"Together?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
"Of course together." He smirks. "I'm not done with you yet, Camille."
And despite the soreness, I find I'm not done with him either. Not even close.
I tap my tablet screen to add another note about the spa's lighting design as Alexander reviews the material samples spread across his desk. The makeshift office is small, forcing us to stand closer than professional boundaries would typically allow. But that’s obviously all out the window anyway, right?
His arm brushes mine as he reaches for a stone sample, and electricity shoots through me. Six hours ago, that hand was between my legs, making me feel things I’ve never felt. Now we're discussing ambient lighting like nothing happened. Except I can still feel him inside me when I shift in my chair.
"The local quarry can provide enough limestone for the main features," Alexander says, his voice all business. "But I'm concerned about the timeline for delivery."
I nod, trying to focus on the swatches and samples instead of the memory of his mouth on my skin. "I've spoken with the supplier. They've assured me they can meet our schedule if we confirm the order by Friday."
He makes a noncommittal sound, leaning closer to examine a particular tile I've selected. His intoxicating cologne fills my senses. I wonder if anyone else in the room can feel the invisible current running between us. The project manager and construction lead seem oblivious, absorbed in their own discussion about structural supports.
"This material for the spa," Alexander says, picking up a sample of volcanic stone. His fingers brush mine as he takes it from me. Not an accident. "It retains heat well?"
"Yes," I answer, my voice steadier than I feel. "It's perfect for the heated benches in the steam room."
He turns the stone over in his hand, his thumb stroking its surface in a way that makes me think of how those same fingers stroked me hours earlier. "Texture's important," he murmurs, low enough that only I can hear. "Don't you think?"
Heat crawls up my neck. "Absolutely. The tactile experience is... crucial."
His eyes meet mine, and the corner of his mouth quirks up in that almost-smile that does stupid things to my insides. He knows exactly what he's doing.
The meeting continues like this—professional words layered with subtext, casual touches that linger just a beat too long. By the time Alexander dismisses the other team members, my skin feels too tight, my body humming with anticipation.
"Stay," he says when I start to gather my materials. Not a request. A command.
I set my tablet back down as the door closes behind the others. For a moment, neither of us moves. The only sound is the distant hum of the air conditioning and the pounding of my heart in my ears.
"Lock the door and come here." His voice has dropped to that register that bypasses my brain and speaks directly to the heat between my legs.
I round the desk slowly, stopping in front of him where he leans against the edge. He reaches out, fingers wrapping around my wrist, pulling me between his spread legs.
"Do you have any idea," he says, his other hand coming up to grip my chin, "how fucking hard it is to talk about stone textures when all I can think about is being inside you again?"
My breath catches. "I think I have some idea."
"I've been half-hard since you walked in." His hand slides from my wrist up my arm, across my shoulder, down to cup my breast through my blouse. "This project is obviously important. But right now, all I care about is bending you over this desk."
The words send a jolt of pure want through me. I should resist—this is my client, and we're in his office in the middle of a workday. But all I can think is yes, please, now.
"What are you waiting for?" The words slip out before I can stop them, bolder than I knew I could be.
Something dangerous flashes in his eyes. In one fluid motion, he spins me around, pressing me forward until my palms flatten against the cool surface of the desk. His body covers mine from behind, his erection evident against my ass even through our clothes.
"Such an eager little thing," he growls against my ear, his hands already working at the button of my pants. "So ready for me."
I don't resist as he tugs my pants and underwear down in one swift movement, leaving them bunched around my knees. The cool air hits my exposed skin, making me shiver—or maybe that's from the way his hand slides between my legs, finding me already wet.
"Look at you," he murmurs, approval evident in his voice. "Soaking for me in the middle of a business meeting."
I hear the rustle of fabric, then the hot, hard length of him pressing against me. A moment of clarity breaks through the haze of desire.
"Condom?" I ask.
He pauses. "I don't have one here."
