She crosses her arms over her chest. “Humphf.” She’s adorable.
“I’ve felt…” My mind blanks, trying to put into words exactly how I’ve felt.
“Something,” she whispers.
I almost don’t hear it, but I do, and man does that one word fill me with exactly that—something. Something powerful that I can’t quite name. Need? Hope?
Campbell steps back from the table, hooking her purse strap over her shoulder. “Thank you, Mr. Moore. It was a wonderful dinner, and my team and I very much enjoyed your company and insight.”
I incline my head, letting my eyes enjoy the sight of her standing, the hem of her dress swaying into place. “I’ll have your driver come around.” I drop the napkin so I can reach for my phone.
“Oh, no need, really.” She takes a few steps backward, toward the restaurant’s entrance.
I’m about to let her escape, to let tonight’s heavy flirtation and innuendo be a one-off, to not be a pushy douchebag. Until she looks down. At my dick.
In itself, looking isn’t a big deal, seeing as my dick is desperately trying to break free from my thin, cashmere-wool blend slacks. I’m sure it looks like I’m sporting a lead pipe in my pants (which I basically am). But it’s what she does when she looks. Her eyes widen, her chest swells, and her mouth parts. Her devilishly sexy tongue darts out, licking her pouty bottom lip before her front teeth bite down on it. As if she’s trying to contain herself, contain the desire coursing through her body.
The best part? She doesn’t look away. We stand for a moment, me watching her staring at my rocking hard-on.
Then this smart, sexy, stunningly beautiful woman sighs and presses her legs together, which due to the thank-the-fucking-lord short, asymmetrical dress she’s wearing, I can clearly see.
“Come home with me, Campbell,” I can’t help but repeat, hating the desperation in my voice. I’ve never, not once in my life, been desperate. But then again, I’ve never met Campbell King before.
It takes a moment. A delicious moment where she isn’t able to drag her gaze from my dick. But then her eyes are on mine, and what she sees there she must like, at least as much as what’s in my pants, because she says one word. One word that is about to change everything.
“Yes.”
TEN
Bell
This is foolish.So foolish.
But even as I repeat that to myself over and over again, I still place my hand in the one Chase offers me, leading us out of the restaurant. I still let him steer me into the elevator and allow his arms to cage me against the wall as it descends.
“Kiss me,” he says.
For a moment I wonder why he doesn’t just kiss me. Take me the way he wants. As evidenced by the massive erection he’s pointing in my direction.
“But only if you want to. I don’t want you to feel pressured.”
And then I realize, he doesn’t want me to simply let this happen between us. Or feel like I have to. He may have initiated the first move, the verbal invitation, but contact, physical contact, that’ll be up to me. And damn if him giving me the reins doesn’t make my need for him that much sweeter.
And I do want it. Him. Badly. Badly enough to call myself ten times the fool and not care. Badly enough that I raise my arms, dragging them up the sides of his body until my palms cradle his face and I lift on my tiptoes to bring my mouth to his.
Both of us groan on contact. Sweet, delicious contact. We devour each other, our tongues tasting, our breath mingling. It’s the hottest kiss in the history of the world. I’m not even being dramatic.
But I need more.
I step forward, aligning my body against his, and press.
For a moment, it relieves the ache, until it makes it worse. I feel like an addict who’s been given a taste but who wants the whole hit. I raise one leg and hook it around his hip, my hands grabbing his shoulders. This gives me the leverage I need to grind. And I do; I grindhard.
I’m grinding on Chase Moore, the owner of Moore’s, my new client. Specifically, I am grinding my soaked center across his thick, hard length in the elevator of his building. In the back of my mind, behind the fog of sexual insanity, I’m pretty sure I grasp how wrong this is. How stupid. But when my clit rubs over the length of his hard-on, I just don’t give a damn.
I’m so very tired of caring. Of holding myself back. Of masking key aspects of myself behind business verbiage and stoic expressions. I want tofeel.
So I do. I feel his dick gliding across my clit with every circle of my hips. I feel the strength of his shoulders beneath my hands, and I feel the warmth spreading through my veins telling me that I am embarrassingly close to orgasm from simply dry humping in an elevator.
