His eyes sparkle with tender amusement. “We’ll take it at your pace. But don’t make me wait too long.”
I take a steadying breath. “Isn’t that supposed to be my line?”
“Maybe, in a relationship where the guy is an idiot and doesn’t know what he wants. But, I’m already all the way in. I know what I want. You. Forever.”
“I want that, too. So much,” I sigh happily. “But maybe we should… um… date first?”
“Fine. But you have to give me something.” He smirks and whips out his phone. I notice his screensaver is a photo of us. We took it at our last dinner in Napa. We’re sitting together,illuminated by golden-hour backlight, the vineyards glowing in the background. Our smiles are brilliant. We look blissfully happy. “If we can’t have a grand gesture, can we have a mini gesture?”
He types on his phone for a few minutes. And then holds it out to me. “Can we be social media official?”
I take his phone. He’s one click away from posting the vineyard photo of us with a caption that reads:
Sebastian Blake loves Emma Reynolds.
I laugh, my heart melting at the words. But also, my anxiety ratchets up. “Sebastian. You have three hundred and fifty million followers. And a good portion of them probably want to scratch my eyes out.”
“Everyone already believes we’re together. Hell, they think we’re engaged. But this is confirmation that you’re mine. And I’m yours.” He grins. “I dare you.”
“Are you going to be daring me for the rest of my life?”
“It’s one of my favorite pastimes.”
“Good.” Joy pushes away any last trepidation. I delete his caption, though, and replace it with a heart emoji. Subtle is more my style. And then I press the post button, and there it is. Social media official and our picture as a couple out there to hundreds of millions of people. Gah.
I’m definitely not hiding in the background anymore.
He makes a loud whooping sound, throws his phone on the couch, and then picks me up in one smooth motion, spinning me around again.
I hold on with carefree exhilaration.
“Be a good hostess. Give me a tour of your office,” Sebastian rasps into my ear as he hitches me up, grabbing my legs as they wrap around his waist.
I arch an eyebrow, but I point the way to my new office, and he carries me toward it. His hand roams up my leg, movingtoward my bare thighs, making me tinglingly aware that he’s fully dressed and I’m in a threadbare T-shirt and thin cotton panties.
When we get to the room, he flips the light on, holding me with one arm as if I weigh nothing. He looks around the serene, organized space. “Have I told you how proud of you I am?” he asks.
“Not in the last five minutes.”
When he sets me on the desk, my shirt rides up so my underwear is on display, and as his hot eyes devour me, I wiggle, trying to soothe the ache between my legs.
His smile is wicked. “Do you know how many of my fantasies began and ended with you sitting on a desk like this?” He groans. “I almost wish you were dressed for the office right now so I could rip one of your skirts off you.”
I spread my legs, just a little, and Sebastian’s gaze tracks the movement. I’m so wet. I need him to devour my mouth. And I need to get reacquainted with each line and angle of his body.
It’s been too long. When I spread my legs wider, he sucks in a breath, and when I move to touch him, he grabs my wrists and pulls them behind me. “Keep them there,” he commands. “Ms. Reynolds, you need to learn to take orders.”
I swallow back a giggle. Becauseas if. But his rough voice and vise-like grip on my wrists cause the ache between my legs to sharpen.
“Yes, sir,” I murmur.
“That’s more like it,” he praises. “Now, I’m going to take off your underwear. Slowly. And you’re going to show me your sweet pussy.”
As he says it, he pulls my panties down a little at a time. He kneels in front of me as I recline on the desk, working the wisp of white cotton and lace to my knees, then lower, lower, untilthey’re off. He spreads my legs all the way and gazes at me as if I’m an altar he’s worshiping at.
Reaching, he pulls my shirt up until my breasts are on display. He caresses one and then the other. “When you sat across from me at the kitchen table, I tried to ignore the attraction. But you don’t know how many times I lost my concentration because all I wanted was to unbutton those crisp white blouses of yours. And then I imagined pushing you onto the table, pushing up your skirt, peeling off your underwear, and making you come for me until you screamed my name. That’s why I tried not to look at you too closely. It was dangerous.”
My skin is on fire, his words and my imagination igniting the blaze.
