Chapter 4 Eli
ELI
Iwas going to hell for this.
That was my last coherent thought before my lips touched hers, and then there was nothing. Nothing but the soft gasp Gabriella made, the way her body swayed toward mine, and the taste of her—sweet and spicy from the Thai food, with something underneath that was just her.
I’d meant to start slow. Gentle. Show her what I’d described—the testing, the learning, the careful exploration. But the second our mouths met, slow became impossible.
She made a sound low in her throat, and something primal in me responded. My hand slid from her jaw into her hair—tinsel and all—and I angled her head, deepening the kiss. She opened for me immediately—no hesitation, no uncertainty. Just pure, unfiltered response.
This was nothing like I’d expected.
I’d kissed plenty of women. Some I’d cared about, some I hadn’t. Some had been good, some forgettable. But this—this—was something else entirely. Something that made my chest tight and my pulse roar in my ears and my entire world narrow to the point where our bodies connected.
She tasted like coming home.
The thought should’ve terrified me. Instead, I pulled her closer, my other hand finding her waist, fingers splaying across the soft fabric of her sweater.
She was all curves and warmth against me, and I wanted more. Wanted everything.
Her hands had been hanging at her sides, tentative, like she wasn’t sure what to do with them. But now—god, now—they came up to rest on my chest, palms flat against the knit of my sweater. I could feel the heat of them even through the fabric, could feel the slight tremor in her fingers.
I gentled the kiss, remembering what I’d told her. A conversation. I needed to slow down, needed to give her space to—
Gabriella’s fingers curled into my sweater, bunching the fabric in her fists. Okay then.
I walked her backward until her hips hit the edge of the conference table, and she gasped against my mouth. Not in protest—in surprise. In want. I could feel it in the way she arched into me, in the way her grip tightened.
“Eli.”
My name on her lips was the best sound I’d ever heard. I broke the kiss long enough to look at her—really look. Her eyes were dark and glazed, her lips swollen and pink. The tinsel in her hair caught the light, making her look like some kind of Christmas gift I’d never known I wanted.
“Still with me?” My voice came out rougher than I intended.
“Very much with you.”
She pulled me back down, and this time there was nothing tentative about it. She kissed me like she’d been doing it her whole life. Like that one bad kiss had never happened. Like she was making up for lost time.
Her hands started to wander. Up my chest, over my shoulders, and around to the back of my neck. Her fingers threaded through my hair, nails scraping lightly against my scalp, and I groaned into her mouth.
She did it again, harder this time, and I felt the last threads of my control starting to fray.
This was bad. This was so bad. She was my employee—technically.
We were in my office, in my conference room, where anyone with a key card could walk in.
It was late on a Tuesday, and I was kissing a woman I’d met exactly once, this morning, when she’d knocked over my awards and apologized like her life depended on it.
I should stop this. Should step back, apologize, and blame it on the late hour or the adrenaline or temporary insanity.
But then her hands slid down from my neck, over my shoulders, tracing the planes of my chest like she was memorizing me through touch. Lower, to my ribs, my sides, the curve of my waist.
When her fingers found the hem of my sweater and slipped underneath—warm palms against bare skin—I made a sound I didn’t recognize.
Gabriella froze. “Is this okay?”
“Yes.” The word came out strangled. “Yes, that’s—”
She kissed me again, cutting off whatever I’d been about to say.
Her hands explored beneath my sweater, tentative but curious, tracing the definition of my abs, the line of muscle along my ribs.
Every touch sent electricity straight through me, making me want things I absolutely should not want.
Making me want to lift her onto this table and—
No. No. Stop.
I caught her wrists gently, pulling her hands away from my skin, even though it physically hurt to do it. She made a sound of protest, trying to chase my mouth, but I held firm.
“Wait.” I pressed my forehead against hers, both of us breathing hard. “Wait, we need to—”
“Please don’t say stop.” Her voice was wrecked, pleading. “Please don’t tell me this was a mistake.”
“It wasn’t.” I meant it. Whatever this was—stupid, impulsive, completely inappropriate—it wasn’t a mistake. “But we’re in my office. After hours. And if we don’t stop now, I’m not going to be able to stop at all.”
