My name off her lips is soft, breathless, and hits me straight in the chest. Then a thought cuts through me. Someone else touched her. To pierce her. My jaw tightens.
“What’s with the look? Does it turn you off?”
“No. I just… got hit with a wave of jealousy.” I meet her gaze. “That someone else touched you.”
Her lips curve into a slow smile. “If it helps, it was strictly business. Very professional.”
I shake my head. Still not better.
She steps closer, lowering her voice. “Then how about this: right now, you’re the only one I want touching me. Lick them. Suck them into your mouth and swirl your tongue over the barbells.”
Words. Clear instructions. She’s telling me exactly what she wants.
I bend down, press my lips to the swell of her breast, taking my time as I work my way inward. When I finally draw her nipple into my mouth, her hands slide into my hair, nails scraping my scalp as her breath breaks into a soft moan.
“Am I making you hard?”
“Yes.” The word comes out rougher than I intend.
She grips my chin and tilts my face up to hers. Her breath ghosts across my lips. “How hard is your cock?”
I swallow. There’s no point in pretending. “I’m straining against the zipper.” I groan against her skin, and she shivers like she enjoys hearing what she does to me.
“Tell me,” she murmurs, her mouth brushing my jaw. “Don’t be shy. You can use the word cock. This is dirty talk.”
My hands tighten at her waist, pulse pounding. I’ve never done this—never been with a woman who asks for words type of words. But this is what she wants, and that matters more than my nerves.
“Nora,” I manage, my voice unsteady, “my cock is so hard for you.”
She presses her lips to mine in a kiss that’s almost innocent… almost. “Good,” she whispers, sounding pleased with herself. Then she leans in, breath warm. “You’re making me so fucking wet.”
Heat floods my body instantly.
“Want to feel how badly?” she asks.
“Y-yes.”
She catches my wrist, guiding my hand down with calm assurance. My brain blanks—in the best way—right up until my fingers brush the waistband of her leggings, and reality snaps back hard.
“Wait.” I pull my hand away as if I’ve touched a live wire.
She stills. “Everything okay?”
“Yes. But—” I wince. “I was building a model plane earlier. I have glue on my fingers. I just… I want to wash my hands.”
She studies me for a beat. Then her mouth curves upward, amused and wicked. “You want to wash your hands before touching me?”
“Yes,” I admit, caught between embarrassment and a desperate need to get this right. “I’m pretty sure I just ruined the mood.”
Her smile brightens. “No. Actually, for some strange reason, that turns me on even more.”
I blink. “It does?”
“Miles,” she murmurs, fisting the front of my shirt and tugging me close. “Go wash your hands.” Before I can move, she kisses me hard, like a promise. Then she pulls away. “I’ll be here. Waiting.”
I don’t walk to the bathroom. I sprint. With the faucet running, I scrub as if my life depends on it—twenty seconds, then thirty—because apparently, I’m a man with standards who’s deeply afraid of disappointing her. I dry my hands and hurry back, afraid she might change her mind and leave. When I step into my office, Nora is exactly where I left her, back against the wall, eyes on me, expression calm, like she hasn’t just set every nerve in my body on fire.
“Come here.” She curls a finger at me.
