Chapter Thirty-Six Rae
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Rae
I AM SHOCKED BY how soft his mouth is this time. How tender.
Just a dry swipe of his lips to mine, careful, though not tentative. He’s not asking if he can have me. He’s learning, listening, testing. If our kiss at the club was a wild, carnivorous massacre, this is a slow, sensuous feast.
My mouth is so sensitive that just that first touch makes me whimper.
Grant pulls back with a quiet, shhhhh, before diving in again, his gaze glued to my mouth like he’s hungry. Wants more. Can’t stop.
Until the kiss isn’t exploring anymore; it’s taking. Drinking, then biting, tugging at my bottom lip, and letting it go. His cheek rubs against mine, sandpaper rough. His mouth smells like me, like sex.
With an irritable grunt, he changes his angle and licks deeper, his tongue making the kiss carnal instead of sweet, and so ravenous that I feel echoes of it between my thighs.
My legs, which have found their way around his waist, drag him closer, up against me.
While his tongue consumes me, his arms wrap my body tight.
Shivers run down my back. My fingers tunnel into his hair.
So soft. I’ll remember that later. The silky give of each wave.
The width of his hips, forcing my thighs wide, the heft of this hot, thick shoulder against my palm.
He bends and buries his face in my neck again, his breath heavy and hot and fast. And after a handful of seconds, like he’s shut that part of him off, he straightens, drags his lips over mine one last time, and plants a brief kiss on my forehead.
“Okay, then.” He steps back from where I’m still sitting on my desk, legs splayed.
Wait, what? Are we done? No, no, no, I want more!
“Here.” His voice is gruff, his eyebrows low.
I’d say he’s annoyed except for the careful way he pulls my skirt down and reaches up to slide both thumbs along my cheekbones.
Raccoon eyes, I’m guessing, which he is kind enough to at least attempt to remove.
It’s a testament to how hard he made me come that I couldn’t care less.
“Thank you,” I whisper after taking a sip from the water bottle he’s just held up to my mouth.
He nods, lips compressed right back into their usual flat line until he opens them to ask, “You okay?”
“I’m good.”
This is a lie. Good doesn’t cover a single part of this.
But a girl’s got to have her pride, right?
And despite the hopefully reparable damage he’s just done to my synapses, there’s no way I’m telling this man just how completely he rocked my world.
The kissing, the dirty talk… the cunnilingus?
And then, because I wouldn’t be a Jensen if I didn’t stir the shit just a teeny tiny bit, I ask, “So. Are we adult enough to admit that you just licked me to fruition and back right here on this desktop?” My dress falls back into place as I hop off said desk, pluck the wadded-up list of rules from its surface, and, with some regret, chuck it in the trash.
I’d probably keep it if he wasn’t standing there watching me.
Next, I open the drawer containing cleaning supplies and set to work. “Or did this not happen either?”
“Oh, this happened.”
Surprised, I look up to meet his steady gaze and then slowly look down to where his erection’s tenting his pants. “You, uh, need help with that?”
His eyes narrow, darkening as he takes a step toward me.
At that exact moment, there’s a knock on the door.
“Shit,” I mouth, chucking a used pile of Clorox wipes into the trash like they’re evidence in a murder trial.
Grant, cool as a cucumber, inspects me carefully and tugs my dress down another inch before grabbing a folder off my desk to hide his crotch on his way to unlock the door.
Dorothy looks in at us from the lobby. “Time to head home, kids. Nobody wants you here all night.”
I can’t look at him. “Oh, just getting my things together.”
“Good. Good.” Dorothy looks at him. “And you? Did you even go home at all this weekend?”
Surprised, I glance his way. “You worked all weekend?”
“Most of it,” he says with a sidelong smirk. “Went out for a quick drink Friday night.”
A quick drink? Is that a euphemism for what happened between us at the club?
“Well, good.” Dorothy does a funny little cha-cha in the doorway.
“You two should have drinks or something. On me. Just to, you know, release this aura of tension in here.” My cheeks flaming hot, I focus on the bunches of bracelets jingling from her jazz hands.
“Go ahead. Put it on the company. Business dinner. Oh! Take her to La Pierre, Grant. You two should blow up the old expense account and—”
“Probably not the best idea right now, Dorothy.”
She pauses, deflates. “Oh, right. Sometimes I forget about… everything.” Her gaze pinballs from Grant to me and back again. “You two doing okay?”
“We’re fine.”
“You sure?” She turns to me for confirmation.
I nod quickly. “Oh, yeah. Excellent. And we are just… so…” Words. Words. Can’t think of a single one. Oh, here they are… “Fine with cohabitating in this confined space. Together. Close. I mean, not so close, but close enough to you know… greatness.” Shut up, Rae. Shut it. Now.
I look to Grant for help with my verbal diarrhea, but he’s just watching me with a puzzled expression, and apparently my brain and mouth are in collusion against me because I’m now saying something about satisfying relations, and holy shit, he literally killed my brain cells with his mouth.
“I’m leaving,” I finally manage to get out. Thank god.
Grant growls, “We’re all leaving,” and literally—shit you not—shuts off the overhead light with the three of us in the office.
After a quiet handful of seconds, during which I wonder if I can locate my bag and coat with just the light from the lobby and the streetlamp’s orange glow, Grant slaps his computer shut, picks it up, and nudges me toward the door.
“My… things.”
“Here.” He hands me my coat, which I take with numb hands. I snag my bag from the drawer and head out. “Everybody gone for the night?”
“Yep. I checked on you when I saw the light under your door.”
Nodding, he ushers us out the back door and then down the exterior stairs. I wave and take off down the alley, almost at a run.
It’s only once I’m safely locked in my car, headed home in traffic, that I let any of it affect me, and when it does, I’m hit with an absolute tsunami of hilarity.
I have to pull over to laugh. And laugh. I don’t know how long it takes. Maybe two minutes? Five? Whatever the case, I finally get myself together enough to wipe the tears from my eyes, let my head fall back against the headrest, and think about it all.
Oh, the embarrassment. I don’t know how to fix this with Dorothy. Maybe there’s no fixing it. Or maybe she didn’t notice anything wrong? She can be out of it sometimes.
And then there was the rest of it. The nucleus, as it were, of tonight’s experience. The reason for the season, or whatever you want to call what happened in that office. At my—no, on my—desk. Between my legs.
And all the places he kissed me.
Truly, it can’t have been that amazing, right?