“Tscht.There’s more in the fridge,princesa,” Graciela retorts. “Let them have that.” She giggles. “I think they’ll enjoy it more than we will.”
Elle continues to snicker under her breath and cling to me as we make our way down the hall. At the foot of the stairs, I turn to her, pitch forward at the waist, and throw her over my shoulder, which causes her to squeal and peal with more giggles.
She smacks my ass. “I was right about your butt. I’ve never seen your butt up close, but now I have a front row seat, and I was right about your butt,” she babbles through slightly slurred words. “When I saw you in the coffee shop, I couldn’t see your butt because of your jacket, but I was like, ‘that guydefinitelyhas a great butt.’ And now I can see that I was right.”
I continue to trudge up the long flight of stairs. “You were trying to look at my ass in the coffee shop?”
She smacks me again. “Duh! You’re totally hot. Of course I was trying to look at your ass.”
I smirk, but the ache in my chest is back with a fucking vengeance because I’m reminded of that morning and all that dashed hope.
I reach the top of the stairs, and Elle smacks me a third time. “Are you upset?”
I drop her feet onto the floor and grip the door knob to our room, shoving the door open. “No.”
Elle’s face is pink from being upside down for a second, but as her typical fair coloring returns, a worried expression blanches her features. “Are you sure?” She flips her hand at the hallway. “All of that was just part of—”
“I said I want to fuck you.” With one hand on her waist, I push her back against the open door. “Are you going to let me?”
Her seafoam green eyes darken to emerald with potent desire, and her throat pulses with a swallow. The word on her lips is a barely audible, breathy whisper. “Yes.”
I pull her away from the door just enough to close it forcefully, and then I spin the lock. Caging her with my forearms against the wall, the neck of the champagne bottle dangling between my thumb and forefinger, I drag my teeth over her bottom lip. “Nobody has to know, Elle.”
Her breath is shallow against my mouth. “I know.”
Everything about my lifesucks. I’ll never get what I really want, but I’ll take what I can get. And right now, that means fucking Elle senseless like I’ve wanted to since the moment I laid eyes on her. It means fucking her out of my system like I’ve needed to since that very same day.
9
“I SAID I WANT to fuck you,” Colin’s voice gravels, his face veering perilously close to mine. His cornflower blue eyes are now a sin-saturated shade of cobalt. His hand is on my waist. My back is against the door. Lust pools low in my belly, the ache of it even lower and even hotter. “Are you going to let me?”
Just say no, Elle!
Shut up, brain, I’m driving this situation.
You’re driving drunk.
Yeah, well… shut up anyway.
I gulp. “Yes.”
Don’t judge me, Reader. We’ve all done stupid shit knowing exactly how stupid it is while we’re doing it. I haven’t had sex since I was in the middle of my grad program, and it’s not like I’m tying myself to Colin forever or even beyond this weekend by doing this. Hell, once that commission clears, I won’t even be working for him anymore. Like the guy I casually dated during my grad program, Colin is going to be reduced to just a guy in my history. In fact, he’ll probably barely register at all because it’s not like we’re actually going todate. He’ll just be a drunken weekend fling, and I’ve never had one of those before, and after all the shit he’s put me through for the past six months, he owes me a good orgasm. Or two.
The way he looks as he slams and locks the door and then cages me against the wall indicates he’s more than capable of the latter or even more than that.
Colin’s teeth glide across my bottom lip. “Nobody has to know, Elle.”
Well, Celia’sdefinitelygoing to know about this, but what I talk about with her is none of his business—even if he is the subject of conversation. At least I knowhehas no intention of telling anyone about this. He’d be in much deeper shit than me, at least for the minimal time I have left as his subordinate.
I hold the freaking cards, and I’m going to get what I want right now.
“I know.”
Colin holds my gaze for longer than I anticipate. Something about his expression practically screams that the gears in his head are turning; like he’s still not fully convinced that he wants to do this.
Maybe he thinks I’m too drunk to give him proper consent and he’s afraid of having his precious career and reputation fall prey to the #metoo movement.
I feelso freaking sorryfor men like Colin, let me just tell you. (That’s sarcasm, by the way.)
