Coldhearted Boss(5)

When I’m sure the tears are at bay, I blink my eyes open again and reach for his hand, the one that touched my hair so reverently it nearly burst my heart wide open.

“And what did the other part of you want to do? The part of you not worrying if I was okay…” I ask, my voice as sultry they come.

His gaze darkens in the mirror and I’m surprised to see he’s not a man possessed by lust and desire. He looks troubled and confused, almost as if he’s about to turn and walk right out the door.

I don’t give him the chance.

I turn around, rise up onto my toes, and press my soft curves against him at the same time my lips touch his.

The gentle kiss shocks him.

His hand tightens painfully on my bicep, and then, just as quickly, he loosens it, brushing his hand up and down my bare skin, soothing the ache as if he’s scared he hurt me.

He doesn’t kiss me back right away, but I’m persistent, and when he finally does, our awkward, stilted movements turn into something sweeter: a kiss you share with your best guy friend the summer you turn fourteen, a kiss stolen when you know your parents aren’t looking. It’s tender and tentative, nothing but soft lips and unspoken possibilities.

We’re not teenagers, though. This is a warm-blooded man I’m pushing my body against. No matter how much he might be concerned for my wellbeing, he can only hold out for so long as I continue to kiss him, seduce him, tempt him. My heavy breasts brush against his chest as I smooth my hand up over the cool fabric of his button-down. I make it past his collar and then my palm is against his neck, touching his skin for the very first time. He’s so hot, I melt, and he must feel the heat too because he groans hungrily. The sound shakes me to my core, and suddenly I’m second-guessing myself, fearful about the situation I’ve put myself in.

This isn’t a man you use for a night. This is a man you turn your life upside down to be with, one you crawl on hands and knees to please, one who touches you once and brands your soul forever.

I break our kiss on impulse, needing space, needing a moment to get a full breath. My chest is heaving. My hands are shaking.

This is crazy! I don’t do things like this! I work and I scrimp and I save and I worry about the ways life is going to screw me over tomorrow. I don’t let handsome strangers follow me into bathrooms!

There’s no time for my conscience to grab hold of the situation because he’s lifting me up like I’m filled with air and carrying me back toward the sink. My butt hits the porcelain lip and he pushes me up onto it then spreads my knees wide enough for him to step between. His suit pants brush against my denim-clad thighs and I let out a soft involuntary groan. Even with the added height, he still has to lean down to reach me, hands cradling my face and tilting my chin up so he can easily capture my lips. He turns his head to the side, slanting his mouth over mine and taking the reins oh so easily. I might have initiated our first kiss, but it’s clear that every one that follows will be from him, by him, for him.

His tongue laps me up, sending pleasure through every inch of me.

I’m getting carried away.

I can feel reality nipping at my heels even as I try hard to bat it away.

I have to stop this.

This won’t help me. This will only make me twice as sad come morning.

Unless…

A wild, stupid thought pops into my head: maybe I could get something out of this, more than just a pleasant evening…money. I could strike a bargain! Sell myself! Oh good, as if a one-night stand isn’t bad enough, now I’m contemplating stepping into the oldest profession in the book. It’s totally ridiculous, and besides, how does someone even initiate that bargain?

Oh, yes, hi, if you’d stop kissing me for a second, I’d like to discuss my terms of service for this transaction.

What do small-town prostitutes with hardly any experience go for these days? A hundred bucks and a coupon for a free milkshake?

The questions filling my head make it easier to separate myself from our kiss. His mouth is deliciously tempting, but it’s no use against my impending panic attack. This impromptu bathroom make-out session was spontaneous and poorly thought-out. I’m only going to succeed in making a fool of myself.

If I wanted a one-night stand, I should have picked a lesser man, not this suit with his rock-hard body and come-hither kisses. He’s going to tear through my sanity, show me pleasure like I’ve never experienced, and leave me lonely and bereft while he slides into a fancy sports car and kicks up dust as he peels out of town.

Even with my brain working a mile a minute, his sensual, teasing kisses are provoking every emotion I should be hiding. I know if he broke away and stepped back, he’d find my lips swollen and red, my eyes coated with a glossy love-me sheen, my chest heaving, my panties wet. If he brushed his hand down there, I’d come just from the sheer wrongness of this entire situation.

Even now, his hands brush up under the hem of my t-shirt, and when his warm palms glide over my skin, I momentarily lose track of my thoughts.

He squeezes my waist and I reach out for him too, scared I’m going to topple forward off the sink. My hands land squarely on his butt.

No, not just that…

His wallet.

Sitting snug in the back pocket of his suit pants.

My eyes spring open with the revelation as he bends to string kisses down my neck.

Take it, my survival instincts shout. Take it now!