the question.” His lips are so close I can practically feel them brushing over mine as he speaks.
I want his kiss badly. Too much. So much that I step around him and away from the temptation to take it, because I don’t want to kiss him. I want him to kiss me . The distinction normally wouldn’t matter to me, but it’s different with Sam. Everything’s different with Sam.
Sinking back into his chair, he rests his elbows on his knees and drags a hand through his hair. “I’m going through some fucked-up shit right now.”
“And I’m here to distract you.” I push the papers on his desk aside and hoist myself up to sit in their place. Sam’s eyes immediately seek out the exposed thigh where my skirt is riding up, but I have something so much better for him to see. Leaning back on my hands, I part my legs, watching with satisfaction as his gaze follows my skirt higher up my thighs.
His eyes meet mine, as hot as I feel. “You came to my bank without panties?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Why don’t you check?”
He stands, gaze flicking to the door, then back to me. “The bank’s closed, but we’re not alone.” He touches my knee, and my eyes practically roll back in my head from the pleasure of his skin connecting with mine. His hand inches north so slowly; the swirling ache of want low in my belly causes me real pain.
I’m already wet. I feel it between my legs, gathering for him. For this. When his thumb meets the slick juncture of my thighs, his breath draws in with a hiss.
My eyes float closed and my hips lift of their own volition, pushing closer to his fingers, his touch. When he dips his head down to my ear, his fingers dance across the swollen flesh between my legs—teasing, promising, but not delivering. It’s all I can do not to grab his wrist and cup his hand firmly against me.
“You know how fucking delicious you look?” he whispers. “All I want to do is shove your skirt up, spread your legs, and bury my face between your thighs. I want to tease you with my lips and tongue until you beg me to let you come.”
I gasp—at his words, at the buzz of the pressure of his thumb against my clit.
“Could you handle it, Liz?”
“Why do you think I’m here?” I’m so proud of myself for constructing that sentence, so I try for another. “As far as I can tell, Sam Bradshaw, you’re all talk.”
“I’m asking if you could let me touch you here”—he runs two fingertips down the length of me—“and not make a sound.”
My lips part, but I can’t think of a damn thing to say that would leave me with any dignity.
His honey-brown eyes flash hot, and he slides a finger into me. “Jesus, you’re hot.”
I reach down and draw my skirt higher up my hips, and his hand stills between my legs. He shifts his stance slightly to the left, his gaze darting to some spot behind my head.
“Liz.” He leans his head against mine and says, “We can’t.”
“What?”
“Not here.” His gaze darts to that spot behind my head again. “Cameras.”
Two emotions zip through me simultaneously—horror at what I’d have done with Sam right here without thinking of those cameras, and an erotic thrill at the thought of having it recorded.
Slowly, he removes his hand from between my legs and smoothes down my skirt.
My cheeks burn with the shame of rejection. I lift my chin an inch. “Wouldn’t have thought a little video tape would slow down a man like you.”
His chuckle is low and pained. “Normally, it wouldn’t. But since a woman who used to change my diapers sits at the desk by the video monitors, I think it’s best I practice a little restraint this time around.” He gives an apologetic smile and rubs his thumb across my cheek in a movement that’s almost tender.
I nod, that ugly feeling of rejection still hanging over me as I slide off the desk I’d hoped he’d fuck me silly on. I follow him out of his office and to the parking lot.
We stand by my car for a minute—the
I want his kiss badly. Too much. So much that I step around him and away from the temptation to take it, because I don’t want to kiss him. I want him to kiss me . The distinction normally wouldn’t matter to me, but it’s different with Sam. Everything’s different with Sam.
Sinking back into his chair, he rests his elbows on his knees and drags a hand through his hair. “I’m going through some fucked-up shit right now.”
“And I’m here to distract you.” I push the papers on his desk aside and hoist myself up to sit in their place. Sam’s eyes immediately seek out the exposed thigh where my skirt is riding up, but I have something so much better for him to see. Leaning back on my hands, I part my legs, watching with satisfaction as his gaze follows my skirt higher up my thighs.
His eyes meet mine, as hot as I feel. “You came to my bank without panties?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Why don’t you check?”
He stands, gaze flicking to the door, then back to me. “The bank’s closed, but we’re not alone.” He touches my knee, and my eyes practically roll back in my head from the pleasure of his skin connecting with mine. His hand inches north so slowly; the swirling ache of want low in my belly causes me real pain.
I’m already wet. I feel it between my legs, gathering for him. For this. When his thumb meets the slick juncture of my thighs, his breath draws in with a hiss.
My eyes float closed and my hips lift of their own volition, pushing closer to his fingers, his touch. When he dips his head down to my ear, his fingers dance across the swollen flesh between my legs—teasing, promising, but not delivering. It’s all I can do not to grab his wrist and cup his hand firmly against me.
“You know how fucking delicious you look?” he whispers. “All I want to do is shove your skirt up, spread your legs, and bury my face between your thighs. I want to tease you with my lips and tongue until you beg me to let you come.”
I gasp—at his words, at the buzz of the pressure of his thumb against my clit.
“Could you handle it, Liz?”
“Why do you think I’m here?” I’m so proud of myself for constructing that sentence, so I try for another. “As far as I can tell, Sam Bradshaw, you’re all talk.”
“I’m asking if you could let me touch you here”—he runs two fingertips down the length of me—“and not make a sound.”
My lips part, but I can’t think of a damn thing to say that would leave me with any dignity.
His honey-brown eyes flash hot, and he slides a finger into me. “Jesus, you’re hot.”
I reach down and draw my skirt higher up my hips, and his hand stills between my legs. He shifts his stance slightly to the left, his gaze darting to some spot behind my head.
“Liz.” He leans his head against mine and says, “We can’t.”
“What?”
“Not here.” His gaze darts to that spot behind my head again. “Cameras.”
Two emotions zip through me simultaneously—horror at what I’d have done with Sam right here without thinking of those cameras, and an erotic thrill at the thought of having it recorded.
Slowly, he removes his hand from between my legs and smoothes down my skirt.
My cheeks burn with the shame of rejection. I lift my chin an inch. “Wouldn’t have thought a little video tape would slow down a man like you.”
His chuckle is low and pained. “Normally, it wouldn’t. But since a woman who used to change my diapers sits at the desk by the video monitors, I think it’s best I practice a little restraint this time around.” He gives an apologetic smile and rubs his thumb across my cheek in a movement that’s almost tender.
I nod, that ugly feeling of rejection still hanging over me as I slide off the desk I’d hoped he’d fuck me silly on. I follow him out of his office and to the parking lot.
We stand by my car for a minute—the
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