“Do you have any idea how good you smell?” he asked. “Just being around you makes my dick hard, makes me want to get you naked so I can suck your pretty nipples and lick your *.”
He gave her goose bumps when he thrust his cock in deeper, inciting her wild imaginings with the way he talked to her. “You make me come hard when you lick me.”
“I know. I like watching you let go. You’re so wild and free when you come. It turns me on.”
He pulled out, turned her around and slid his cock into her, his gaze glued to hers. She held on to the counter while he eased in, then out.
“I want to watch your face when you come.” He ground against her, rolling his hips to give her maximum pleasure. Her * quivered and clamped around him like a vise.
“Keep doing that and I will.”
He kept doing that. And she did. The intimacy of meeting his gaze as she climaxed, of seeing his eyes narrow and his jaw tighten as he went with her, was nothing short of a molten volcano of liquid pleasure.
Out of breath, she fell into his arms, feeling the jackknife rhythm of his heart beating against her chest.
She was sweating. So was he.
That had been more than enjoyable. It had been intense. Maybe a little earth shattering.
And totally wrong.
When he withdrew, he grinned down at her, obviously satisfied and happy. He bent to kiss her, but she pulled away. “I need to go clean up.”
“We could take a shower together.”
“I really need to go.” She grabbed her clothes, but he stopped her.
“Savannah. What’s wrong?”
“Not a thing. This was a lot of fun. But I really should go.”
She scooted down the hall and shut the bathroom door, appalled at what she saw in the mirror.
Her bra still hung halfway down her arms. Her hair was a mess, her makeup was smeared and there was a blush all over her skin. Cole had left marks on her and—oh, god—was that a hickey on her neck?
How old was she, anyway? She wasn’t a teenager in the throes of first passion. She was an adult. A sensible, capable, professional who should not have had sex with her client in his kitchen.
That was twice now she’d utterly lost her mind.
She washed up and got dressed, took a couple deep breaths, and went back out. Cole was having a glass of water in the kitchen.
“Here, I poured you one. Figured you might be thirsty.”
“Thank you.” She took a couple long swallows to lubricate her parched throat. “Now I really should go.”
“Want to tell me why you run every time we have sex?”
She paused, feeling awful that she kept doing this to him. She owed him an explanation. She turned, faced him.
“Because we shouldn’t have sex.”
“Why not?”
“You know why not. Because we work together. I’m supposed to act professionally around you, not jump on your cock every time we’re alone together.”
His lips curved. “I like you jumping on my cock.”
“How are you going to take the work we do together seriously if we’re sleeping together?”
“So far, there hasn’t been a whole lotta sleeping.”
“Not funny, Cole.” She grabbed her purse and started for the door, mentally kicking herself for ever allowing her libido to have free rein.
He moved beside her. “I’m sorry. I can tell this bothers you, but I don’t know why. I can keep professional and personal separate.”
She opened the door and walked outside, but turned to give him a regretful look. “That’s the problem. I’m not sure I can.”
He leaned against the doorway. “You know, Peaches, I’m not buying your practiced speech about professional and personal. You’re running because of something else. And if we’re going to keep seeing each other, eventually you’re going to have to start trusting me with your secrets.”
Savannah gave Cole a pained look that told him she really wanted to do that.
Cole wished she would, but instead, she turned and walked to her car. She got in and started the engine, her gaze meeting his for a brief second.
Come on. Come back inside and talk to me.
But she put her car in gear and pulled away.
He dragged his fingers through his hair and shut the door.
For a second there, they had been so close. Hell, for the entire night they had been close. Good dinner, great conversation, amazing sex.
And then she’d slammed the door in his face as soon as the sex was over.
If he were the kind of guy who’d get all emotional over shit like that, his feelings might be hurt. He might even take it personally.
But he wasn’t that kind of guy, and he knew this wasn’t about him.
This was about Savannah. And it had nothing to do with him being her client.