Chapter 2
Chapter Two
I followed his taillights the whole way, both hands tight on the wheel, the radio off so I could hear myself think. By the time I parked beside him, I had talked myself out of it twice and back in three times, which left me right where I wanted to be.
He met me at my car door and opened it, old-fashioned, and offered his hand. “Last chance,” he said. “You can still go home and we never speak of it, and Monday I’m your boss again.”
“I didn’t put on this dress to go home,” I said.
His mouth curved, and the drawl thickened when he leaned down to my ear. “Then quit white-knuckling that steering wheel, darlin’. The hard part’s over. You said that thing. Now let me handle the rest.”
I gave him my hand, stood, and smiled. I let him take my bag off my shoulder and carry it. He lived twenty minutes from the office in a brick building with ivy on one side and a doorman who spoke to him by name.
The elevator ride was quiet and unbearable in the best way. His thumb moved in slow circles on the back of my hand while neither of us looked at the other. The slight contact had me pressing my thighs together against the ache. By the third floor, I had stopped pretending I was calm.
The elevator opened, and he led me through the richly appointed hallway to his door. He let us into an apartment that smelled like cedar and coffee, like him. The second the door clicked shut, he stopped being careful.
He backed me against the door, one hand braced beside my head, the other spanning my waist, and kissed me like he’d been thinking about it for months.
I had imagined this exact thing. The real version made my imagination look lazy.
His mouth was warm and certain, and when I opened for him, he made a low sound against my lips that made my knees tremble.
He kissed me again, deeper, one hand fisting my hair to tilt my head exactly where he wanted it. He kissed me slowly, in no hurry at all, and the last of my nerves gave up the ghost somewhere in the midst of that kiss. My hands gripped his chest greedily.
“Three months?” he chuckled against my mouth. “You’ve been driving me out of my mind for eight months, and you thought I didn’t know.”
“In my defense, you have an excellent poker face.”
“Not tonight.” He dragged his lips down my throat, and his teeth grazed the spot where my pulse hammered. “Tonight you get to see everything.”
He found the zipper at the side of my dress and drew it downward. The yellow cotton pooled at my feet. He stepped back to look at me. I let him, standing there in just the lace panties and bra I picked out that morning, imagining this exact moment.
“God, look at you.”
His voice had gone rough. He traced one finger from the hollow of my throat down between my breasts, over my stomach, and stopped at the waistband of my panties.
“I’m going to take my time with you. I’ve earned that much.”
He walked me backward toward the couch, kissing as he went, his hands learning my body.
He unhooked my bra and let it drop, and when his mouth closed over one nipple, I gasped and grabbed his hair.
He worked me with his tongue, unhurried, while his thumb teased the other peak until both stood hard and aching.
He switched sides seamlessly, giving the other breast the same slow attention. The scrape of his teeth had me arching off the cushions into him. My hand found the hard ridge of him through his slacks and squeezed. He groaned against my skin.
“Greedy girl,” he said, sounding delighted about it.
“Wes,” I breathed.
“I like that,” he murmured against my skin. “Say it again when I’m inside you.”
I tugged his shirt loose from his waistband and got my hands under it. Finally, I felt all that warm muscle I had pretended not to study across a hundred meetings. He let me explore for a moment, his breath uneven, before catching both my wrists in one hand and holding them fast.
“You first,” he said. “I’ve waited longer than you have.”
“That’s not fair,” I said, even as I let him guide my hands away.
He only smiled, and in that moment, I understood I had handed the entire night to a man who meant to use every minute of it.
He lowered me onto the cushions and knelt between my legs on the floor. Hooking his fingers in my panties, he drew them down and off my legs. Then he just looked at me, spread open for him, and his jaw tightened.
“You have no idea how many meetings I sat through thinking about this,” he said. He pressed a kiss to the inside of my knee, then higher, and higher still. His stubble was rough on my thighs. “About getting you right here.”
His mouth found my lips, and the first stroke of his tongue brought my hips off the couch. He pinned me down with one forearm and kept going, tonguing me slow and deep, tasting me like he had all night to savor my flavors.
“Wessss,” I called out as he hummed against my clit, and the sound traveled through me until I could not form words at all.
I twisted my fingers into his hair and held on, my hips moving against his mouth without permission from the rest of me.
He let me ride his face, then slid his hands up to pin my wrists against my own thighs.
He held me open and still while he feasted.
Losing control should have scared me. It only made me wetter.
I had gone from moist to drenched in a matter of moments.
He spread me wider with his thumbs and licked one long, flat stroke from my entrance to my clit. My hips chased his mouth on their own. He pulled back just far enough to watch me come undone for him.
“You taste like every bad idea I’ve had since spring,” he murmured, and went right back down.
He slid one finger inside me, then a second, curling them while his tongue circled my clit. The pressure built fast and bright. I thrust my hips into his face without shame. He looked up the line of my body, his eyes locked on mine, and that was what undid me again.
Right when my thighs shook, he slowed, easing off my clit to press soft kisses to the inside of my thigh. I made a sound that was almost a sob.
“Patience,” he said against my skin, far too pleased with himself. “I told you I’d take my time.” Then he gave me back the pressure, his fingers curling deep and his tongue relentless, and the second wave climbed higher than the first.
“That’s it,” he said, lips slick with my juices. “Come on my tongue. Let me feel it.”
I came with his name in my mouth, his fingers buried deep in my pussy, and my thighs clamping around his head. The orgasm rolled through me in waves; I felt it to my toes. He worked me through every second, stopping only when I went boneless against the cushions.
When I could see straight again, he rose over me. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking very pleased with himself.
“You’re dangerous,” I told him, still breathing hard.
“You started it.” He kissed me, and I tasted myself on him. “And sweetheart, I’m not even close to done.”