32. Innocent and Seductive
32
INNOCENT AND SEDUCTIVE
Bridger
A few minutes ago
I often spend Saturdays working. It’s not unusual for me to be holed up in my apartment poring over scripts, contracts, deal memos.
So switching between finalizing the streaming terms for a script we acquired late last year, Anti-Heroes Unleashed, and prepping the details of the Afternoon Delight rewrite should keep me in the zone all day.
Operative word being should.
These twin projects ought to occupy me well into the evening when I can grab a bite with Axel, or maybe connect with some producer colleagues.
Trouble is, it’s late afternoon, and I’ve made seriously shitty progress on both fronts. I’m alone in the Lucky 21 office, staring blankly at the laptop, the terms turning blurry.
What the hell am I even reading?
Maybe I’m just distracted today.
Maybe I should turn off the Card Game soundtrack.
There. Done.
Surrounded by silence, I try once again, but my mind is wandering. To last night. The night before. Then the one prior.
I curse, then pace, stare out the glass fourteen floors below, watching New York stroll by on a Saturday. Peering farther, into the park. Harlow loves the park. Did she go there today with her brother? Did they wander around the lake? She’s told me of their adventures when they were younger. Others I heard about on my own, just from being in her home, working late to launch this company many years ago.
Working with her dad.
I jerk my gaze away from the window, like I can flip off the reminders of our twisted connection.
Then I turn the other way, but I’m still a treacherous ball of nerves.
I could do yoga to let go, but I’m wearing tailored slacks and a button-down. I’m not going to be that jackass in an office doing yoga in his work clothes.
Pass.
I blow out a long stream of air, then flop down on the couch. Maybe I just need a break from work. Maybe I’ve been too go-go-go lately.
Except…
I’ve worked a little less than usual the last three nights because I’ve spent them with Harlow.
All at once, my body feels lighter as I think of her. A feel-good drug works its way through me.
I close my eyes, slipping into the most delicious memory of last night. Up against the wall. The way she moves as I touch her. The sexy whimpers that fall from her lips.
That’s the answer to all this cranked-up pressure inside me.
I want to see her soon.
I just want to see her. Hold her. Talk to her. Be with her.
Pretty sure she said her brother was leaving tonight. In a flash, I pop up, stalk to my desk, grab my phone. She’s in her interview right now though. So I start with a simple text: Hey there…thinking of you. Hoping the meeting with Amelie goes well.
Then, I tap out another, What are you doing tonight? Can I see you?
There. I can breathe, I can work, I can focus. I stretch my neck from side to side, crack my knuckles, and dive back in.
But I keep reaching for my phone on my desk to see if she’s replied.
I keep checking the time to see when I can check in again.
It’s nearly five.
I can be patient. I won’t push her.
But when I close my eyes, I see her, I feel her, I smell her.
I wish she were here right now. If she were, I’d…
I groan, unbidden.
I know what I’d do if she were here.
After I open my eyes, I send one more message.
When you’re done with your interview, I’d like to see you. I’d like to kiss you. I’d like to put you on my desk, slide my hands up your thighs, and then taste you. Everywhere.
I’m at the office. No one’s here.
The second she walks through the doorway, I tug her to me, kicking the door closed as I lift her into my arms.
I greet her with a deep, passionate kiss. I don’t stop kissing as I carry her—her legs wrapped around my waist—to my desk.
Then, I set her down on it.
With a naughty grin, like the vixen she sometimes is, she leans back, pats the oak, and says, “It is a really big desk.”
“Let’s see how well it works,” I tell her, then I lock the door quickly and return to her. I slide a hand down her bare leg, traveling to her right ankle, the one with the scar. “Put your foot on the desk.”
She places the spike of her high-heeled foot right on the edge of the wood.
Lust shoots down my body.
“Beautiful,” I murmur, then I sit down in my chair, pull it closer to the desk, and I bend to kiss the scar. I do it gently, adoringly, treating her like the gift that she is.
A shuddery breath greets my ears.
My hand wraps around her ankle. I brush my lips along her skin. Then up her calf. That tempting vanilla scent of her lotion drifts into my head, intoxicating me. I reach her knee, traveling to kiss the side, then the back.
A soft gasp.
A wriggle.
I smile and set my other hand on her other leg, slowly, luxuriously, spreading her legs open for me. I raise my face, needing to look at her.
She’s watching me, her green eyes glittering with want.
“I’ve thought about this before,” she says in a soft confession. Heat spreads down my back as I turn my face to her left leg, brushing my stubbled jaw along her soft, delicate skin.
“And how does this compare?” I ask.
I can feel her smile more than see it as she says, “I don’t have enough data yet.”
“We should do more research,” I suggest.
She leans back. “I like research. Lots of research, Mr. James.”
“Me too.” I kiss her thigh again. She’s like a treasure, and I want to discover every precious facet of her.
The way she gives herself to me is such a privilege.
She trembles as I kiss up her inner thigh, closer, and closer still. Her scent drives me wild.
“Please.”
That word tugs on my heart and makes me impossibly harder at the same damn time.
With a groan, I devote myself fully to my mission, teasing her with my mouth, then I push her skirt up higher, bunching the fabric at her waist and revealing her panties.
Tiny, white lace.
I stop. I’m trembling too. I need a fucking moment.
I lift my face again, craving eye contact. She must be as well, because she’s looking at me with expectation in her gaze. I think she’s been looking at me the whole time.
“Do you like?” She sounds hopeful.
I rush out a throaty, “I love.” Then I cover the white lace with my hand, pressing the heel of my palm against her heat.
She cries out. “Yessss.”
Jolts of pleasure shoot through my body all at once. I don’t know if I can survive this. I’m more aroused than I’ve ever been in my life.
But I’m willing to try.
“I almost don’t want to take these off,” I tell her, running a finger along the seam of her panties. “They’re innocent and seductive at the same time. They’re just like you.”
In a feather of a voice, she says, “I think you’re seducing me.”
I answer first with action as I play with the lace, running a finger along the outline of the fabric.
She lifts her hips, her body begging.
Then, I answer her with a question. “Do you want me to seduce you, Harlow?”
She pushes up higher on her elbows, pinning me with her vulnerable gaze. “I’ve always wanted that,” she says, then she sweeps a hand down her body, over her breasts, along her belly, and pushes her fingers inside her panties.
My mind spins with lust. Her hand slides farther, then out, and she lifts her fingers to my face, offering herself to me.
I grasp her wrist, then lick off the heady taste of her.
“Take them off. Now,” she says in a trembling command and it’s a reminder too—that I am at her mercy.
I comply, slowly, torturously slowly, pulling them down, over her thighs, then off.
I set her feet back on the edge of the desk.
Then, I spread her legs wide, and it feels like going to church.
Unholy, wicked, church where I intend to worship this goddess.