“You can,” he said. “But I won’t tell.”
He moved back to his desk and picked up the phone again. “One more thing, Greg,” he said into the handset as he tossed a ring of keys onto his desk. “Tell Cole the keys to the Ducati are in my office. I need to take the Buick tonight.”
He hung up and looked at me. “I’d lent him the car,” he said. “But I think you’ll be more comfortable in it than on the back of my bike.”
“I wouldn’t mind the bike,” I said, then glanced down at my outfit—or lack thereof. “But I’d need my clothes back.”
“We’ll have to put that on our overall to-do list.” As he looked at me, I saw the flicker of something hot on his face. Then he circled the desk and moved in front of me. I stood just a bit straighter, my body once again primed for his touch, going soft and ready simply from his proximity.
Without a word, he led me to the desk, picked me up at the waist, and sat me on the surface, my legs together and my feet dangling. I held my breath, already craving his touch.
“I think I’d like burning down the highway with your arms around me,” he said, as he took my thighs in each hand, then roughly spread them apart, sending sparks of anticipation shooting through me. Before I even had time to gasp, he’d tugged me closer, so I was barely on the table, and my sex was right there, open and ready for him.
“I wonder,” he said, as he cupped me with his hand. I drew in a shuddering breath, arching back, still so sensitive, so ready. “Would the bike’s vibration get you hot? Get you ready for me?” Slowly, he eased a finger inside me, then two, then three. I was so wet, so wanting, and my body clenched tight around him. His groan of satisfaction swept over me, and almost melted with pleasure.
“I’m always ready for you,” I whispered, then thought God help me, it’s true.
“Look at me,” he said, and once I did, I couldn’t look away. “That’s how I always want you from now on,” he said. “Hot and wet and always ready for me. I want you so wet from the thought of me that I can bend you over, tug your jeans down, and slide into you anytime I feel like it. I want to simply brush my hand over your cunt, and have you explode for me. I want your breasts to ache in constant anticipation of my touch. I want you so primed that I can take you over the edge with a single word. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I said, though my body was so hot—my mouth so dry—that I didn’t know how I managed to form even that simple word.
“Do you want that, too?”
“God, yes,” I said, my response little more than a moan.
His fingers were still inside me, teasing and playing. He withdrew, then brushed the pad of his thumb over my clit and—oh, god, yes—the orgasm burst through me. A small storm this time, but enough to rattle me, to flush my skin, to make me weak with both satisfaction and the desire for more.
“You’re trying to keep me unbalanced,” I whispered.
I saw the flash of masculine victory in his eyes before the smile hit his lips. “Is it working?”
“Yes,” I admitted.
“Don’t worry. If you stumble, I’ll catch you.” He took a step back from the desk, then held out his hand to me. “Ready?”
I considered saying no, but it wouldn’t be true. I’d stepped into Wonderland, and I wanted the whole of the adventure. “I am,” I said, then took his hand and followed him through the door.
I followed him down the hall, frequently tugging down the hem on the jacket even though it was long enough on me to wear as a short dress.
He led me to the parking lot and then to a classic red convertible. My dad would know the year and the make, but all I knew was that it was as big as a boat and as stylish as the day it came off the line. It had a mix of soft curves and hard angles, giving it a totally retro look that I loved. “Wow,” I said.