Chapter 25
twenty-five
. . .
Bex
The door to my office flies open, a thunderous Nick Mitchell standing in my doorway. He’s wearing his skates and pads, making him look ten times bigger than usual. His face is flushed, his hair disheveled.
“Can I help you?” I do my best to keep my voice even despite my pulse thudding in my ears.
He looks angry. And hot as hell. But mostly angry.
Okay, and definitely hot.
“You’re not with him?”
“With who?” I’m so confused. What’s he talking about? Annaliese is on her lunch break; I’m all by myself, as he can see.
“Henry. You aren’t together?”
I blink. Where would he get that idea? Sure, I used Luke as a buffer on that island trip and during the wedding, but that was a year and a half ago. Besides, it was all a pretense. It was never real.
“We’re friends.”
Nick kicks my office door closed. A shiver runs through me at the sharp snick of the lock tumbling into place. The air is heavy, thick with tension.
He crosses the room in four quick strides, rounding my desk before skidding to a stop in front of me.
He lifts me from my desk chair like a rag doll, until I’m standing before him, gazing up at him. With his skates on, I barely come up to his shoulders, and I’m not a small woman.
Heat floods through me, turning my face red under his forceful stare, his brown eyes wild, pupils blown.
“Never?”
“Not once.”
Nick runs his thumb over the apple of my cheek. “I’m going to kiss you now. Is that okay?”
A lump lodges in my throat, cutting off my next breath. “You don’t have to ask my permission.”
“Not permission. Consent. I need vocal, enthusiastic consent.”
“You have it. Kiss away.”
His mouth curves into a wicked smile. “Your wish is my command.”
Based on the way he stormed in here, I’d expect his kiss to be hungry. To devour me. Consume me.
So when his lips finally land on mine, sweet and sure, I almost want to cry.
They brush mine again—still careful, still questioning—like he’s relearning how to breathe through the simple act of touching me.
The gentleness is almost unbearable. I fist the front of his jersey to steady myself, my heart thundering against my ribs as if it wants to leap into his hands.
Nick’s breath shudders out, warm against my cheek, and then the kiss deepens—slowly, reverently—like he’s tasting a truth he never thought he’d be allowed. His thumb drifts to my jaw, then the hollow beneath my ear, tracing me as if he’s trying to memorize the shape of what he almost lost.
I rise onto my toes to meet him, the world narrowing to the press of his mouth and the faint scrape of his stubble against my skin.
His other hand slides to my waist, steadying me, guiding me closer until there isn’t an inch of air left between us.
The hard edge of his pads bumps clumsily against my hips, and somehow the imperfection—the smell of ice still clinging to him, the cool bite of his hands brushing my ribs—makes my chest ache.
He kisses me like he’s furious and fragile, like he’s holding back a storm for my sake.
And when I part my lips in invitation, he lets out a low sound—half relief, half devotion—that melts straight through me.
His forehead drops to mine for a beat, breaths mingling, hearts racing in the same reckless tempo.
“I thought I lost my chance,” he murmurs, his voice roughened by something far more honest than anger.
“I’m starting to come around.”
Nick’s eyes soften, the wildness in them shifting into something deeper, steadier. And when he kisses me again—tender, certain, like a promise sealed in heat and hope—I sink into it, into him, letting the rest of the world fall away.
For the first time, the fire between us doesn’t feel dangerous.
It feels inevitable.
His fingertips trail over my cheek, cup my jaw, and flirt down my neck. I’m panting by the time he wraps his thick fingers wrap around my throat, squeezing gently. Claiming. Possessive. But not threatening.
“Give me a chance, Bex?”
I’d give him anything.
His hands land on my hips, and then he’s lifting me onto my desk.
Winding my arms around his neck, I tug him close, until his chest pads bump against my breast. Hard and unyielding.
I want to feel him against me, skin to skin.
My knees spread as far as they can in the pencil skirt, and he lets out a grunt of displeasure.
“Can I?” He trails his fingers beneath the hem of my skirt.
“You can do anything you want.”
“Anything?” A wicked smirk curves his full lips, spit-slick from our kiss.
In response, I pull him back to me for another, this one hungry and needy. Our teeth clack together from the force of it, and he chuckles against my lips.
“Slow down, tiger.” Threading his fingers through my hair, he wraps the length around them and tugs, the sharp pull on my scalp grounding me and sending me spiraling higher in equal measure.
“Nick…” His name falls from my lips like a plea for help. For guidance. For something he won’t give me.
Easing back, he slides his hand to my chin, tipping it up.
“Do you trust me?”
I open my mouth but stop, thinking back to our last conversation in my apartment. I don’t trust anyone—not even myself.
His hand tightens in my hair, anchoring me to the present. “Right here, in this moment. Do you trust me?”
Slowly, I nod. I want to, so desperately I ache from it. Maybe I just need to take that leap. Dive headfirst, fuck the consequences.
“I do.”
“We don’t have a lot of time. There are so many things I want to do to you, with you. But for now, it’s got to be quick.”
“Do what you want.”
My body is his.
I am his.
Nick curves his hand down my back to my waist, finding the zipper to my skirt. He drags the tab down, each metal tooth separating with a buzz that vibrates through me. I can hardly hear it over the pounding of my heart, the sharp, pinched way each breath punches from my lungs.
He hauls me upright, and I help him slip my skirt from my hips. It falls to the floor in a rush of fabric, leaving me in my heels, blouse, and panties. His fingers curl into the waistband of the satin, snapping the elastic against my skin.
“You’re still with me?”
My words punch from within my chest. “Fucking touch me.”
Wordlessly, he drops to his knees, tugging my underwear down as he goes and baring me to him. He leans in close, breathing deep.
“Fuck, Bex. You smell so good.”
His strong hands land on my hips, kneading the sides of my ass. The first brush of his tongue takes me by surprise, and my knees almost give out. I scramble for purchase on the edge of my desk.
Angling his head, gaining further access, he licks at me in earnest. One hand trails over my hip to my entrance, brushing his thumb against me again and again, not sinking in.
He gathers the wetness between my legs, then pulls back enough to suck two fingers into his mouth, getting them nice and wet.
And then he’s back, feasting on me, flicking my clit with his tongue, and one thick, blunt finger pushes inside me, and oh fuck…
I forgot how good he is at this. How much I missed him.
Since that kiss in the exam room, I’ve stopped denying my attraction to him. I still have issues regarding intimacy, especially with him. He hasn’t run away screaming yet, though. And maybe, if he’s willing to let me get my shit together, we can have a chance at something real.
Kissing him was a monumentally stupid thing to do. It blurs too many lines. But there are contingencies in place for situations like this. A sexual relationship between colleagues isn’t prohibited.
But is sex all he wants?
Nick pulls away from my pussy, his brow furrowed. “What’s going on? I’m doing my best work here.”
I thread my fingers through his hair, pushing it off his face. “It’s not you. It’s me.”
It’s always me.
“What can I do to help?”
There’s only one thing that will get me out of my head. Only one thing he can give me.
But am I asking too much? Am I crossing too many lines?
Well, since he’s asking…
“Bend me over my desk and fuck me.”