Chapter Twenty-One #3
It feels like we’re magnets, pulled together by force. I wrap my arms around his neck, and kiss him, hard, drawing us backward, until his palm hits the table. The strength of his arm is the only thing holding us even remotely upright.
Another minute of this, then I drop my hands behind me on the table and lift my chest toward him.
His hands start roaming, up my sides, then everywhere, cupping, squeezing, his thumbs brushing across my nipples through the fabric of my dress.
His pupils are blown all the way out as his eyes track the movement.
Seeing him like this only increases my desperation.
Had I known we’d be doing this today I’d have worn something more accommodating. The neckline on my dress leaves no room for maneuver, unless he’s going to unzip it and take it right off me. I’d be open to the idea, but am in no state to make suggestions. I’m practically nonverbal.
Eventually, his hands move downward, sliding across my bare thighs and then up beneath the hem of my skirt until he’s gripping my ass, holding me firmly in place and pressing me tighter to him.
We’re aligned so perfectly now that every movement from one sets off a chain reaction in the other, until we’re both panting for air, our mouths coming together before moving away again. My hips move of their own volition.
I can feel myself getting close to something, but it’s not enough. It’s nowhere near enough. “Connor,” I plead, unable to find words for what I want from him.
He understands. His hands start to roam again, gliding up the inside of my thigh. I gasp when he finds the edge of my underwear, stroking the lace, and then sliding beneath it. He rubs his fingers up and down the very core of me, humming into my neck.
“Is this what you wanted?” he says, slipping inside me, slowly at first, then firmer, deeper. One finger. Then two.
“Here?” He breathes into my ear. “Or here?”
“There,” I gasp, canting my hips against him. He presses his palm up exactly where I need him most, and then I’m nothing but pure need.
“Yes,” I gasp.
“Yeah?” he says, a smile in his voice.
His hand works me while I desperately move against him, the pressure building so quickly all I can do is cling to his shoulders as he murmurs words of encouragement in my ear. It goes on like this for seconds, or maybe hours.
“Connor,” I gasp. “I’m—”
I don’t even get the words out, but he knows. One moment I’m there, and in the next the world tilts sideways, then stars explode across my vision, obliterating every thought I’ve ever had.
I slump forward, breathing heavily into his neck.
Ten seconds ago I wouldn’t have been able to tell you where we were for all the money in the world, but it dawns on me now that we’re still in the office.
Instead of banking my desire, the last few minutes have only set it further alight.
I don’t care where we are, or what time it is, or how long it takes.
My mind is on a single feedback loop: more more more.
I kiss him again, arms around his waist. He cradles the back of my head, gentle as ever, but he can’t hide. I can feel his erection pressed between my thighs.
I reach for his belt, but his hands close over mine, halting my progress.
“Wait,” he whispers, our mouths separating, then joining again. “Annie.”
I try to release my hands from his grip, but he holds them tighter.
“You don’t want to?”
“I want to so badly,” he says, thrusting against me.
“OK,” I say breathlessly, rubbing the front of his jeans.
Every sentence is broken up by more kissing, a delightful contradiction to his words. My body is humming—with adrenaline, with pleasure, with desire. I want to see him undone in the same way.
He groans when I press with more firmness, dropping his head to my shoulder.
I dip my hand beneath his waistband, my fingers grazing him ever so lightly. That does it.
“Screw it,” he mutters, kissing me again, his hands reaching for his belt himself. A thrill shoots through me when I realize that he’s as desperate for me as I am for him; that Connor, my Connor, dorky, diligent, chess champion Connor has been driven to madness at his place of work. By me.
I am triumphant, eager to help him with this task, desperate to keep going. Our hands are clumsy, knocking against one another, slowing the removal of his jeans down rather than speeding it up, but I don’t care.
“Stop.” He laughs, swatting my hand out of the way as he opens his belt. I giggle into his mouth. Kissing resumes at a frantic pace. This might be the best moment of my entire life.
He finally succeeds in undoing the button. I’m clawing at his zipper when a door slams somewhere along the corridor, shutting with such force the entire wall vibrates.
I gasp, and Connor straightens, on high alert. He looks like he has no idea where he is, and I watch in real time as he takes the room back into focus, his chest heaving.
He steps back, giving me a rueful smile, then turns his attention down to his pants. Reality takes over. He buttons his jeans and I slide off the table, smoothing down my disheveled hair.
I hold my breath, waiting for the moment he tells me this was all a big mistake, but he doesn’t. Instead, he draws me into him, holding me lightly against his chest. He drops a kiss on the side of my cheek.
“Later,” he promises me.
“Later,” I agree.