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And the more immediate concern was that she didn’t know how he’d react when she was the instigator of devious things. “Have you ever done it on the desk?”
He frowned and then the sun rose in his eyes. “No. I work at that desk.”
“If I moved this old typewriter…?”
“Remington.”
“And that old telephone…?”
“Stomberg Carlson candlestick.”
“And your laptop and that, whatever that is.” A small glass trinket box with a hinged onyx lid.
“It’s an art deco inkwell.”
“And if I took off my new pants and sat right up there on that leather pad, you wouldn’t be tempted to do me on the desk?”
He groaned. “It would be uncomfortable.”
“That would be half the fun.”
She didn’t drop her pants. She took off her top because the new bra was cut differently from what she’d normally wear, and she was more out of it than in it. “Also, I might be virgin at desk sex. Gird your alicorn.”
His mouth dropped open. Any decision he was going to make that didn’t include sex on the desk in the museum of devious was knocked clear out of his head by what she’d said, how she looked, and how much he wanted to touch her.
It took all of five seconds for him to clear the surface of the desk, lose his T-shirt, and come at her, boosting her up to sit on the cool, green, leather writing pad and planting hot lips on her collarbone.
Fingers busy at the clasp of her bra, he said, “Zeke says my desk is an extension of my dick. He might be right.” He cut off her laugh with a kiss and then broke away to deal with pants: hers, his. “He can’t ever know about this.”
They did the devious on the desk. Twice. Once with Lenny laid back over it and a second time with her standing, her hands on its surface, braced, with Halsey doing wonderous things to her from behind. It was intense, a little bruising, and she loved it.
“I will never be able to sit at this desk again and not remember you spread out for me,” he said, one hand between her legs, the other pinning her back to him.
“I’m not unhappy about that.”
He bit her earlobe lightly. “Not fair play.”
“Life is unfair, and then you die.”
Or orgasm, if you were very, very lucky and the man who held you knew how to pay attention to the secrets your body gave up to him and the lies your brain told you.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sex always made Halsey hungry. Sex with Lenny made him feel like he could eat a forest green Mercedes-Benz 280SL Coupe Roadster. He cooked linguini with shrimp for lunch, served it with a side salad, and they ate while watching an episode of Mindhunter.
It should’ve been an episode of Good Behavior. Although the show annoyed him, it would’ve reminded him he wasn?
??t playing for keeps no matter how much Lenny liked his pasta and his body.
On his big comfy sectional, with Lenny in his arms, they dozed, something he never did during the day. When she stirred, he made coffee and they snuggled up again while rain thumped down outside, and Lenny talked about her objectives for D4D. He had to prod her to get her started, but once she did, she became animated about on-the-ground partners and case studies and experiments in minimum wage welfare.
He could listen to her forever. Fell in love with her enthusiasm and her knowledge and her passion. When she got tired of talking and stalked his lips, he fell in love with how those qualities pertained directly to him. There was enthusiasm in the way she climbed over his legs to straddle him, knowledge she’d gained in how he liked to be touched in her hands, and passion he tasted on her tongue.
“We’re getting good at this making-out thing,” she said between kisses.
So good it almost erased all desire to do anything else, to think anything else but that this should be forever.
“Feel like a swim?”
