“These are all remote-controlled partner toys. They have actual remotes, whereas what you’re building is an app-basedremote. They all have the same penetrative, vibrating, and/or thrusting capabilities, though, as our self-operated toys.”
As if I wasn’t speaking at all, he reached around me to pick up a remote-controlled panty vibrator—a pair of underwear with a tiny vibe sewn in so one could discreetly pleasure their partner in public with the help of its corresponding pocket-sized remote. Then he reached out with his other arm, walling me in as he nonchalantly inspected the toy with both hands.
His entire body melded to my back and ass. No matter how I tried to keep myself from being affected—these were ourwork lessons, after all, not our personal, out-of-office fling—my entire body reacted at being trapped by him.
“Now that you know the basics,” I squeaked, “what I want to teach you is not only what the toysdo, but how theyfeel. That’s the important thing. If you’re going to build an app to help people with pleasure, you need to understand what sensations actuallyarepleasurable.”
He dropped the panties. His arms moved down to my thighs, then up until they gripped my hips, pulling me back even harder against him. “You could show me.”
“We agreed no practical demonstrations,” I retorted, even as my head tilted back onto his shoulder, exposing my neck.
Hot lips pressed against the hollow of my throat. “Agreements can be renegotiated, can’t they? After all, I’m going to be taking you home tonight and ravishing you all night long.”
His hands moved from my hips, dragging up my waist and toward my breasts.
He cupped them, pointedly refusing to move toward my aching nipples.
“Speaking of…” I croaked.
“Yes?” he prompted, clearly enjoying my barely concealed desire.
“How much longer do we have to wait before ripping each other’s clothes off?”
Pulling away, he turned me so we could face each other.
“What happened to pizza or Thai food?”
“I’m not hungry anymore. You?”
“I’m hungry, but don’t bother ordering.” My entire body tingled as he inspected me from head to toe. “I’m looking at an eight-course meal right now.”
15
Begin the Sex Scene
Somehow we managed to make it home without having sex in the office, the car, or the elevator up to my place. I’m not sure how, but it happened.
“It’s very weird to have you in my house.”
Not my finest welcome. I wouldn’t be getting that embroidered on a welcome mat any time soon. But when I locked the door behind me, turned, and found Hudson towering over my kitchen counter, casually surveying my home like it was a guide to understanding me, it’s all I could think.
When I’d been fired from GalacticSolutions, I’d given my parents the bulk of my severance package. However, I’d saved some to buy this apartment. I called it my Hush Money House, which wasn’t a great way to look at one’s home, but hey—at least I was honest about it. The apartment was simple and elegant and at least twenty years behind current trends, but it also had high ceilings and big windows and a kicking AC unit that beat the Texas summers back.
I didn’t spend much time here, though, preferring to eat out and devote most of my waking hours to my desk, so now, seeing it through Hudson’s eyes, I realized the messy bookshelvesstacked high with academic texts and the takeout menus tacked up on the fridge made the place look a little sad. Slightly devoid of personality.
“Why should it be weird?” he asked. “It’s just sex, right?”
“Right. Yeah. Just sex,” I said, trying to convince myself more than anything. “Not a big deal.”
His gaze burned everywhere it touched. My cheeks, my neck, the swell of my breasts peeking out from my sweater.
With slight pressure on my wrist—the only place our bodies currently touched—he navigated me back until I was pressed against the kitchen island. Nowhere to run. Just me, this handsome man, and the ghost of sex yet to come between us.
“Right. Yeah. This is casual. We’re just two people…who happen to be attracted to each other…and we’re going to have sex and…and…”
He released my wrist and let his fingers drift lazily to my waist, where he found an exposed patch of skin between my skirt and my sweater’s hemline.
“Do you want to keep going, or would you like me to find a better use for your mouth?” he asked.
