Junk Mail(17)

Before I can process anything else, he grabs my hand again, pulling me around yet another turn. “This way.” He reaches for the first door handle he sees. Maybe he has a room here tonight.

When the door opens to reveal a coat closet, we both smirk. Not the most romantic setting, but it’s private, and right now, we need privacy desperately, because I’m nowhere near done with that kiss. I lead the way in, tugging Josh by his lapel. The door swings closed behind us, and we collide.

His lips on my neck.

His fingers in my hair.

My hands roaming his broad shoulders.

My heart threatening to leap out of my chest.

As his lips find their way back to mine, he palms my breasts through my dress, his thumbs drawing a quick circle around my nipples. They go instantly stiff at his touch, even with a layer of fabric in the way.

It isn’t until I pull back slightly to catch my breath that I notice the firmness of his erection pressed against my belly. Clearly, I’m not the only one enjoying myself.

Oh my God . . . holy chemistry, Batman.

“I thought you said you could be professional, that you wanted this to remain professional,” I whisper against his neck, nudging his erection with my hip. “This doesn’t feel very professional to me.”

“I said I could keep it professional. I didn’t say anything about him.” Josh nods toward his crotch and a giggle escapes me, louder than I intended. He presses a shh into my lips, but I can feel his mouth smiling against me as his lips meet mine again.

“Please stop being so good at this,” I say in a half whisper, half whine.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he says, his lips moving to my throat, and I shudder against his hot breath.

He wants me. Plain and simple. The man who was once just a dirty picture on my screen is now here, in the flesh, and has me swallowing my moans in a hotel coat closet.

And I can’t block the embarrassing thought that if Gram knew, she would be so proud.





Chapter Eleven


Josh



I could have sworn my days of making out in coat closets were far, far behind me. But I’m so fucking glad I was wrong.

If it were anyone other than Peyton swirling her tongue around mine and sucking greedily on my bottom lip, this might feel like reverting to teenage behavior. But there’s nothing teenage about the body grinding up against mine. Peyton’s tits are full and perky and fill up my hands just right as I palm them, feeling every perfect curve and thumbing her nipples through her dress.

God, this woman. She’s smart enough to have built a successful business, but she’s got more sex appeal than corporate America can handle. I want her. So damn bad. And the way she’s grinding her hips against the ridge in my pants seems like a pretty good sign that she wants me too.

I’m so damn wound up—celibacy will do that to you—that I can’t think past this moment.

I won’t let myself think about any possible repercussions right now, because I’m sure there are many. This moment feels so right, and I’m not about to stop. Not when she’s eagerly kissing me back and rocking her hips against my hard dick.

Fuck. She’s testing all my limits.

With my mouth still firmly pressed against hers, I let one hand slip from her breasts to the slit of her dress, testing her limits. She doesn’t stop my hand. Instead, she throws her head back, her dark waves spilling down her back as my mouth travels down to her neck.

“Is this okay?” I push open the slit of her dress and brush my fingertips against her inner thigh.

She shudders, a needy whimper tumbling from her lips. “Yes. God, yes. Please.”

With her permission, I trail my fingers up her thigh and find a damp bit of silky fabric between her legs. A groan of approval escapes me at the realization she’s already wet for me. I run my middle finger along the silk, then twist it out of the way. Peyton’s punctuated gasps make my already hard cock go completely stiff.

I can’t wait any longer. I need to know how she feels.

Wasting no time, I gently press two fingers deep into her wetness, an entrance that is met with a gasp of surprise and plenty of bucking from Peyton.

“Fuck,” I mutter when I feel how tight she is.

“S-so good.” Her response is breathy as she clutches my shoulders. Her fingers dig into my muscles, getting a good, stable grip on me.

I like that she’s counting on me to keep her upright. I could get used to this side of our business arrangement.

Slowly, I ease my fingers out, giving her clit a few gentle strokes with my thumb. She moans in response, and I’m lucky enough to catch her gaze for a second. Even in this dark closet, her blue eyes absolutely sparkle.

When I begin touching her again, she rocks against my hand and those eyes flutter closed. After a few thrusts, she finds my rhythm and starts tilting her hips against my fingers in time with me, letting my fingers hit a deeper, softer spot within her. It’s enough to make both of us moan. My thumb finds her clit again, and her whole body tightens around my fingers. She’s close, and suddenly, I’ve given up all hope of keeping things quiet. There’s nothing I want more than to hear her moan, to soak in the blissed-out look on her face as she climaxes.

“Go ahead, angel,” I whisper, nipping at her ear. “Come for me, Peyton.”

My words push her over the edge.