My hand slides up her side. “My work is too important. You don’t really have anything that important to handle in Washington.”
This time, her entire body jolts away from me, and she smacks me. “How dare you!”
The blow makes my head jerk to the side, but I quickly right myself. “I’m just stating the obvious.”
The glare in her eyes can only be described as wild. “I fucking hate you!” she yells with a snarled lip.
Fuck. This isn’t how I wanted this to go down. Quickly, I grab her by the back of the neck and bring her face to mine. “You don’t hate me. You could never hate me.”
“I do,” she whispers.
There’s no time to argue the point. She doesn’t hate me. I know that no matter what’s said between us in public or private, I could never feel that way about her.
We’ve spent too long apart, playing a game of cat and mouse for weeks through text messages. My hands find her cheeks, gently holding her face in my palms, and I lean over and brush my lips against hers.
Her throaty moan that fills my mouth when she opens to me doesn’t sound anything like hate. Her tongue tangles with mine, needy and hot. My grip tightens on her face; I’m worried she’ll come to her senses and pull away.
My mouth grows more demanding. An uncontrollable need to remind her how perfectly our bodies fit together takes over.
We’re moving, backing up as I lead her toward the wall next to her dressing table. My hands skate down her body, capturing her waist and lifting her against me.
Her legs wrap around my middle. “We can’t,” she says against my mouth and rubs her panty-covered pussy against my cock that’s covered in too many layers.
Her kiss grows deeper, hungrier than before. I’m mindless with lust, squeezing her ass as I plaster her back against the wall.
When our lips disconnect for a second, she’s breathy and panting. “I hate you,” she whispers, grinding her core against me.
Pushing against her, I hold her body up with one arm and touch her breast through her dress. “You don’t hate me. You hate how much you want me.” My hips swivel, creating friction between us as I kiss her again, rougher this time.
Her hands are roaming over my shoulders, squeezing my skin underneath and driving me crazy with want. When the need to taste her flesh overwhelms me, my mouth slides from her lips to her neck.
She pushes against the wall, giving me better access, but she rubs against my dick harder than before. I’m hanging by a thread as my lips blaze a trail down her neck. A moan rumbles deep in my throat, and my teeth sink into her soft flesh while she shivers in my arms.
The door opens and we both freeze.
“Reagan?” Lexi says from behind us.
We’re both staring at each other with wide eyes, unable to move.
Reagan’s heels dig into my ass as her hold on me tightens, but her terrified eyes stay locked on mine. “Can you give us a minute?” Reagan asks with a shaky breath.
“Well… Um…” Lexi pauses. “Yeah.”
When the door closes quickly, we both start to laugh. The ramifications of being caught aren’t lost on either of us, but we can’t stop ourselves from chuckling. For a moment, I think this must be what it’s like to be a parent when your kids catch you in the act. Your heart leaps and then stops, you’re unable to move for fear of too much being seen—namely my hard-on—and you know nothing will ever be the same.
My hold on her loosens, and she slowly slides down my body, pushing harder against me than she needs to. She makes sure to make it as uncomfortable as possible for me.
“Fuck,” I groan when her feet touch the floor, and our contact is broken. I’m not sure what’s worse—the torture or the nothingness of the loss of her.
Reagan’s face is red, and her lips are swollen. “Shit.”
My cock’s not ready to stop, and I reach down, pushing it aside and praying that I can walk out of here without a massive boner. “I think we havea lotof explaining to do.”
She starts to pace and catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. First, she wipes away the last smears of mascara that hadn’t transferred to me while we were lip-locked. “I’ll take care of her.”
Her tiny fingers smooth down her hair in an attempt to make it look more presentable. “Fuck it,” she mutters and removes the pins, letting her hair cascade down her shoulders. But she doesn’t just let it fall, she flips forward and stands up quickly, letting it flow through the air and land wildly against her back.
Jesus.
