She never finished her thought. She didn’t need to. I pumped three fingers into her and watched as her head fell back, her lips parted, and the quiet, husky sound of her trying-to-be-quiet orgasm raced through her.
For a few seconds, she let me hold her up, breathe in the scent of her hair, and pretend that we were somewhere else, maybe my living room or her bedroom, certainly not on the floor of my unlocked office.
Seeming to remember this at the same time I did, Chloe pulled up her panties and slid her skirt back down her thighs before letting me take her hand to help her stand. As usual, I was struck by the quiet all around us, and wondered if we were ever as controlled and sneaky as we thought we were.
She looked around, a little dazed, and then tossed me a lazy grin. “This will make it even harder to stay awake in my meeting.”
“Not sorry,” I murmured, bending down to kiss her neck.
When I straightened, she turned and walked into my washroom, pushing the sleeves of her sweater up her forearms so she could clean her hands. I stepped close, pressing my front to her back, and moved my hands under the water with hers. Soap slid between our fingers and she leaned her head back against my chest. I wanted to spend an hour washing her scent from our fingers just so I could stand this close.
“Are we staying at your place tonight?” I asked. It was always a hard choice. My bed was better for play, but her kitchen was better stocked.
She turned off the water and reached to dry her hands on my towel. “Your place. I have to do laundry.”
“Don’t ever let me hear you say romance is dead.” I took my turn with the towel and then bent to kiss her. She kept her mouth closed, eyes open, and I pulled back a little.
“Bennett?”
“Mmm?”
“I do, you know.”
“You do what?”
“Love you. Maybe I don’t tell you enough. Maybe that’s why you used the bat signal.”
I smiled, my heart squeezing tightly beneath my ribs. “I know you do. And that isn’t why I texted. I texted because I don’t get enough of your exclusive attention lately and I’m a greedy bastard. Hasn’t my mother warned you that I’ve never been good at sharing?”
“After we move to New York, things will quiet down and we’ll have more time.”
“In New York? Doubtful,” I said. “And even if things do settle down, wouldn’t it be nice to get away for a little bit before all that anyway?”
“When?” she asked, and looked around as if her packed calendar permeated every surface.
“There won’t ever be a perfect time. And when we move offices, it will be even crazier for a while.”
Laughing, she shook her head. “Well, I can’t think of a worse time. Maybe late summer?” With a quick kiss, she turned and grabbed her phone from my desk, eyes widening when she saw the time. “I have to go,” she said, kissing me once more before leaving my office.
And the topic was dismissed.
But the word vacation stayed in my mind.
Three
I’d had big plans for tonight: make dinner, eat dinner together, finally decide which apartment we were going to rent in New York, discuss what to keep from both his place and mine, figure out when in the hell we’d find time to pack it all in the first place.
Oh, and spend the remaining eight hours relearning every inch of my Beautiful Bastard’s body. Twice.
But that itinerary was before he’d walked through the door of his house to find me cooking dinner in his kitchen. Before he’d tossed his jacket and keys to the couch and practically sprinted across the room. Before he pulled me back against him and sucked at the skin below my ear as if he hadn’t tasted me in weeks.
Needless to say, the plan had been downsized dramatically.
One: dinner. Two: naked.
Even so, Bennett seemed inclined to skip steps.
“We’re never going to eat at this rate,” I said, tilting my head back as he kissed along my neck. His warm breath curled over my skin and the knife I’d been holding clattered to the cutting board.
“And?” he whispered, pressing his hips to my ass before turning me to face him.
The cabinets were hard against my back. Bennett was harder against my front. He bent down, towering over me without the benefit of my shoes, and brushed his lips over my throat.
“And . . .” I mumbled. “Food is overrated.”
He laughed softly, hands skimming my sides to rest at my hips. “Exactly. And God, it feels like I haven’t touched you in weeks.”
“This afternoon,” I corrected, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “It was this afternoon, you know—when I sucked you off at your desk?”
“Oh, yes. I seem to remember something like that. It’s a little hazy, though. Perhaps you could refresh my memory . . . tongue, cock . . .”
“Nice mouth, Ryan. Does your mother know you’re such a pig?”
He barked out a laugh. “If the way she looked at us after we fucked in the coatroom at my cousin’s wedding in February is any indication, then yes.”