She pulled back enough to look at me, and I watched understanding dawn in her eyes. Understanding, and something else. Something that looked a lot like determination.
“What if I don’t want you to stop?”
Her words hung there between us, soft but daring, like she knew exactly what she was doing. That was it. The green light I hadn’t even realized I’d been waiting on. Every rule I’d set, every line I swore I wouldn’t cross—gone. Burned up under the way she looked at me.
A low growl rumbled in my chest. I didn’t answer with words. I answered by closing the small distance between us, my hands finding her hips and lifting her in one smooth, decisive motion.
My mouth found hers again in a kiss that was all possession and promise, my body stepping instinctively between her legs, caging her in.
At the same time, my hands went to the overdecorated cardigan.
I shoved the soft wool from her shoulders, and she was with me, her fingers flying to the buttons of her sensible dress shirt.
While she took care of that, I stepped back a little and tore my own sweater over my head, my pants following, kicked into a shadowed corner. She wriggled out of her trousers, leaving her in just her bra and panties—a simple, lace-trimmed white that made her skin look like warmed ivory.
I kissed her again—deeper this time, hungry for more—my hands finally getting familiar with the body I’d only just started to learn. I mapped the curve of her back, the grip of her hips, and the smooth line of her shoulders, trying to memorize every inch.
My fingers found the clasp of her bra, and with a practiced flick, it came undone. I drew it away, filling my hands with her, the weight of her breasts a perfect, heavy warmth. A soft, broken moan escaped her as my thumbs brushed over her tightening peaks.
Gabriella leaned back, bracing herself on her hands, her head falling back in surrender. I took the invitation, my mouth leaving a blazing trail down her throat, over the frantic pulse at the base of her neck, lower.
After running my tongue over each nipple, I dragged my mouth down the soft curve of her stomach, tasting every inch, my tongue dipping into her navel before I kept going—lower, slower—until I reached the edge of her panties.
I stopped there, breathing against the damp lace, and looked up.
Her eyes were on me, wide and dark, like she was daring me to keep going.
Hooking my fingers into the fabric, I tugged them down her legs and let them fall. Then I settled between her thighs, my hands splaying across her hips to hold her still.
I didn’t tease. I didn’t hesitate. I lowered my mouth to her and found her with my tongue, a flat, firm stroke over the swollen, sensitive heart of her.
She cried out, a sharp, gasping sound that echoed off the glass walls. Her hands flew to my hair, fisting in the strands, not to pull me away but to hold me closer.
I established a rhythm—a relentless, circling pressure that had her bucking against my mouth within seconds. She was so responsive, so beautifully vocal, every gasp and whimper fueling my own need.
Within seconds, I could feel the tension coiling tight within her, her thighs beginning to tremble against my cheeks. She cried out—her first orgasm—and as she came against my mouth, her noises were almost my undoing.
I wanted more. I wanted all of her.
With a force of will that felt Herculean, I pulled back, rising to my feet. The cool air of the room was a shock.
“I don’t have a condom,” I said.
The words hit like a damn curse. My brain went into overdrive, scrambling for a way to get us put back together and out of this conference room without looking like we’d just torn into each other like animals.
Her chest was heaving, her lips kiss-swollen, her eyes hazy with interrupted pleasure. She blinked, focusing on my face.
“I’m on birth control,” she breathed, “if that’s what you’re worried about.”
That was all I needed to hear.
Relief and a fresh, sharper wave of desire crashed over me. I shoved my boxers down, my cock springing free, hard and aching. I wrapped my hand around myself, a single, rough stroke, my gaze locked with hers.
But she wasn’t finished. Before I could move, she reached down, her fingers replacing mine. She wrapped her hand around me, her touch firm and sure, and began to stroke, her eyes never leaving mine.
I gave into the sensations, my jaw clenched, my entire body rigid with the effort to not come all over her hand. I held back as long as I could, the pleasure a bright, sharp pain, before I finally gripped her wrist, stilling her.
“I have to be inside you,” I ground out, the words raw. “Now.”
A slow, wicked smile curved her lips. Her eyes, still dark with passion, now sparkled with pure, unadulterated challenge.
“What are you waiting for?”