Why did he stop?
Through the blood pounding in my ears, I make out the footsteps approaching, far closer this time than before. Also, they’re different. Earlier they were light and clicking, now they’re heavy like a pair of sturdy walking shoes. Must be the guard doing his first patrol of the night. Normally, we would’ve heard him earlier and from a greater distance if we weren’t… ahem, busy.
The guard is practically outside of the storage room now, unaware of the two felons trying to suck out each other’s souls through their mouths just a few meters away.
The seconds stretch on, illustrating in painful clarity exactly how hysterical the pair of us look. Flushed, panting, disheveled. Canoodling in here like a couple of horny teenagers. It’s too late to flatten ourselves behind the hanging workwear against the wall. If the guard opens the door, he’ll come face to face with us, and we’ll have some very embarrassing explaining to do.
He halts. Turns the door handle. Ascertains that the door is locked.
Will he be thorough and look inside?
I hold my breath, expecting to hear keys jingling. Any second now. But instead, it’s footsteps again, retreating.
As they fade away, I whisper right against Max’s wet, tantalizing mouth, “Shouldn’t we get that fan now?”
“We should.” His hands delve into my hair, fingers spread.
Exhaling with pleasure, I place mine on his hard chest and slide them out to his arms. Through the satiny weave of his shirt, my fingers caress the ropey bulges of his shoulders. I wish I could see them, touch them, skin to skin, press my lips to them, savor every inch of those scrumptious arms…
Not now. Not here. Next time.
But there isn’t supposed to be a next time!
“We said we wouldn’t kiss again,” I say, letting my voice trail off in regret.
There’s no point hiding it. I’m past the threshold where I could still lie to myself and pretend I didn’t lust after him as I do.
The corners of his mouth twitch in a smile. “Then it’s a good thing we stopped kissing.”
He has a clever tongue. Should I be ashamed that I’m wondering how clever that tongue would be between my thighs?
We cling together, stroking each other’s hair and arms. I tell myself that we should leave it at that, try to cool down, and then sneak out of this refuge to retrieve the fan. That’s the plan. It’s why we’re here. That little key he hopes to find inside the handle obviously matters a lot.
But my body won’t listen to reason. Desire fills my every cell, electrifies it, warms my skin, and weakens my knees. Heat pools in my pelvis, wave after wave, until I canhardly bear it. I need him to kiss me again. I need him to move those wide palms and long fingers down the sides of my neck to my shoulders and breasts. They ache to be cupped. My backside aches to be squeezed and stroked. My center burns to be filled.
Cradling the back of his head, I gently yet forcefully pull him down toward me, until his forehead is leaning on mine. He closes his eyes, breathing heavily. I close mine, and all my being focuses on his incomparable scent, enveloping me, transporting me to another world. A parallel universe. A fairyland high in the mountains, where time runs as slowly as we want it to, even suspended altogether.
How long have I dreamed of being in a situation like this with a hunky man like this whom I barely know but totally trust? How long have I fantasized about having wild sex in an elevator or an airplane bathroom with no space to move properly and one clumsy move away from being discovered?
Long. All my adult life.
Yet it never materialized, not with Jerome, not with the boyfriends before him… And now that I have it at my fingertips at the most unexpected point in my life—and in a rather unexpected but perfect locale—how can I walk away? Can I pass on this once-in-a-lifetime chance?
Max breaks my equivocation, drawing away and leaving me gasping for more. Bereft, I open my eyes. He’s sliding down and squatting before me. Paralyzed and barely able to keep my knees from giving out, I thank God for the wall that supports my back.
“What are you doing?” I very nearly hiss.
He gathers the hem of my dress with one hand. “May I?”
This is not the caress I was waiting for. It’s so muchbetter! I respond with a jerky nod. My mind is bathed in a sparkling, gleeful excitement as he pushes the material up my thighs, higher, higher still.
“I guess, technically, this doesn’t violate our vow not to kiss again,” I muse, reaching down to run my fingers through his hair.
“I’d say it does,” he mutters.
Well, thank you for being such an uncooperative nitpicker!
Will this man ever say what I expect him to say? Will he ever act the way he’s supposed to act? From what I’ve observed of him, conforming to norms doesn’t seem to be his style.
