I rake a hand through my hair, glancing away. My lips tingle from being pressed to hers, and I can’t shake how damn good it feels. It’s an effort not to pull her close and do it again.
She rises, closing the distance between us. I pick up the faint scent of her, bright and floral—orange blossom maybe?—as she slides her hand up my chest. The feeling of her warm palm through my shirt ignites heat in my abdomen, and I suck in a sharp breath. I haven’t felt this intense physical attraction to a woman in a while. Usually, it takes work. Dinner. Drinks. More effort than I care to give.
But her hand is enough for desire to burn hot through me, and that’s a dangerous feeling. One I know better than to indulge.
I gaze at her expectant face, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes, trying to be the good guy. “You’re having a bad day, sweetheart. I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
Her brow knits, and she shifts her posture, nudging her breasts into my chest.
Shit. She’s not making this easy.
“Sir, I amthrowingmyself at you. Please, take advantage.” She looks up at me, breathing hard, her fingers digging into my biceps through my suit jacket. “Take whatever you want.”
“Sir?” I ask, cocking a brow. I could get used to being called that, especially by someone as cute as her.
“Sorry.” She blushes again. She has a peaches and cream complexion that shows her blush easily, and I fucking love it. “I didn’t—”
“No.” A dark chuckle rumbles from me. “You can call me that.”
Her eyes light with a wicked glint, and she smiles. “Well, then, why don’t you tell me what you’d like to do to me, Sir?”
Fuck, it’s hard to resist an offer like that.
My resolve weakens, and I lean closer. “I’d like to kiss you again,” I admit, my voice thick.
Christ, why did I say that?
But I can’t fucking help myself.
“I’d like to push that pretty dress up your thighs and see if you’re wet for me.”
Her mouth falls open. Too far?
Of course that’s too fucking far. It’s 2 p.m. on a Monday, and she’s a good decade younger than you. What the hell are you thinking, Brooks?
“I’d like that, too,” she says, surprising me. “But before you do that…” She falls to her knees, gazing up at me from under her lashes as she reaches for my belt buckle, and blood rushes to my cock.
Am I dreaming right now? This beautiful woman, voluntarily on her knees for me?She’sthe one having a bad day. Shouldn’t it be the other way around?
The thought vanishes as she cups my stiff cock through my slacks, sliding her tongue hungrily along her bottom lip.
She’s notthatmuch younger than me, I reason. Definitely old enough to know what she’s doing—a thought that’s confirmed as she unzips my fly, wrapping her fist around my length and jerking me with long, assured strokes.
And she won’t even tell me her name. She clearly wants nothing more than this.
Nothing more than I’m prepared to give.
But I think of what she told me at the bar, that it feels like her life is out of control. I hate myself for being so reasonable, but I have to ask. One more time.
“You’re sure you want to do this?” I choke out, already losing the battle.
“Yes,” she breathes. “I need a distraction from this crappy day. Please.” And then, because she seems to know the effect it has on me, she adds, “Sir.”
Fuck.
I’m a decent guy, but I’m only human. Besides, I can’t even remember the last time I had sex. I’m so damn focused on work, I could use a break. A little fun. And as she licks her lips, her gaze fastened on my throbbing cock, I know there’s no way I can stop her.
She’s a grown woman. Who am I to tell her what she can and can’t do?
