * *
"So that’s it, he dropped you home?" Mira blinks up at me from the couch in our living room.
"Maybe something came up… I guess?" One minute, we were kissing. The next, he couldn’t wait to get away from me. He immersed himself in his phone, told me we’d discuss things the next morning in the office, and didn’t give me any other reason for the abrupt change in the evening’s proceedings. Of course, I'm pretty sure I know the reason. "He’s a busy man; perhaps, there was something urgent in the office?"
"You’re his assistant; you’d be aware if that happened," she points out.
That’s true, and I checked my inbox on the way home. Even though there were a hundred emails since we left the office—I wince—there was nothing that needed his immediate attention. Nothing that pointed to the real reason behind his hurry in dropping me off at my home before he took off. Which leads me to conclude, it has something to do with my V-card. He must have been reminded of it when we were interrupted.
I reach for the box of wine Mira took out and pour some into my glass. I take a sip, then make a face.
"I know, sorry, it’s all I had."
"Oh, please don’t apologize. You put your evening on hold for me."
"Now that you mention it…" She pushes a finger into her cheek. "Let’s see. I had a hot book boyfriend, a bubble bath, and a vibrator ready to go with this wine, so yeah, I could be having multiple orgasms with my fictional crush and my Hitachi." She laughs. "But instead, I’m here, listening to how your hot boss kissed the hell out of you, then realized he was so in danger of falling for you that he promptly decided to turn tail and run."
I huff out a breath. "He’s not falling for me. He’s not even in the vicinity of noticing me—"
"—just touching you every chance he gets?"
"It’s not quite that way."
