Lovely Trigger (Tristan & Danika #3)(67)

I backed away.  “I need to get to work.  Tell me your good news fast, because I’m heading out on the floor.”

He shook his head, his eyes on my body.

I was wearing a fitted navy polka dot halter dress with a big bow at the neck, and a sweeping hem that hit just above the knees.  I hadn’t been dressing to impress when I’d put it on, but suddenly it felt like the dress was too sexy to wear to work.

That’s what his eyes did to me.  They had the power to transform.  The way I felt.  The things I wanted.

“You aren’t going to tell me your good news?” I asked, breathless now.

“I can’t even remember what it is.”

“Must not have been that good of news.”

A ghost of a smile played around his mouth.  “It had some stiff competition, in terms of my attention.  Never had a shot.”

He took a step in my direction, and I inched a careful step back.  There had to be boundaries, somehow, someway, and it seemed like not ha**ng s*x in my office in the middle of business hours was a good place to start.

“I really do need to get back to work,” I told him, when he’d backed me to the wall.

He picked me up by the waist, carrying me straight to my desk.  He set me on the edge there, and it was high enough that he could squeeze his h*ps between my thighs, and hit just the perfect spot.

“This won’t take long.”

I snorted.  “Well, that’s hardly selling it.”

He smiled, and sank down to kneel in front of me.

I’d never realized before just how multi-functional a stand-up desk could be.

He buried his face between my legs without even pulling up my skirt.  He just inhaled, making me squirm.

His hands began to inch my hem up.  I helped him, officially gone to the dark side for the immediate future.

Sanity rushing out of me between one ragged breath and the next.

And in that same breath coming back, I let sensation in.  Blissful oblivion in.

It seemed like a good trade.  Impossible to turn down, really.

He bunched my skirt up around my hips, nuzzling into my sex.  I sucked in harsh breaths as he pulled my panties off.

With this teeth.

I struggled to watch, when my eyes wanted to drift closed in pleasure.

It was a sight worth seeing.

I dragged a fistful of my skirt up, stuffing it in my mouth in an attempt to muffle my own cries.

How could I have forgotten the magical things his lips could do?  And his tongue.

And his hands.  Once those magic hands set to work on me, there was no setting up boundaries, no stifling cries.

He licked, lapped, tortured and teased, while my hands in turn stroked his hair or tried to pull it out.  That delicious scruff on his jaw added to the torment, tickling at the skin of my inner thighs.

It wasn’t long before I was tensing, my thighs gripping his head hard, the torrid sensations reaching their fever pitch.

I came, crying out his name, no thought, no care to where I was or what the hell was happening to my self-control.

He was smiling when he straightened.  Very smugly, I thought.  “Well, what do you think?  Did I sell it?”

I just shook my head with no concept of what he was talking about.

Rational thought would return.

Eventually.  But not yet.

“You said I wasn’t selling it.  I was asking if I changed your mind.”

I just shook my head, gone mute.  It wasn’t a no, it was a ‘I have no idea what the f**k is going on.’

He kissed me, one long drugging taste; before he pulled back.  “Come by my place after work.  Don’t find any panties between now and then.”

He left.

It took me a few minutes to recover, and it was only as I was straightening my clothes that I caught the full implication of what he’d said.

The bastard had made my underwear disappear.

He hadn’t given a time, but I ducked out of work early.

I’d been basically worthless for the two hours I’d stayed.  Who could concentrate on anything after that?  Not me.  I could barely focus on the road while driving there, nearly ran myself onto the shoulder as my mind ran rampant with visions of the encounter in my office and then continued to wander to the night ahead.

I had to ring the doorbell several times before a shirtless Tristan opened the door.

He was gleaming with sweat.  It would have taken inhuman willpower not to drink in every inch of his muscled, tatted up body.

And I was human.  Oh Lord, was I human.

He’d clearly been working out by the no shirt, athletic shorts, and running shoes he was wearing.

He’d always been in incredible shape, but this new, disciplined version of him had taken it to a whole new level.  He’d taken all of that antsy energy that he’d once used alcohol to mellow out, and applied it to a workout routine of epic, addictive proportions.

And I was addicted to the results.

His shorts hung low and his sweaty, cut to within an inch of its life, pelvic V muscle, was giving a silent but clear invitation to my tongue.

I knew what I wanted first.  It was all I could do to keep from getting on my knees and going down on him on his doorstep.

I moistened my lips, then reached out a finger, running it down his slick chest.  He didn’t so much as twitch.