Weather Girl(50)

At that, he rises from his chair, sending it spiraling back against his desk with a muted thwack. “Because I find you so incredibly charming! I have for a while, and you saying yes to this guy you just met when you were standing right in front of me made me jealous. I’m not proud of it, but there it is. I’m extremely out of practice, and nothing could make that clearer than what happened tonight. And I wanted Torrance and Seth to have a great night, I did—but that’s why I’m not all gung ho about what happened out there.”

The look in his eyes has grown so intense, unblinking as he waits for my next move, and all I can focus on is the quick rise and fall of his chest. In and out and in and out. There might not be enough air in this room.

We’ve always been so cordial to each other, and now that we’re this-close to confessing how we feel, the claws are coming out.

On shaking legs, I push to my feet. “Russell,” I say. “Russ.” I try out the nickname, loving the way his face softens when I say it. “He’s not my type.”

“No?” There’s a glimmer of hope in his voice.

I shake my head as I inch closer, stretching out my right hand to graze his arm. He wants this as much as I do, and that makes me brave. Now my breathing is as labored as his, anticipation filling my lungs until I think I might collapse before I reach him.

Luckily, he’s there to hold me up, his mouth meeting mine right as his hands grasp my hips.

It’s a hard, fast kiss, and I open for him right away. This is Russell, who took me to my first hockey game and waited with me in the hospital and undressed me without looking. Sweet, ever-polite Russell, losing all pretense of pleasant as he catches my lower lip with his teeth while his hands dive into my hair. I thought he’d be shy, reserved, but there’s a desperation even in the way his thumb sweeps along my ear. The scrape of stubble against my chin and cheeks.

And I can’t get enough.

A rumble in his throat makes me kiss him deeper, grabbing the lapel of his jacket tighter with my good hand. Now I’m certain there isn’t enough air in here, but I can’t bring myself to care. All I want is for him to make that sound again and again.

I forget for a moment that I don’t have use of both my arms when I attempt to pull him closer, breaking away with a sharp inhale.

“Shit,” he says, features pinched with alarm even as he’s breathing hard. “Did I—?”

“No, no, that was my fault.” I readjust, tightening my sling. With a sheepish half smile, I say, “I was just trying to get more of you.”

When he reaches for me again, he spins us around, backing me up against his desk. He gives me the lift I need to slide on top of it, and I wrap my legs around his hips and—yes. He’s warm and soft against me, except for where he isn’t, and that sends a jolt of satisfaction to all the most sensitive parts of my body. This time, he doesn’t say anything when I brush against his round stomach—only tugs me closer.

“I don’t want to mess up anything on your desk,” I say as his mouth trails down my jaw.

“I can tell you with complete honesty that I really, really don’t care if you do.”

Still, I’m reluctant at first as I push things to the side—a stapler, I think, and then a notebook. It’s not until he starts sucking at the spot where my neck meets my shoulder that I throw caution to the wind and start shoving. Papers, pens, a pair of headphones. I can feel the heels of my shoes digging into his back, but if it’s bothering him, he’s sure as hell not saying anything.

I’ve had the occasional office fantasy, but god, the reality is even better. He’s solid heat, lips dipping lower, dropping kisses along my collarbone and down my neck. His hands are at my waist, fingertips skimming along my ribcage, and I can sense he’s uncertain about going higher.

If I can’t do everything I want to with an arm in a sling, the least I can do is help him.

So I drape my hand along his, inching it upward, until his thumb is stroking one breast through the fabric of my sweater.

“This is okay?” he asks, and it’s absurd, how okay it is. He’s not even touching my skin, and my nipples are already aching.

“God. Yes.” My mouth falls open against his, and he swallows my moan, tongue swirling as I move my hand from his to clutch at the back of his neck.

He bunches up my skirt and pulls me to the edge of the desk until we’re lined up in the most torturous way, the rough friction of his jeans driving me wild. My struggle to put on these tights this morning was thoroughly not worth it. I’d have risked being cold all day if it meant I could feel him exactly where I want to right now, hard against my center while he groans into my ear. I roll my hips against his, turning that groan feral and drawing out a gasp of my own. I want to unbuckle him, unzip him, have him lay me bare in his office so he remembers this every morning when he gets to work.

When something falls off his desk with the loudest thump so far, Russell breaks our kiss, panting. I stifle a laugh as he walks around to check what it was, coming back with a baseball player Funko Pop still in its plastic box.

“Cute,” I say.

“King Félix Hernández is not cute. He’s a collector’s edition.” He places it back on his desk, then seems to think better of it and stows it in a drawer.

Still, it seems to shock us back to reality, which is maybe a good thing. I’m not sure how far we might have gone. I have to squeeze my legs together, bite down on the inside of my cheek. I’ve always struggled to let go with new people, and I’ve never had an orgasm with someone on a first encounter. But I’m so keyed up that a few more minutes and I might have fallen apart, and I would have made certain I dragged him down with me.