Amusement glittered in her eyes. “Those are six hundred dollar shoes. If I don’t get those back, I’ll castrate you.”
“You’re avoiding answering.” And still hiding something.
She sighed and leaned back, hands on her hips. “Have I called you insufferable lately?”
“I’m starting to think it’s a term of endearment.”
After a prim chuckle, she sobered, shaking her head. “I don’t know if I can date you, Thomas. You’re still the executive working on my account.”
If that was her only reason for rejecting him, then he’d won. She wanted him, too. “It doesn’t matter. We can still work together. Keep it professional.”
“I know, but…”
“It’s a date,” he pointed out. “Not a lifelong commitment. Just to see if you and I can converse without fighting for more than thirty minutes. For all I know, you’ll put that pretty velvet spike heel right between my eyebrows.”
She bit at her lower lip, drawing it between her teeth. “All right. One more date.”
“You make it sound like a death sentence.”
He slid off the desk and moved around it. He’d let her have the barrier between them but he was done with it now. As he passed the door to her office, he locked it and closed the blinds on the door. He turned back to her and prowled closer. She backed away like a cornered fawn.
“Why are you running from me again?” he asked.
“I’m not,” she said, but she was still backing away. She paused, then amended, “Okay, maybe I am a little bit. It’s kind of something I do.”
“That’s okay. I’m good at the chase.” He caught her, then, and as his hands curled around those delicious hips and he jerked her close, she gasped. Her body was soft through the suit, molding to his with a lushness that made him simmer. “Want to know what else I’m good at?”
Her hands pressed to his chest. “Thomas, we’re in my office—”
“I locked the door.”
“Thomas,” she warned, her tone hard.
He kissed her. Kissed her with all the anger that had built up over the night, let it bleed away into the frustrated passion he’d been caging since she walked out on him. He wasn’t sure just what it was about her that ignited him, but when she surrendered with a desperate little whimper, he stopped wondering why.
He just gave in and let himself feel.
Her hips pressed tight against his, provoking him like a red flag to a bull, building that tight, needy pressure in his groin. He leaned into her, bending her back over the desk, forcing her to arch until her heavy, sweetly rounded br**sts pressed into him. He dragged her shirt out of the waistband of her skirt and slid his hands underneath until he found hot, smooth skin. When he caressed her, she writhed, and he savored the shudders that flowed under his fingers, leading him up until he cupped her br**sts and she gasped his name against his lips.
Tasting her mouth was no longer enough. He traced his lips over her throat, bit gently along her jugular, took deep-rooted pleasure in each soft, needy cry that rose when his teeth grazed her sensitized skin and his fingers played over her ni**les, rolling them until they peaked to perfect hardness. Her hands flowed over his body, touching him with grasping caresses that pulled him into her, locked their bodies together until he couldn’t take it anymore.
He had to have her. Now.
He pulled back, looking down at her. She lay breathless on the desk, debauched and wickedly inviting against her scattered papers, clothing skewed and her hazel eyes turned to molten gold by longing. Longing for him. He held himself back long enough to kiss her lips again, a single soft brush, then gripped her hips and turned her over.
He maneuvered her facedown against the desk and parted her thighs with his knee. She arched, and God, what a vixen she was—nearly purring as she rubbed her own body to the desk, dragging her br**sts over the blotter, rocking back until her ass ground against him. The seams nearly split as he shoved the skirt up around her hips.
Her pantyhose made her thighs glisten like cream—and ripped from the pressure of his fingers as he pushed her thighs even farther apart, spreading her for him, positioning her against the edge of the desk. He shredded the flimsy nylon with a single savage jerk until he could reach to run his fingers over her mound through the soft silk of her panties. She quivered, her voice breaking on a moan. She was bared for him, and he burned to see her like this: wild, ready, wet for him.
He tugged the panties aside and tasted her, traced the delicate pink of her folds with the tip of his tongue, delved deeper into her warmth until she was twisting, clawing at the desk, nearly sobbing as she pushed toward him. When his tongue circled her clit, she spasmed, raked her fingers over the blotter hard enough to tear the top sheet into furrows, and came with a ragged cry. He lingered on every wet burst, every damp trickle, licking it away until she gleamed, stroking her with his tongue until her cries bordered on agony.
“Thomas,” she gasped out, rigid and trembling. “Thomas!”
It was all the encouragement he needed. With one last taunting flick of his tongue, he withdrew long enough to unzip his jeans and push them down, freeing himself. Reaching into his pocket, he ripped open a condom and shoved it down his shaft. Once he was fully ensconced, he pressed against her moistness, raising a choked sound that he echoed. He held back for a trembling moment—and the anticipation made it that much sweeter when he rocked his hips forward and glided into her in a single smooth stroke.
She enfolded him in liquid fire, and he lost control.
He braced one hand to the desk, arching over her, and fell into the near-maddened cadence of his thrusts. His pleasure. Her pleasure, as her body clenched around him and she whimpered, begged, screamed. Screamed for him, so hot and uncontrolled beneath him, pushing back to meet him on every thrust.
As he joined her, he arched his neck back and all he could think, feel, and smell was Brianna. He was completely lost in her…and he didn’t even care.
Chapter Six
Brianna lay boneless on the desk, her cheek pressed into last month’s GAAP report.
She was pretty sure she was bent over the polished mahogany planking with her butt in the air like a five-dollar hooker, sweaty and wet inside her suit, Thomas’s weight crushing the air from her lungs and his c**k slowly softening inside her.
He shifted with a groan, his voice gritty in her ears.
No, she was definitely sure. Hooker. Sweaty. Wet. That had just happened.