“This is a one-time thing,” I whisper, telling myself as much as him.
His hands tighten on my waist, a muscle in his jaw working. But he doesn’t respond.
I open my mouth to say something—to analyze the statistical probability of career termination or cite specific sections of the employee handbook—but rather than let me spiral, his mouth captures mine. The kiss is slow and thorough, as if he’s savoring every second, and my heartrate spikes through the roof, probably 180 BPM, if not more.
His stubble grazes my skin as he deepens the kiss, his hands tightening their grip as he pulls me flat against him. So close I can feel the controlled power in every muscle.
“Talk to me,” he murmurs against my lips when we break apart. “What do you need?”
The question gives me pause, although it shouldn’t. Emmitt’s always checking, always making sure his team is okay. Except at the moment, I’m not his nutritionist. I’m the woman in his arms, and he’s asking what I need, as if my answer is the most important thing in the world.
“You,” I breathe. “Just you.”
“Bedroom?”
“This way.” I take his hand, marveling at how it dwarfs mine, and lead him down the hallway. He has to duck slightly under my ceiling fan, and when he sinks onto the edge of my bed,the mattress dips dramatically under his weight and the frame creaks ominously.
I slip off my crossbody bag and lay it on my dresser, suddenly hyperaware of every sound, every breath. In the mirror, I catch sight of him sitting there—his enormous frame in that black T-shirt a stark contrast against my delicate floral comforter. He looks like he could break everything in this room without even trying.
But when I move to stand in front of him, his touch is infinitely gentle as he tugs me into the notch between his legs. I have to look down now that I’m standing and he’s sitting, my hands finding his shoulders for balance.
“You’re so fierce in meetings,” he says, his voice rough. “Watching you shut down Derek with one look, the way you command respect from guys twice your size…” His hands skim up my sides. “But this side of you…”
Heat floods my cheeks. I try to maintain some semblance of control, straightening my spine. “I’m still the same person.”
“I know.” His smile is soft, understanding. “But you don’t have to be strong right now. You don’t need to have all the answers. Let me take care of you.”
The offer breaks something loose in my chest. I’m used to knowing what’s coming, used to my ex’s style, which never seemed to prioritize me. It seems I’ve forgotten what it feels like to let someone else take the lead.
He leans forward, capturing my lips in a kiss that’s deeper, more urgent than before. The careful exploration gives way to something hungrier, and I feel my carefully maintained control slipping. His hands, large and warm, slip under the hem of my sweater, skimming the sensitive skin of my waist.
My breath hitches, but then his thumbs brush against my ribs and all thought dissolves.
“Okay?” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to search my face.
I nod, lifting my arms in invitation. “More than okay.”
Emmitt takes the hem of my sweater, raising it slowly, his knuckles grazing my skin and igniting sparks of sensation. As the fabric whispers over my head, I shiver—not from cold but from the raw intensity of the moment.
His eyes sweep over me with a reverence that makes me feel beautiful instead of exposed.
“Perfect,” he breathes, and the conviction in his voice undoes me completely.
My hands find the hem of his shirt, tugging it off in one smooth motion. The sight of him, all carved muscle and gorgeous man, makes my mouth go dry. This body has dominated the ice for years, but right now? It’s mine to touch. Anywhere and everywhere I want.
He reaches around to unclasp my bra, his fingers deft and sure. I slip it off my shoulders as his warm hands cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over sensitive peaks. I arch into his touch with a soft moan. And any last hope of control evaporates like my professional boundaries did the second his calloused fingers traced that scar on my chin the other night.
He trails hot, open-mouthed kisses down my throat, lingering on the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder. When he shifts lower and captures one taut nipple in his mouth, I gasp, my back arching as pleasure shoots straight to my core.
“Emmitt,” I breathe, his name sounding different now. Not professional. Not careful. Like a plea.
His hands roam over my back, tracing the curve of my spine, before moving to the button of my jeans. He pauses, giving me a chance to change my mind. But I couldn’t for the life of me now. I cover his hands with mine, guiding him, showing him I’m all in.
The weight of that choice settles between us as he slides down my jeans. I step out of the denim, standing before him in nothing but my panties, and feel the exact moment we officially cross from colleagues to something else entirely.
He grasps my hips and lifts me easily. I wrap my legs around his waist as he turns and lowers me onto the bed. The frame protests loudly under our combined weight, but I don’t care.
His lips find mine in a searing kiss before he moves down my body, licking and sucking along my collarbone, down the valley between my breasts. I squirm beneath him, completely surrendered to the sensations he’s creating.
