Chapter 22
MOLLY
His lips press against mine again, and I let myself sink into him.
The heat between us is undeniable, the air thick with tension and something even deeper, something unspoken.
My fingers find the buttons of his shirt, and I work them open one by one, my breath coming fast, my hands slightly unsteady.
As the fabric slides from his shoulders, my gaze catches on his bare skin.
His chest is just as I remember it, solid, warm, and defined, the kind of chest that makes you want to reach out and touch it.
But my eyes are pulled away from his chest when I realize that something is missing.
My stomach clenches as my eyes dart to the top of his arm where his tattoo used to be.
It’s gone and for a second, I feel like I might cry, but I swallow away the lump in my throat and the moment for crying passes.
I’m still shocked to see that the small, reckless star tattoo that we had gotten together three years ago in Vegas is gone.
It’s just been erased like I’ve been erased from Joshua’s memory. It’s like for him, it never happened.
A dull ache pulses in my chest, but I shove it down. I shouldn’t care. It’s not like it meant anything to him, and it’s not like me choosing to keep mine means anything about him either. But still, the absence of it stings.
I swallow hard and force myself to keep moving, pushing the thought away as I trail my fingers across his skin, feeling the heat beneath them. I kiss him again, more urgently now, like I can block out the pang of disappointment with the press of my lips.
Joshua doesn’t hesitate to help me forget, even though he doesn’t know that’s the mission, His hands move to the buttons of my blouse, and he slips them open with practiced ease. The fabric falls from my shoulders, and I shake it free and toss it on the ground.
He stands up, bringing me to my feet with him.
He pulls me closer to him, pressing my body against his.
I can feel his hard cock pressing against me and his tongue probes into my mouth.
His fingers are all over me, skimming my waist, my spine, and then he reaches the zipper of my skirt.
It slides down smoothly, the material pooling at my feet, leaving me in just my lace panties and heels.
I kick the skirt away, well aware that I’m likely to trip over it given the chance.
Johsua’s hand moves between our bodies and his fingers brush the inside of my thigh, and I shiver, my breath catching as he teases me, his touch slow and deliberate.
My pulse thrums, anticipation coiling tight inside me.
When he finally presses against me, his touch firm and knowing, my head tilts back, a quiet gasp slipping from my lips.
He doesn’t push my panties aside – instead, he touches me through the material. I expect the panties to dilute the feelings of his touch, but actually, they magnify them. The lace is just right to add friction to his touch and my clit pulses as he rubs me.
He watches me, his eyes dark and hungry, his fingers moving in slow, torturous circles.
My body tenses, the pleasure building, winding me tighter and tighter.
His slow touch has me on the brink of coming, but he won’t up the pace, won’t up the pressure and let me go over.
I try pressing myself against his hand, but he moves it away altogether and I gasp and grab his wrist, guiding him back into place.
I’ve learned my lesson though and I resist the urge to writhe against his teasing fingers.
Just when I really start to think I can’t take this slow, agonizing pressure, he ups the pace of his fingers on my clit and he presses harder, pulling me closer and closer to orgasm until I break, shuddering against him as a wave of heat rolls through me.
I close my eyes and feel the wave of pleasure running from my clit to my pussy and up into my stomach.
I feel the heat spread out to my extremities, my whole body tingling as I cry out.
My orgasm is intense but it’s a relief and I cling to Joshua until finally, it’s over, and I’m coasting down on a warm feeling.
I want more. Even before this orgasm has fully faced, I know I want more.
I want to feel him inside of me, stretching me, filling me.
I barely have time to catch my breath before I start to slip my shoes off, but his voice stops me.
"No. Leave them on," he growls.
His tone is rough, commanding, sending another shiver down my spine. I nod, my cheeks warm, and he smirks before turning me gently in his arms.
"Bend over," he murmurs, moving me towards his desk.
I obey his command, my pussy dripping wet at his authority.
I brace myself against the desk, my pulse hammering and my pussy aching to be filled.
His hands slide over my hips, his fingers tracing along the waistband of my panties, but then he stills.
The air shifts, and suddenly, his breath hitches.
"Fucking hell. You kept it,” he blurts out.
The words slice through the haze of heat between us, and my body stiffens, the moment ruined. He’s talking about my tattoo.
I don’t move at first, my skin prickling with sudden awareness, my heart sinking. I kept mine. He didn’t keep his. And now, standing here, naked except for my underwear and my shoes in front of him, I feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with my lack of clothing.
Embarrassment flares hot in my chest, and before I can stop myself, I straighten up and move past Joshua, sweeping up my blouse from the ground and slipping my arms back through the sleeves. The mood, the momentum, it’s all gone, shattered by that one statement.
Joshua steps back, exhaling slowly.
"Molly …" he starts, but I shake my head, not wanting his platitudes or his pity. He stops for a moment, but before I can think of anything to say to make this easier, his hand finds my wrist, his touch gentle. "Are you ok?"
His voice is different now, his tone softer, and he sounds genuinely concerned.
It makes my throat tighten, makes something in me want to run.
I was prepared for him to ignore the tattoo if he even noticed it, but I didn’t expect this.
And it confirms something – he definitely remembers me from Vegas now, even if he didn’t before.
I force a small, tense smile.
"Yes, thank you. I’m fine. We got a little bit carried away there,” I say and then I shake my head. I don’t know what else to say, but he’s still looking at me like he wants more. "I should … "
I don’t know how to finish the sentence and so I don’t, I just stop talking.
Joshua studies me for a moment, his thumb brushing lightly against my skin, and I can see the shift in him. The tension in his jaw, the flicker of something almost like regret in his eyes. But he doesn’t push me to say more. He just nods his head, letting his hand drop away.
I take a slow, steadying breath, trying to gather myself.
Trying to ignore the ache deep in my chest. I’m aware that he can’t win with me.
When I thought that he was going to push me to talk about that night, I clammed up, and when he accepted that, I was kind of pissed off that he didn’t try harder to get me to talk.
I’m all over the place and I know it. But this was never supposed to happen. The past was supposed to stay in the past. But right now, with Joshua standing so close to me, the taste of his kiss still lingering on my lips, it feels anything but forgotten.