“What are you doing?” he asks, looking down at me over the slope of his chin.
“Trying to figure out what cologne you wear,” I say, coming up for air.
He chuckles softly. “Why?”
“Some of the girls in the office have a bet.”
“About me?” he asks innocently.
“Oh, come on...” I wiggle out of his grip and prop myself up on an elbow. “Surely you know they’re all obsessed with you? The way their jaws drop to the floor when you walk in the room must have been a good indicator.”
“I never really notice anyone else when I visit your office.” His eyes are glazed but soft in a way that makes me think he’s telling the truth, and the butterflies in my stomach confirm it.
I narrow my eyes and hold my tongue between my teeth, trying to keep in a blush. Slowly, he untangles himself from me and paces stark naked over to the living room. Fucking hell, even his arse is sculpted by the gods.
“Stop looking at my arse,” he calls without glancing back, walking out of sight for a few moments before striding back to the bed and handing me a glass bottle of pale liquid.
“Vetiver,” I read, spritzing myself with the earthy scent and humming my approval. “Mmmm, I could bathe in this.”
“Oh my God, it’s not just the people in your office. You’re obsessed with me too!” he teases with a cheeky smile spreading wide across his face.
“I think this...” I gesture back and forth betweenour naked bodies hidden by a bedsheet. “... has made you fly up and off the cockiness scale.”
When I go to sit up he catches my waist, eyes twinkling with a devilish sheen as he guides me onto my back.
“You’re obsessed,” he repeats into my ear, caging me on the bed with his large torso. “Withme.”
“I am not!” I let out a squeal, executing an extremely poor attempt at fighting him off by lightly pounding my fists against his chest. He takes both my wrists in one hand and holds them against the pillow above my head.
“Well, then. Clearly, my work here is not done yet.”
He leans his head down, taking my lips in his and tracing his free hand up my jaw. My eyes flutter shut, accepting my fate. It’s slow this time. As though he needs hours to archive every piece of me for a private collection. Two bodies pressing together like the pages of a closing book.
27
Even though we only sleep for a couple of hours, those 120 minutes have transformed what happened from some blurry abstract notion under the blanket of night to an actual concrete light-of-day event. A car beeping at street level wakes me; the small noise foghorning me back to reality. I reach for my phone, as is my reflex the moment I wake up. I turned it to “Do Not Disturb” mode after thefirsttime last night, so I missed a ton of notifications.
An email from Susie sent at 6:34 a.m.
A text message from Yemi sent last night asking if I’m working late tonight or if I’ll be back for dinner.
A Facebook message from William, which I choose not to open. I’ll unfriend him later.
A calendar notification: my date with Jack, in thirty minutes.
An Ignite message from Jack:Be there in 20, looking forward to seeing you :)
Shit.
Eric’s arm is lazily draped over my waist, but our bodies aren’t touching. Could I leave without wakinghim up? Sneak out and pretend as if none of this ever happened? Do I even want to do that?
As I inch toward the edge of the bed, his hand curves around to my front and splays across my stomach, slow, circling fingers reaching my ribs. His slow rhythmic breathing doesn’t falter as he pulls me in closer. My insides melt as he tucks my back tight to his body, his morning erection pressing against my backside. Still-forming memories of last night come flooding back. I loosen as a newly familiar mouth drops tender kisses over my shoulder, my neck, my jaw, my cheek until a pair of perfect teeth grazes across my earlobe, causing me to boil over. In a moment of weakness, I lean into the feeling, gripping the pillow and grinding my hips against him.
His laugh tickles hot air against my ear. “Good morning.” His voice is low and gritty.
“I have to go,” I half murmur, half moan, mentally grappling against the gravitational pull keeping me in his arms.
“No, you don’t,” he insists, almost pleading, pulling me tighter on to his length. “Here’s the plan: we both call in sick, I book this room for another night and we can just do this all day.”
