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“No?” Avery’s fingers trail up my arms, and the regret I feel for wearing long sleeves is instantaneous. I’m desperate to feel the way his touch ignites my skin like it always does. “So, you’re not scared that you might actually like me if we went on a date? That I might treat you right? That things might get…serious?”
What in the world is happening right now? Yes, I am afraid of all those things. Why does he care? Why is he asking? Men like Avery don’t talk about this with girls they want to bed. Is this turning into that big of a chase for him?
“I agree, by the way,” he continues. “Your ass does look absolutely smashing in these pants. Did you wear them so I wouldn’t have easy access?”
I roll my eyes to disguise the fact that I’m glad he’s back to teasing. Having real conversations with him about feelings is entirely too confusing. “You have no access.”
“Really? Is that a challenge?”
“A challenge you can’t win, because I’m not taking my pants—oh!”
Yeah. One swift pull, and my pants are around my ankles.
“What was that you were saying?” His breath tickles my ear, strong hands sliding all over my body, under my shirt, flexing on my stomach, curving over my hips, my ass. “Sorry Claire, but I have to touch you. I got my first real taste on Saturday, and I don’t think I’ll ever get enough.”
I…I don’t know what to say. Stop? No? I don’t want this? I’m at work would be an obvious one. But for some reason, nothing comes out. In fact, my ass juts backwards and I shudder-moan when I feel his bulge press against me.
Avery’s palms smooth down my legs as he drops to the floor, helping me step out of my pants and my flats, which I do all too willingly. He lowers himself to my chair and guides me to his lap, propping my bare feet up on the edge of my desk. Wrapping my hair around his fist, he tosses it over one shoulder.
“This fucking turtleneck,” he growls playfully, exposing one side of my neck to him when he yanks the material to the side. His lips descend, moving slowly, leaving a wet trail on my heated skin. I’m in heaven. Or hell. I don’t know. “Are you wet for me, Claire?”
A noise rumbles in my throat while he continues assaulting my neck, hands palming my breasts.
“Check, baby.”
I don’t need to. I already know I am. I can feel damp heat pooling between my legs, and a quick peek shows that my pale pink panties have a wet spot. But still, I comply, because he has some sort of weird power over me.
I push the satin fabric to the side and swipe two fingers up my drenched lips, hissing at how sensitive I already am. It’s ridiculous how easily this man has my body begging for release.
“Let me see,” he whispers against my neck.
Avery vibrates with a groan when I raise my shaky fingers. He grips my wrist and yanks it backwards. When his lips close over my fingers, when his tongue swirls around me, tasting my arousal, I nearly faint in his lap.
His hands slide under my ass and lift my hips, dragging my underwear down to my ankles. He nudges my knees apart, opening my legs wide. My head tips backwards onto his chest and I peer up at him from beneath my lashes. I hate how breathy I am right now, how quickly my chest is moving.
“What are you doing?” It’s a stupid question. I know what he’s doing. I also know I’m not going to stop him.
Avery’s answer is a tender smile, so sweet and handsome it makes my stomach flip. One hand slides along my jaw, tipping my chin up, and his lips meet mine. His free hand runs up the length of my thigh and back down, teasing, and my skin dots with goosebumps. He swallows my whimper when his fingers dust across the juncture of my thigh.
“Please, Avery.”
“You’ll have to be quiet,” he murmurs. “Think you can handle that?”
I don’t think I can handle any of this, but I’m sure going to try, because the way his fingers keep ghosting over me is luring me right to the edge. He skims my clit, just barely touching it, and I jerk my hips.
“Go on a date with me,” he whispers in my ear, rubbing slow, torturous circles around my nub while it aches with need.
“I…Avery…no.” My back arches, toes curling.
“Why not?”
I groan, half irritation, half pleasure. “Can’t we just…do this and be done with it?”
“No, Claire. I can’t be done with you. I want to take you to dinner.”
I’m not sure I’d answer if I could. All I can focus on is the way his fingers dip further down, gathering my wetness and spreading it over my clit. He’s moving excruciatingly slow and one of my hands reaches back and slides into his hair, scratching at this scalp, while my other hand grips his forearm so tightly my fingernails leave angry, red bite marks.
“Do you like this?” Avery asks.
