I’m ruminating on my thoughts when she hastily gathers her things. Every day, she’s out at five-thirty sharp, eager to escape my office and my presence.
She stands with her bag and, without sparing me a glance, she mumbles, “Enjoy your weekend.”
“Andrea, wait a moment.” She freezes, and I remember to add, “Please.” That word works surprisingly well on her.
I’m walking up to her when she turns, and something about her demeanor sends my brain into a frenzy. She’s trying so hard to seem unfazed, but I notice the flush of her cheeks and the way she avoids my gaze so fiercely.
“I meant to apologize for my behavior last week,” I explain. It isn’t a lie, but it isn’t entirely true either. I don’t regret the kiss, but I regret the ending and its aftermath.
She nods, still looking away. “Me too. I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me.”
“I thought you said it was alcohol.” That compels her to look at me. I take a step forward, and she takes one back.
“Yes, of course. The wine.”
“I should have noticed you weren’t yourself.” Another step forward, another one back. I’m not sure what I’m doing yet, but it’shappening.
She isn’t good at hiding how flustered I make her. I used to think it was because she disliked me, but I know better now. Three steps later, she bumps into the armchair behind her, stopping her retreat. I halt close enough to sense the heat emanating from her body.
“Are you tired?” I ask. She shakes her head. “Have you been drinking today, Andrea?”
Confused, she silently denies again, breathing out a faint, “No.”
“Perhaps you’re cold?”
Her overheated face already gives me the answer I seek, but she shakes her head once more. Victorious, I slowly lift a hand between us, grazing the front of her nerdy T-shirt, my knuckles brushing the modest swell of her breast. In its path, it teases a nipple, which is hard and begging for attention. She shivers from head to toe, and her eyes unmistakably darken.
I bend forward until my lips are by her ear. “This is all me then,” I rasp. Firmer this time, I run the back of my fingers against the taut tip, clearing any doubt there might have been.
She’s speechless, a trembling breath flowing out of her lush lips. As I straighten up, I lower my hand to her waist, resting it on its perfect curve. It’s like it was meant to be there, affirming my power over her.
Her eyes glide over my mouth, and her lips instinctively part. The cat’s out of the bag. She can’t keep pretending that the kiss meant nothing or was an inebriated accident. She wants me. Tipsy or not.
But just in case she thinks she can keep denying it, I slowly bend forward as if to kiss her. She has every opportunity to stop me, but she doesn’t. She accepts that we’re about to kiss in the middle of this office, in broad daylight, with nothing that can justify why she’s allowing it.
Her head tilts to the side, and her eyes flutter closed, ready to welcome my lips over hers. Every bone in my body wants to indulge. Tasting her again is all I want. I need it with everything I have.
But like I said, she must come to me this time. And I’ve proven my point, whether I kiss her or not.
When the kiss she expects doesn’t come, she confusedly opens her eyes again. That’s when I cunningly murmur, “That’s what I thought,” before pulling away.
She looks as shocked and offended as if I slapped her across the face. But I ignore her and return to my computer instead. I did what I had to to prove it wasn’t the wine. Now, she’ll have the weekend to think about her actions and lies.
It doesn’t matter if I’ve just brought more frustration upon myself. The victory is sweet.
But not as sweet as the intoxicating taste of her lips.
Chapter 16
Ifeel… bamboozled. What almost happened in Lex’s office haunts me the whole weekend. I’ve been betrayed by my rebellious nipples, and he knows it wasn’t the alcohol, but pure, unaltered desire. Does it mean he knowseverything?
That the thought of him consumes me? That I can barely think straight when he’s in the room? That the idea of fucking him sometimes wakes me in the middle of the night, sweaty and horny, on the verge of orgasm? That I’ve been masturbating with him in my mind?
Or does he know I’d give my left kidney to kiss him again?
I guess he does because I practically offered myself to him. But he easily rejected me, like it was all a game.
It makes everything so much worse than before, which is saying a lot. I don’t know what to do other than ignore him. But it works, so it’s not that bad a technique. Eventually, I might even grow indifferent to him.
