His hands slide down my back, his grip tight on my hips as he hikes me up on the sink. I squeal, adjusting the fabric of my dress and pulling it to the side so the slit that is tasteful when standing becomes scandalous, the tip of my underwear nearly visible.
He steps in between my legs with his eyes fixated on the space between my thighs. When we’re finally chest to chest, he seems to visibly relax.
“What’s wrong? You seem extra crabby tonight.”
I rake my hands through his hair, touseling it how I prefer a few more times before using my fingers to comb it back in place. If either of us came back from the bathroom looking freshly fucked, we’d be in trouble. So I force my hands to leave his hair and wrap them around his tie, running the soft silk through my fingers until it falls through, then returning to the top again, repeating the act.
“Tonight is the worst form of torture for me,” he grits out.
I smirk at that. “You mean discussing quality improvement initiatives over a glass of expensive bourbon isn’t your ideal Saturday night?”
His nostrils flare as he exhales a breath. “Hardly. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”
My eyes flick up to his, and it’s then that I notice how intensely he’s staring. “What is it then?” I use my grip on his tie to pull him a little closer to me and hook my heels around his legs. “What’s wrong, are you okay?”
He drops his forehead to press against mine before he leans down and kisses my shoulder again. “It’s torture to be here with you, without getting to be herewithyou. I hate that you look like this,” he says, pulling back to gesture to my dress. He runs his hands over the soft velvet of my ribcage, his thumb burning my skin as it dances over the keyhole in my neckline. “You look like this and I have to pretend like I don’t notice. I can’t find you across the room and wrap my arm around you. I have to watch you laugh at Martin’s jokes, and not mine.”
“For the record,” I interrupt, “Martin and I were basically talking about how sexy you look in this suit, so that conversation should make you happy.”
His furrowed brow softens a bit at that, but not enough. “I can’t kiss you and murmur nonsense in your ear about how Dr. Johnson smells like muscle rub and cough drops, and he won’t stop leaning in too close to talk to me.”
I chuckle, pulling him to me with my grip on his tie and planting a soft kiss on his lips. I raise my hand to immediately clean the red lipstick from his skin. “I kinda like old Dr. Johnson.”
He grumbles under his breath. “I’d love his spit droplets on my face more if you were standing next to me. If I could wrap my free hand around your hip and nonchalantly squeeze your ass every time you laugh at me.”
His dark eyes bore into mine, and his hands leave the counter to rest on the tops of my thighs. He must feel the hard plastic of my insulin pump because he traces the border with his finger before moving his hands to my hips, up my back, to my shoulders, finding their home along the sides of my neck. His thumbs push my chin to tilt it toward his face. “I hate that I have the most beautiful girl in the world, thebestthing to ever happen to me, and I have to keep her hidden.”
I suck in a breath, feeling my eyes start to glisten at his sweet words. I sniffle a little and clear my throat roughly, wondering how I can tell him what I feel without telling him I am completely and utterly at his mercy. “Careful Dr. Andrews, you keep talking like that and you might just make a girl fall for you.”
I give him the easy out, the opportunity to joke at my expense, but to my surprise he doesn’t bite.
“And would that be so bad?” he asks, shuffling a step in until we are lip to lip. “Would it be so bad for a girl like you to fall for a guy like me?”
His lips brush against mine with his whispered words. He leans in for a soft kiss. So light and delicate it tickles. He pulls back just a hair to search my face. “Would it?” When I don’t answer, he leans in again, this time with more force. So much pressure I suck in a breath and release the death grip I had on his tie to wrap my arms around his neck.
“I can’t think of anything I’d want more,” I finally admit.
My words spur him on, and he leans me as far back as I can go. We make out in the small bathroom like we’re teenagers, horny and desperate to hide from our parents. Which is ironic, because that’s exactly what we’re doing. It seems foolish that two happy, consenting adults have to hide a relationship because of my father, but in this moment he has the power to take away everything we both have worked toward. To crush the one dream either of us, or both of us, have.
With each day that passes, the looming deadline of my departure back to Africa hangs over my head. Colt and I haven’t talked about what will happen when that day comes.
At first, I thought I could have gone into this knowing our time was limited. I thought I’d spend a few months banging the hottest man I have ever met, then wave goodbye as I board the plane.
I didn’t realize that I’d meet someone who made me feel so wanted and so likeable for who I am. Someone who cares about me, who worries that I might not be well, who wants to help lessen the burden I was born with. Someone who made this situation more than just bearable, he made it unbelievably hard to imagine my life anywhere else.
The inevitable conversation will have to happen, though. Colt has his apartment, his gaudy appliances, and blueprints for an expansion. His life is here. And as much as it pains me, I care about him too much to ask him to leave it.
But the thought of being ten thousand miles away from him, knowing he might be somewhere in the city, sitting on a worn bar stool to play the part of handsome bachelor, looking for a woman to warm his bed for the night, makes me sick.
He breaks our kiss, brows furrowed as he pulls back. He brings his thumb to his mouth, licking once before swiping it along my skin in what I’m guessing is a move to clean up my smeared lipstick. “What are you thinking?”
“Hmm?” I sit up a little straighter, leaning forward to fix the knot in his tie and clean his face just the same.
“You’re stiff now.” He brushes his hands up and down my arms as I use mine to make him look a little more presentable.
“I don’t want to go back to the party.” It’s not exactly a lie. I’m not in the mood to listen to the board of directors thank the investors for the oodles of money they’ve sunk into the hospital. It’s a fake game of kissing ass so our program can be the best of the best. Is it necessary? Probably. But do I want any part of it? Not at all.
But that’s not why I wish we could get out of here right now. We could slip out, go back to Colt’s place, and get lost in each other. Time will pause, and neither of us have to pretend that the deadline for me leaving isn’t quickly approaching.
