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It makes me want things I shouldn’t.
I open my lips again, this time to say something. But he gives a barely perceptible shake of his head.
Maybe he’s right. Whatever I say is going to ruin this moment. I let out a long, ragged breath.
As the last of it escapes, his mouth comes crashing down on mine.
His lips are warm, hard, needy. Without even thinking I kiss him back, my fingers curling into his hair. His tongue slides against the seam of my lips, requesting entrance, and I part them, sliding my own against him. There’s a vibration from his throat – a grunt – and then my back is against the wall and his body is pressing against me. I feel a throb between my legs that matches the rhythm of his kisses.
I feel the hard planes of his stomach as it presses against mine. I clutch onto his arms, my fingers no match for the iron of his biceps as he holds me close.
His hand slides down my side, fingers feathering my hips, then he hitches my skirt up and touches my leg. His hand curls around my skin, lifting it, until my calf brushes against his hip.
And he’s there. Hard and thick. Pressing against the part of me that’s pulsing with need. My nipples pebble as he pulls his mouth from mine, kissing my jaw, my neck, the little dip where it meets my chest.
My breath catches in my throat as he kisses down. Even through the fabric layers of my blouse and bra I feel it as his lips close around my nipple. Moistening the silk, tugging, the roughness of his beard against my breast making me arch my back and let out a cry.
He drops to his knees and presses his face between my thighs. Somewhere in my hazy mind there’s a voice telling me to stop this. Because I’m the one who started it. He might be making me gasp right now, but there’s no doubt who has the power here.
He breathes in and groans. Neither of us has said a word. I’m not sure I could. My entire being is focused on the apex of my legs and the way his nose is pressing against it. My fingers are still tangled in his hair, the tips touching and caressing his scalp. While his are tracing the line of my panties, his index finger sliding them aside, and he lets out another low groan as he feels how wet I am.
His breath is warm against my skin. And this whole thing feels inevitable. He’s going to devour me. I’m going to let him.
I’m going to love it.
I don’t think about what will happen afterward. How embarrassing it will be to face him tomorrow. How I’m jeopardizing every piece of professional repute I’ve built up over the years.
All I can think about is how to soothe him. How to be soothed.
A light flickers overhead, buzzing like a fly caught in a net. And I tense, half-expecting to see a member of staff walking toward us.
We’re in the hallway, in full view. My skirt is hitched around my hips, my thighs are pressed against his cheeks and there is no way to explain this away if we get caught.
Eli must be thinking the same thing. He lets go of my thighs and slowly stands, pulling at my skirt, smoothing it.
Oh God.
I’ve spent my life giving presentations. Telling people how I can make their companies run better, how I can save them money, make them succeed.
But right now I can’t string two words together. It’s like he’s stolen my voice along with my common sense.
Oh no, honey. He didn’t steal them. You practically threw them at him.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” he rasps.
I shake my head, still mute.
“I shouldn’t have…” He trails off, his face full of horror. “Jesus, I’m sorry.”
I need to tell him it’s okay. That I started it. And I wanted him to keep going. That if the light hadn’t flickered he’d be face deep in me right now.
“Eli,” I finally manage to say, my cheeks flaming hot.
He looks at me as though I’m about to give the Gettysburg Address. His eyes don’t leave my face.
But I have nothing. No words of wisdom. No apologies. Just a throat that feels like it’s got the Hoover Dam halfway down it.
So I do the only thing a self-respecting woman who’s just gyrated her body on a hot coach’s face can do.
