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The way his eyes twinkle when he laughs, deep lines forming around his cheeks, makes my face soften for a moment. I feel the corner of my mouth twitch.
“Holy shit,” Avery breathes, dipping his head to look at me. His dark chocolate eyes widen.
“What?” I swipe at my chin, hoping I don’t have strawberry jam on it from my muffin.
He taps the corner of my mouth. “Is that a smile? Are you smiling at me?”
“Oh, shut up.” I slap his hand away and turn back to the computer. But now my smile is full-grown. How the hell did this happen? I shake my head and type friendly definition into the Google search bar. I click on the first link.
“Kind and pleasant,” I read aloud. This is stupid. Why did I let him con me into this?
“Check and check,” Avery says proudly.
My eyes roll and his grin only broadens. It’s all cute and lopsided, that little dimple in his chin popping. I just wanna touch it.
I hum as I skim over the weird stuff about friendly soccer matches, because—what the hell?
“Oh, look.” Avery snatches the mouse away. He circles the cursor near the bottom of the screen. “On affectionate terms.” He drops his cheek to mine, chin resting on my shoulder. “I think you’ll remember that I can be very affectionate.” He turns, ever so slightly, and brushes his lips across my cheekbone.
I go completely rigid, every single part of me—except for that thing in the center of my chest, which happens to be pumping on overdrive right now, slamming wildly against my sternum. I feel like my chest cavity is cracking wide-open.
Avery keeps reading, and I wish he wouldn’t. “Favorable or serviceable. Hmm…” His hands settle on my shoulders and he drags them slowly down my arms. I watch as goosebumps dot my traitorous skin. “What do you think, Claire?” he whispers in my ear. A shiver rocks my body and I feel him smile against my neck. “Would you consider me serviceable? I mean, I know we didn’t have much time together on Friday, but you seemed very favorable of my services.” He jerks my chair out from the desk and spins me toward him. “I can show you just how serviceable I can be, sweet little strawberry.”
I gasp as his long fingers grip my knees, uncrossing my legs, my wrap skirt falling to the side, exposing me in a way I’m not entirely comfortable with in broad daylight with only one beer pumping through me. Still, I send a silent prayer up to whoever reminded me to shave my legs this morning. “What are you doing?”
He slides his palms over my knees and up my thighs, leaving my skin tingling in the wake of his touch. I’m gripping the arms of my leather chair so hard my knuckles are turning white. His fingers curve over the side of my legs and he reaches up, grabbing my hips under my skirt as he tugs me to the edge of my chair.
“Avery,” I breathe, my eyes wildly searching his. He drops to his knees between my legs, his gaze too intense, too penetrating, but I can’t look away. It’s like a bad car wreck, except it’s wonderful. But also awful.
“I’ve been thinking about you, Claire,” Avery’s husky voices rasps. His soft lips skim the inside of my knee. “For the last three days. Can’t get you out of my head.” He runs a finger along the waistband of my satin panties. “Don’t even know why. It’s infuriating, to tell you the truth.”
There’s a voice somewhere in the back of my head telling me I should shut this shit down, but it’s like it’s disconnected from the rest of me.
“Do you remember how my fingers felt? When I touched you…here?” His thumb grazes over my aching nub through my panties and he arches a pleased brow. “You’re wet, Claire.”
I’ve never worked so hard to suppress a groan. “No shit,” I say with as much bite as I can spit out. But I can’t deny it—I’m pretty shocked about it. I can’t honestly remember the last time Aaron made me wet. This man has made me wet three times in the three days that I’ve known him, and that’s not including the four times I got myself all hyped up just thinking about him over the weekend. I took care of myself those times.
He chuckles and shakes his head, pressing his thumb against my clit. I gasp, my head lolling to the side. I wanna yell at him to stop. I wanna lift my knee right into his face. I wanna rip his hands off me and run away from him. I wanna drop my panties and have him bend me right over this desk.
To put it bluntly, the man’s undoing all of my well-laid plans. I want to fuck him, and that just can’t happen. I’m on a man-fast, and it needs to stay that way.
But he keeps pressing, circling, his mocha eyes gazing curiously into mine, like he’s trying to figure me out. It’s kind of alarming, and I feel oddly exposed. And I don’t mean because my legs are wide open, on display for him, and he’s touching me. In my office.
“Oh my God!” I clamp my legs shut and push him off me. “I’m at work!” I shout, as if I’m just realizing this. I spring from my chair and back way the hell up, hands wringing nervously in front of my chest.
“So what?” He closes the distance between us in three quick strides. “I locked the door.” His hand slides along my jaw, curving over my neck.
I nearly forgot how damn tall this man is. He absolutely towers over me, even in my three-inch heels, making me feel tiny. Before I can stop myself, my hands glide over his thick arms in his navy suit jacket, sweeping over his broad shoulders. Honestly, the man is huge.
Bet he could really throw me around.
“I can, Claire,” Avery chuckles, pulling me closer. “Want me to show you?”
I blink. Twice. “What?”
Bending his neck, his mouth skims along the edge of my jaw. My head tilts and a groan rumbles deep in my throat. “Throw you around,” he murmurs when he stops at my ear.
My body freezes, my hands squeezing his shoulders so tightly he actually flinches a bit. “I said that out loud?” I shake my head, mortified, my cheeks flooding with heat. “No.” God, no. Could I possibly humiliate myself any further?
