Perhaps a little too good for it to be right. I’m an attorney, for Christ’s sake, and he’s my client. I could lose my license over this. I could…
“Stop,” he breathes, pushing back to look at me. “You’re thinking too much.”
“Trigger—”
“Just stop and feel,” he says, running his hands up and down my back before tugging my blouse from my skirt. I hiss when his warm hands slide under the blouse and touch my skin, their warmth spreading through my body. Those calloused fingers leave a trail of heat with every caress. “Let me make you feel good.”
His mouth is soft when it meets mine. Persuasive as he urges me to open up for him again and this time, I empty my mind of all guilt and fear. Heat gathers like a fireball when his hand moves up to undo my bra, but before he can, the doorbell chimes, startling me into straightening up. The insecurities come flooding back as the sound echoes through the room and I stare at Trigger in horror.
I’m on his lap, my lips tingling from my first kiss.
At the second ring, I scramble off his lap, my heart racing as I work to straighten my blouse. “I…I’ll go see who it is.” I nearly bump into the coffee table as I rush off.
Taking a deep breath and patting my hair into place, I open the door. I blink at the man, boy really, standing on the other side.
“Delivery for Halloway,” he says, holding up a plastic bag.
Right, shit. I forgot I ordered lunch.
“Yeah, that’s me,” I say, grabbing my wallet to tip the delivery guy before taking the food. I close the door behind me and lean against it, uncertain of how I’m going to react when I walk back into the living room, to Trigger.
Christ, what’s wrong with me? I was on my client’s lap, kissing him and shamelessly rocking against his erection like some sex-deprived succubus.
Deep breaths, Maeve. Slow and deep.
Surely I can simply revert to being professional, pretend whatever happened was a momentary lapse of judgment. We never have to talk or think about it ever again.
Certain of my own will power, I push away from the door and walk to the kitchen where I leave the food on the counter.
I brace myself to face Trigger, but I’ve barely stepped into the living room when my back is suddenly shoved against the wall and a mouth slams down on mine, knocking the wind out of my lungs. Hands circle my waist and I find myself pressed against his hard body, his mouth seeking mine in a kiss so desperate and possessive it wipes all thoughts from my brain.
I’m helpless to do anything but return the kiss, hands reaching up to grab his shoulders.
Good God, he’s huge. I rake my fingers down the muscles of his forearms, desperate to touch him. To feel that heated skin against mine.
His hands are under my blouse again, one tugging at the clasp of my bra, and I moan into the kiss when his other hand circles my waist and slides up to cup my breast. His mouth stays firmly on mine, tongue sliding intimately against my own until I’m overwhelmed with sensations.
Then Trigger tears his mouth away and pushes back to look at me. “Fuck, I need to see you,” he pants heavily, those heated blue eyes digging into mine. “I want you naked. Now.”
I nod as I drop my hands to grip my blouse before tugging it over my head. My bra slips down my shoulder and I let it fall to the floor, leaving my chest bare. My skirt loosens as I unzip it, pooling at my feet when it falls.
I’m standing in front of my client in nothing but my panties, wet with arousal.
“Fuck!”
The single word carries so much emotion, more than I’ve seen on the man before this moment. And it’s all reflected on his face as he looks at me. In those beautiful dark eyes of his, I see heat, hunger, lust, promise, and most obvious but surprising of all, affection.
“Your turn,” I say shyly, but he shakes his head as he flattens me back against the wall.
“Soon,” he says, and then his mouth is back on my lips and his tongue is stroking against mine. It takes seconds for him to steal my breath right out of my lungs and leave me helpless. He kisses me like he’s a drowning man, his hands moving over my body like they’re seeking to anchor him to the surface. I moan into the kiss as his hands race over my belly and torso, palming my breasts and driving me to madness with every heated caress.
My hands slip between us, urgent as they tug on the first button of his shirt, but he grabs my wrists and raises them over my head, locking me in place.
“Trigger, I want to touch you,” I whisper, trying to tug my hands free, but his grip tightens, making the move impossible. “Please.”
“Let me touch you first,” he rasps, brushing his mouth silkily over mine before tracing his lips down my jaw to my neck. He slides his free hand down my waist and slips it between my thighs, palming my mound over my panties. “Let me take care of you, baby.”
“God!” I whimper when he traces the seam of my panties with his fingers. It’s a hundred times more intense than it is when I touch myself. No, it doesn’t compare. Those rough, calloused fingers rubbing at my sodden sex through the cotton of my panties do not compare to my slim and soft hands.
