“Jealous much?”
She stared at him, evident disbelief at his playfulness in those big blue eyes. He wasn’t a fun person to be around, as his ex-fiancée never failed to inform him, but something about outside-the-office-Emma tickled him to no end.
Outside-the-office-Emma…the inklings of a plan formed in his lust-fried brain.
Raising her mug to her lips, she took a sip of her coffee and grimaced. Overly sweetened, he suspected. “Jealous like you were the other night at the thought of me doing lap dances for handsy old pervs?”
A growl erupted from his throat, an unabashed display of possessiveness that even he found to be clichéd. But it drew the perfect reaction. Her teeth snagged on the pillow of her lower lip and emerged moist. Her nipples budded against the thin fabric of his tee.
Ms. Strickland likes it when you growl.
He closed the gap between them, gratified when she stepped back against the counter.
“Admit you’re jealous, Emma.”
“Never,” she said defiantly.
“Just your nipples then. They’re pouting.” He inclined his head. “And these earlobes have a greenish tinge to them.” He brushed his lips across the delicate shell of her ear. “And this spot where your neck meets your shoulder”—he inhaled her scent and placed the lightest kiss at that sensitive patch of skin—“the most jealous of all. And you in that tee is not helpin’ anyone, baby.”
“Are you telling me your engine gets all revved up when you see an old tee?” Fake bravado trilled through her voice. She pulled at the hem of the shirt. It fell to midthigh, but her drawing attention to it stirred his blood into a cauldron of need.
“When I see you in it. Because now it’s going to smell of you.” Reaching behind her, he bunched the material so it shaped to her perky breasts. “I know it brushed your skin, rubbed your nipples, that you were wearing it when I f*ck
ed you to paradise on my bedroom floor. Maybe you hitched it up to your hips while you thought about me and stroked yourself last night.”
He gave her a moment to pull out of his grasp, and when she didn’t, he hiked the tee higher, up past her ass. A wisp of lace crashed into his vision field as she parted her legs on a moan.
“You have other clothes. Ones I bought you. You don’t have to wear this, so why are you tormenting me?”
Her breathing came in short tugs, her breasts straining against the fabric he held taut against her body. Every part of him howled to be completed by her surrender. He could dip his head and suck her stiff nipple, but she had to ask for it. Beg for it. Last time, he took.
“Why are you wearing it?” he repeated.
“Be-because it’s soft.”
“And?”
“Comfortable.”
Not satisfied with that answer, he nudged his knee between her legs. Her lips parted to reveal all that wet, succulent pink, mimicking the pliant heat he longed to plant his cock into over and over. “And?”
“It smells of you.” In a surprise move, she put him on the back foot by leaning in and inhaling from his neck. “But it’s a ghost of your scent and can’t possibly compete with the real thing. God, you smell so good. It was the first thing I noticed about you when I interviewed. You shook my hand and I walked out of there on a contact high. No one should smell that good or look that hot. And in glasses, too, you f*ck
ing dick.”
That’s more like the Emma I’m getting to know. Chuckling, he rubbed his jaw against hers, her honesty unraveling a knot of longing inside him along with his dirty inner monologue.
“I’ve been fantasizing about you for months, Emma. God knows why, because you went out of your way to dress as unattractively as possible. I’ve jerked off to you in my office bathroom more times than I care to recall, every lash of my cum with your name on it.”
She whimpered. Her tongue darted out and licked her lips; that his words affected her felt like the sweetest victory.
“Wh-what else have you thought about?”
“I’ve imagined you against my office window with the heat of your breasts meeting the cool of the glass.”
She bit down on her soft lip, then gave a slow swipe of her tongue like she might lick the leaking head of his cock. “And then what happens?”
“I yank up your skirt and take you from behind.”
“No foreplay?”
“You’re already soaking wet, your body begging for it. And we’re in a hurry. There’s a meeting scheduled in five minutes and we have to do away with the niceties. Getting inside you is my prime directive.”
“And mine?”
He smiled, recalling one of his favorite fantasies. “To come when I tell you.”