“That’s funny,” I chuckle, moving closer, closer. I can’t keep away from this woman. “You don’t sound grossed out at all.”
“I guess …” She bites her lip in that just-Grace way, and then releases it. “Maybe we could call a truce?”
I want to clutch on to the way I felt during our argument. Maybe that outrage could remind me of how I’m supposed to feel. But with Grace stirring so close to me, it feels impossible.
I don’t want to push her away.
Not this evening.
Maybe not ever.
“Truce.” I grin. “Shall we shake on it?”
I step back, offering my hand. She rolls her eyes airily. “Such a douche,” she laughs. “Fine, I guess we can, if you want to be all official about it …”
She reaches for my hand.
At the last moment, I grab her and drag her forward. She lets out a wild giggle as she collapses against me.
There’s a wall of fire around us both, irrepressible passion, and even if we know what happened last time, we just can’t stop.
I slide my hands down her back, over the ridged surface of her bra strap, and down toward her shorts. She stands on her tiptoes and we search for each other’s lips as I palm the fine roundness of her ass cheeks.
“Jeez,” she moans through the kiss. “Okay, so thissowasn’t part of the plan when I came in here.”
“No?” I grin, sliding my hands up her shorts now, feeling the edge of her underwear.
Heat radiates from her sex, making me think about how warm and wet she is, about how fucking heavenly her sex will feel. “What was the plan, then?”
“Uh, like, throwing major shade at you,” she says. “But it’s just so exhausting.”
“I know the feeling,” I growl.
“Kiss me, Harry,” she whispers.
I grab tightly onto her ass cheeks, feeling her naked flesh under the shorts, and then pick her up and carry her to the desk. She lets out a laugh that bounces around my office.
“Careful,” she says. “Your computer, your laptop …”
I sweep the contents of my desk aside with a strong forearm, not caring when it all clatters to the floor and the wires get all tangled.
“I can’t wait anymore,” I growl, sliding my hands up her thighs as she leans back on the desk.
“I know, playboy,” she sighs breathily. “But the door …”
“Wait here,” I tell her. “Stay exactly like that. Jesus, Grace, you’ve got no idea how fucking sexy and beautiful you look right now.”
“Sexyandbeautiful?” she sasses, a high-pitched moan in her voice. “Careful, Harry, you’ll give me a big head.”
I can’t get to the door quickly enough, my manhood like a scorching fire poker in my pants, every inch of it throbbing with veins and need. I turn the lock so hard I hear the door rattle in the frame.
I turn to find her sitting up on the desk, her legs crossed, her hair tussled like auburn flames around her shoulders. A flush creeps from her face down to her neck and she holds herself with sassy-as-hell confidence, which just causes my body to riot even more than it already is.
Suddenly, this whole truce thing seems like a really good idea.
I move slowly toward her, wanting to save every moment and etch it indelibly in my mind.
When I reach the desk, I grip her knees and tug her toward me. She makes a high-pitched moaning noise and pouts playfully at me.
