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"I can stop..." I began, my words trailing off as I withdrew my hands slightly. She didn't reply verbally, instead reaching back to grasp my wrist and pull it back into place. A chuckle escaped me at that, the act so endearing, so Justice.
"No need to stop, Doctor Silva," she sighed out finally, leaning into my touch once more. "How many massages did you give when you were practicing as a surgeon?"
"Not many," I confessed, my hands gliding across the contours of her neck and shoulders in soothing strokes. The intimacy of the moment, the quiet camaraderie between us, held me captive. "But for you..."
"A lot's riding on your hands, then," she said.
"That's why I had them insured."
She laughed. "You have always been very good with your hands."
"And I intend to keep proving that," I told her, leaning closer and letting the words hang in the air between us. My fingers glided down her spine, tracing each vertebra through the thin material of her shirt.
"Zane…" she began, the teasing gone from her voice. She turned to face me, her dark eyes gleaming in the warm lamplight of the office. There was a soft blush blooming on her cheeks, a delightful contrast to her usual spirit. It tugged at something within me, a storm of longing and protectiveness. "What are you doing?"
"What I've wanted to do since I saw you this morning," I said. "What you're ready for. Because you're ready for me, aren't you?"
Her breath hitched as she locked eyes with me, a silent question hanging between us. Her lips parted slightly as my fingers trailed down to the hem of her shirt, toying with the material.
"Zane..." Her words came out as a whisper, her dark eyes reflecting a different kind of tension. Anticipation.
Hunger.
"Justice," I murmured, my voice low and husky as my hand traveled higher on her back. My fingers brushed against the lacy edge of her bra strap, and she sucked in a soft breath. The air around us thrummed with expectation as heat bloomed between us. "We don't need to rush things. No matter how much you want me to fill you up. Because you want me to fuck you until you can't think. I know you do. I can practically smell how wet you are."
Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. I let my hand fall back down, skimming her stomach through the thin material of her shirt. A shudder passed through her and I reveled in it. "But we'll go slow," I vowed, dropping my voice to a whisper that was barely audible in the dimly lit room.
"Slow?" she echoed.
"I always have to rush to get a bit of you," I said. "Tonight, I'm going to savor you."
She stared at me, her eyes dark and throbbing with heat. It was an intense gaze, one that held a promise of things to come. Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, the curve of her breasts outlined beneath the fabric of her shirt, stirring a lustful hunger in me. But I stayed steady; tonight was about slow exploration and agonizing anticipation. I wanted to grab her and push her against the wall and fuck her until she screamed, but I also wanted to take it slow.
I wanted to savor her.
Her lips parted and a soft sigh escaped, sending a shiver down my spine. “I think I’d like that,” she confessed, her voice unsteady. Encouraged by her words, my fingers boldly slipped beneath the hem of her shirt, tracing the softness of her skin.
"Just lay back," I whispered, guiding her gently until she was sprawled out on the notes scattered on Bash's desk.
My fingers gently cradled her head, supporting her as she settled onto the hard surface. Papers rustled beneath her, words of strategy and revenge now hidden beneath the glorious expanse of Justice Rosales.
And she was a fucking sight to see.
"Comfortable?" I asked.
Her eyes fluttered open to meet mine, and for a moment, we simply held each other's gaze.
"As I'll ever be on a desk," she shot back, her lips curving into a smirk. The playful banter was familiar territory, but the intimacy of our moment added a thrilling edge.
I chuckled, my fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead. As I held her gaze, I was reminded of all the reasons I had fallen for her; her resilience, her wit, her warmth. She had a way of casting light into the bleakest corners of my world.
"Your poor back," I said, feigning concern as I moved to unbutton her shirt.
She chuckled, but there was anticipation in her eyes as they followed my movements. Each button undone revealed a little more skin, fair and soft under the harsh office lights. My heart pounded in my chest, echoing the deep thrumming of desire throughout my body.
"Zane," she said, her voice tinged with amusement as she caught me staring. "If you're going to take this slow, at least be thorough."
My mouth tugged into a smirk as I leaned forward, pressing a kiss on the valley between her breasts. "Does this count as thorough?"
