“Hey,” he says back. He sets the pen down but keeps his hand on the papers, like he has to finish one motion before he can start another. “You’re still vertical. That’s a good sign.”
“Barely,” I admit. “Thought I’d… pop in.” I lift a shoulder, try to pretend my heart isn’t hammering at the sound of his voice. “Mark said I could come back.”
“Yeah.” His mouth does that ghost of a smile. “Paperwork ambushed me.”
I step inside and nudge the door closed with my heel.
The click of the latch is soft. He notices. His eyes flick to the door, then to me, then back to my face with heat in his eyes.
“How’d the rest of the day go?” he asks. “You look—” He stops himself just shy of saying wrecked. “—like you worked your ass off.”
“I did.” I take two steps closer. “Worth it.”
His gaze warms. “It was packed every time I looked over.” He tips his head, searching my face. “You okay?”
I nod. “I will be.”
For half a second, we hover there, good intentions separating us. Then he looks me up and down and licks his lips, and that’s it for me.
I round the desk in three strides; the chair squeaks as I swing a knee over his lap and lower myself onto him, palms braced on his shoulders. His breath leaves him in a rough exhale that is absolutely not a protest. His hands find my hips like they belong there.
“Paige,” he says, a warning and a welcome in one syllable.
I kiss him.
All the noise in my head cuts like someone pulled a plug. His mouth is warm and familiar in a way that makes my ribs ache, the scrape of his stubble sharp against my skin. He tastes like mint and coffee and something that is just him, and the low sound he makes at the back of his throat drives straight to my core.
He tightens his hands and pulls me closer, and the chair complains again as I press into him, chest to chest. I feel him smile against my mouth when I nip his lower lip, and he tilts his head, deepening the kiss, one hand sliding up my spine to anchor me, the other at my waist.
It’s ridiculous how easy this is. How my body remembers him like a language I only had to hear once to be fluent.
When I finally break away for air, we’re both breathing like we ran here. He rests his forehead against mine for a beat, eyes closed, smile crooked. “Hi,” he says, voice rough.
“Hi,” I say, my voice husky.
He opens his eyes, and whatever he sees on my face makes something hot flare in his. “Come here,” he murmurs, like I’m not already there.
He surges up out of the chair in one smooth move, mouth finding mine again, hands holding me securely as he stands. I laugh into the kiss and loop my arms around his neck.
The edge of the desk presses against the backs of my thighs. He sets me down on the paperwork, utterly scandalizing his to-do list, palms sliding up my thighs. Paper crinkles under me, a pen rolls and clinks to the floor. And he is all heat as he stands between my legs.
“Ben,” I moan.
“Mm.” He kisses me again, slower now, like he’s remembering I have to breathe. His thumbs stroke lazy paths along my legs through denim, and my brain empties of everything that isn’t this.
“Your invoices are going to have my butt print on them,” I manage, breathless.
“Best thing that’s happened to my invoices,” he says, amused, and then his mouth is on my jaw, my cheek, the corner of my mouth again, like he can’t decide.
I tip my head back and let the office ceiling blur. Out in the bar, someone laughs, a chair scrapes. His hands bracket my hips, and his body presses into mine.
I slide my fingers into his hair and tug gently, and he makes that sound again, the one that sparks heat down my spine.
His mouth parts on a rough little breath, and I tip mine to meet it, kissing him slowly, then deeper, then slowly again, like we can’t decide what we want.
I angle his face with my fingers and kiss the corner of his mouth, the line of his jaw, the spot just below his ear that makes him shiver.
He answers with a low sound and a tighter grip, thumbs stroking lazy paths at my waist that make my stomach flicker.
