A rough chuckle. “Good.”
He steps back, and I wobble slightly.
He steadies me but doesn’t come close again, doesn’t kiss my skin or stroke his hands over me or hold me close.
Instead, he moves to the door and locks it.
Then to the wide plate glass windows and closes the blinds.
“Marie,” he says and that firm tone has my head jerking up, has desire gathering between my thighs. “Take off your…”
My heart skips a beat.
My knees tremble again.
“…shoes, cookie.”
A curl of disappointment. But also a thrill of excitement.
Because am I doing this? Is this happening? Is?—
“Gorgeous.”
My eyes fly back to his.
“Shoes.”
Pulse skittering through my veins, I step out of my shoes, kicking them to the side. But when I reach for the lapels of my jacket, he tuts.
“I didn’t tell you to take that off yet.”
I freeze, another thrill sliding through me. I like it—these orders—and probably more than I should. But I’m also still me. So, even though I don’t tear off my jacket out of spite, I still say, “Kind of hard for me to get naked and bend over the desk if you won’t let me take off my clothes, handsome.”
His mouth curves, and the sexy smile has that desire between my legs growing.
Especially as he saunters toward me. “Smart,” he murmurs, trailing a finger along the row of buttons on my blouse. Down, down, downit goes.
And so does he, kneeling in front of me, reaching for my foot, and?—
I moan as his strong fingers begin massaging, soothing the aching toes, the sore arch, the tight ankle in long, sure strokes. He doesn’t say anything and I’m not capable of a response as he pays homage to my feet over the next several minutes, first one and then the other, thoroughly reducing me to goo.
Then he pauses, one of my feet on his broad, strong thigh, and looks up at me. “Take off your jacket, gorgeous.”
My throat works.
Then I oblige, lifting my hands to the edges of my blazer, dragging it down my arms.
He catches it before it puddles to the floor, draping it carefully over the chair.
“Is this when I get naked?” I ask.
He grins before he lifts my foot to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the top of it. Then he’s setting it on the floor, slowly standing.
He stands close but doesn’t touch me.
Hot hazel eyes on mine. They slowly drift down my body, and that stare is almost a physical thing, stroking over my nipples, down my abdomen, dipping between my legs.
“Take your shirt off,” he orders quietly
