His mouth on mine is divine, all-consuming. I never want him to stop. And from the way he’s devouring me, he doesn’t plan to. We kiss and kiss and kiss until I can’t breathe anything but his intoxicating scent, until every heartbeat screams his name.Ra-fa-el. Ra-fa-el.
His rough hand palms my breast over my shirt, and I shudder as lightning rolls through me, zinging through my spine down to my curling toes.
He growls and tightens his hand on my ass. Then my feet are tangling as we move backwards, his lips still fused to mine, his tongue continuing its sensual invasion.
My spine kisses cool glass, and I barely have time to process the sensation before his rough words send heat skittering across my skin: “Spread your legs.”
I obey before the words have fully left his mouth. His palm runs up my thigh over my jeans, and frustration sparks in his eyes. He wishes I were wearing something a little more accessible. I wish I were too.
Next time, I think wildly, then nearly choke on the implication.
He drags his drugging kisses to my neck, working the sensitive flesh there with the same intensity he showed my mouth—hot and wet, with clever flicks of his tongue and the exquisite scrape of teeth. I’m so lost in the sensation that I don’t realize he’s unbuttoned my jeans until his rough hand slips inside to palm my cunt. I jerk convulsively.
“Fuck, Rafael!” I scream, my head slamming back against the glass as I buck shamelessly into his touch. His eyes turn molten as he watches my expression, like he can’t get enough of seeing what he’s doing to me, like he’s starved for the way I’m unraveling under his hand.
His thumb circles my clit, making my stomach tighten and my inner walls clench around nothing. And suddenly I’m hyper-aware of just how embarrassinglywetI am. Fuck, can he feel it? I’m only wearing a flimsy lace thong.
He presses closer, until my tits are crushed against his hard chest, my nipples puckering into sensitive peaks that ache for his attention—his fingers, tongue,anything.
Please, I think, but the word won’t come out.
My tongue darts out to wet my dry lip, my eyes drinking him in like he’s the last man on earth. The want I feel for him is so intense it scares me.
His fingers stay maddeningly still in my jeans as he leans in and blows a hot breath against my neck. I jolt like I’ve been electrocuted, and he does it again, the bastard. He does it once more before finally moving his head down to my tits, as if he can sense how desperately I need his attention there.
His free hand cups one, kneading it through my shirt, and pleasure explodes through my lower belly like wildfire. The sound that escapes me is pure porn, mixing with some harsh, grating noise that?—
Rafael stops. Everything stops. His hands, his mouth, all of it.
“No,” I growl, tugging at his hair. “Don’t stop.”
But that harsh sound comes again, more insistent this time. Longer.
What the hell?
I frown, the haze of lust slowly clearing as I try to understand why it sounds vaguely familiar. The third time it happens, recognition dawns. Someone’s knocking on Rafael’s office door.
When he pulls away from me, his hands leaving my body, a scream of protest rises in my chest. Irrational anger surges through me, and before I can stop myself, I lunge forward and grab his hand.
He stares at me with that detached expression he’s perfected, but his eyes are dark as night, his lips swollen from our kisses, and his usually immaculate hair a wild mess thanks to my fingers.
He’s not as unaffected as he’s trying to look.
Before I can say anything, he speaks. “Get the hell out of here, Emilia.”
The words hit me like a bucket of ice water. Reality crashes back, and I realize what just happened. What I almost let happen
I would have let him fuck me against that window.
I numbly pull up my zipper, fingers trembling so badly I can barely manage the button as I all but run from his office, desperate to escape before I do something even more stupid.
The man standing outside gives me a knowing look, his gaze hard as flint. But I don’t give a shit about him. My hands won’t stop shaking, so I wrap my arms around myself as I brush past him.
“What is it, Enzo?” Rafael’s voice floats down the corridor, cool and controlled, as I take the next turn towards the stairwell. Even now, after his harsh dismissal, his voice still has the power to tug on my swollen clit, my sensitive nipples sending little shudders down my spine as I practically stumble down the stairs.
Fucking hell.
18
