The Trouble With Love(65)

“Cassidy,” she breathed. “We can’t.”

“I know.”

“This morning, we agreed, that was the last time,” she continued, the explanation sounding like a horribly pathetic excuse considering that the sexual energy in the room was rapidly nearing its boiling point. “We can’t do this…casual sex thing. Not with our past.”

Not without one or both of us getting hurt.

“I know,” he said again, uncrossing his arms and putting his palms on either side of his hips on the desk.

Emma ran her palms over the fabric of her gray skirt, needing to do something with them other than reaching for him. And if his white knuckles were any indication, he was facing a similar struggle.

She wanted him. They wanted each other.

And it was stupid and reckless and probably maybe a little bit forbidden, which made it all the more tempting.

Emma closed her eyes. “If Camille’s back next Monday, you’re only my boss—”

“For five more days,” he said slowly. “And if I weren’t to read your story, if I left it for Camille to edit, then I’d only be your boss on a technicality, and not in a way that could represent a conflict of interest.”

Emma gave a low laugh. “There wasn’t a concern over conflict of interest when you assigned me the damn story—”

“Which I’ve apologized for,” he said calmly.

“And which I forgive you for,” she said equally calmly.

The silence in the room grew. So did the sexual tension.

When Emma spoke again, her voice was a husky whisper. “The door—”

“Locked,” he interrupted.

Then he reached down with one hand, hooked it behind her neck, and pulled her up. His mouth claimed hers in carnal possession.

That extra button Riley’d undone didn’t end up making a damn bit of difference. Not when he roughly pulled her blouse out from where it was tucked into her skirt, tugging her clothes apart with the same frantic urgency that she tore at his.

There was no suit jacket today, no tie, just a navy button-down dress shirt that Emma all but ripped from his body before sinking her teeth into his shoulder.

Cassidy swore, one hand wrapping around her back, the other tangling in her hair as he pulled her mouth up toward his. He spun them around then, so now it was Emma whose hips were pinned against the desk.

Then his hands slid under her butt, lifting her so she was sitting on the desk, his hands roughly pushing her thighs apart so he could step between them.

He shrugged out of his shirt before removing hers, and they both moaned when his palms closed over the light pink fabric of her bra.

“When I watched you put this on this morning, I dreamed of taking it back off again,” he said as he pulled back and ran a finger over the small bow between her breasts.

“So why don’t you?”

Instead of complying, he bent his knees, running the tip of his tongue over the upper slope of each breast, moving lower and lower with each swipe until he flicked just under the fabric, but shy of her nipples, which were desperate for his touch.

To pay him back, she reached for the bulge of his pants, using her nails to lightly trace the outline of his hardness without giving him any kind of relief. His teeth raked her breast and she gasped.

His hands finally slid around her back, undoing the clasp of her bra with a quick flick before slowly pulling the lacy garment off her.

Emma’s eyes closed, but he used one finger to lift her chin up so her face was tilted to his, and she opened her eyes to meet his hot gaze. Then his thumbs found her nipples, pressing, as his blue gaze stayed locked on hers, watching her every reaction, as though trying to commit her every whimper and gasp to memory.

Her hands went to his waist, his skin hot and firm against her palms as she tried to drag him even closer, and when that didn’t work, her hands went to his head, pulling his lips down to hers as she used her tongue to tease his.

Then he pulled back and bent his knees, his lips finding her nipple as his palm came up to cover her mouth, stifling her startled cry.

Emma’s head tipped back, her back arching as she sat on Cassidy’s desk and his dark head moved between her breasts, laving them with attention from his hot mouth.

When he straightened, she whimpered at the loss, but only briefly because then he was pulling her off the desk and turning her around, one hand wrapped around her hip as the other palm found the spot directly between her shoulder blades and pushed so she was bending over the desk, ass in the air.

He tilted forward with his hips, and even through the fabric of his pants and her skirt she felt his hard cock press against her. It was both too much and not enough, and she made a ragged whimpering noise that could have been either a plea or a curse.

Cassidy wrapped one arm around her chest, above her breasts, pulling her upper body back just enough so that he could press his mouth to her ear.

“I lied earlier,” he said roughly, his hand moving down to palm her breast.

She shook her head slightly, indicating she didn’t follow and his fingers pinched her nipple. Hard.

“I didn’t lock the door,” he whispered.

And then his hands slid down, finding the hem of her skirt and tugging it upward over her hips, over her ass, until his thumbs brushed over the lace covering her butt cheeks.

“Anyone could walk in,” he whispered, his fingers kneading her soft flesh. “Anyone could walk in and see me doing this.”