Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“In that case, you should definitely make it worth it.”
His shoulders shake with some semblance of a laugh, and he tips his head. “Were you always like this? Did I just not see it?”
“You never saw me. I was just a kid. But I’m not a kid now.”
“No.” He sounds almost resigned. “No, you are not.”
“As for what I want, I don’t really know. Not in these circumstances, at least.” That seems to give him pause for thought as he pulls back almost completely, his gaze suspicious. “I’m not—” Why is this so hard? “I have done this before.” The tension seems to drop out of him. “Just not a whole lot. Or maybe with anyone who’d had a whole lot of practice.”
“I see.”
My heart dips to my heels as he begins to stand. I want to protest—shout no, that’s not how this is supposed to end! But I can’t because if I do, the words will sound all warbly and watery, and I might just have a breakdown.
“Lovely Amelia,” he says, beginning to pull my skirt back into place. “As tempting as you are and as much as I want you. God, do I want you.” He shakes his head, refusing to look at me. “I don’t see how we can.”
My stomach dips, desperation curling my hands into fists at the sides of his shirt.
“You can’t do this, Whit. You can’t get on your knees and not—”
Voices sound in the corridor, and the sound of wheels before the door begins to swing open. Whit grabs my arm, pulling me toward the supply closet.
“Watch out for the—”
He shakes his head, pulling the door closed behind us.
“Aren’t you the boss?” I whisper. My heart pounds as my eyes adjust to the lack of light.
“I think that means I’m supposed to set an example,” he mutters. “Not to mention your arse is on show.” I don’t think I imagine the displeasure in his words.
“You weren’t complaining—” My words halt as he presses his finger softly to my lips. Voices carry, accents I don’t understand. Rustling, banging, a pfft of a spray, and the door handle rattles. My hands ball in the sides of Whit’s shirt as I pull him closer, anxious we’re about to be exposed.
“It’s just the cleaning crew,” he whispers, pressing his lips to my ear. I gasp as his teeth suddenly scrape the soft lobe, the noise shock but also part wonderment. How can the slightest brush create a wave of effects through my body? “And that wasn’t a complaint. I’m trying very hard to resist you because I feel like your arse should be seen by no one but me.”
Tingles. All the possessive tingles everywhere.
From the room beyond, the photocopier fires up.
“Illicit use of the copy machine?” I whisper.
“Hmm.”
“It’s just human nature. We can’t help but be drawn to break the rules.”
In the darkness, his expression is impossible to read. His soft, velvety laughter not so much. “Subtlety isn’t really your thing, is it?” But then his words are no more as, in a fit of daring, I reach for his zipper. “Amelia.” He makes my name a delicious reprimand.
“I can’t help it, Whit.” I press my hand over his rock-hard length. “You make me want to be a bad girl.”
“In here?” His hand loops a circle around my wrist.
“I know you’re not shy.”
“I’m not sure how you’d know that.” He drops his head to my shoulder as he slides my hand away with a quiet groan.
“Because you’ve always been beautiful. You’ve always been comfortable in your own skin,” I whisper. When I move my hand back a second time, he doesn’t stop me.
“Sweetheart, you don’t have to pay me compliments.” His soft breath feels like a kiss blown across my cheek, the rasp in his voice inspires me to wrap my fingers around the hard fabric-covered length of him.
“My God, you’re so hard.” The recognition is a throb of desire between my legs.
“That’s not to say I don’t like to hear you compliment me,” he says, his tone hushed and hot, yet his fingers wrap around my wrists to pull them to my sides. His grasp tightens and, for a moment, I think it’s meant as a warning for me. But as he bends his head, I wonder if the caution was meant for himself. His lips brush mine before he presses a kiss to the corner. “I want you so badly,” he whispers, sweeping back and sucking on my bottom lip. “You make my life impossible.”
I make the kind of noise that’s full of encouragement, my body straining to get closer, to feel the brush of his.
“Shush, darling.” His lips make another pass. And then it’s happening. Oh God. It’s really happening. Whit is kissing me—really kissing me. It’s not just a dream. And what’s more, I’m kissing him back. Albeit with little say in the matter as he holds my wrists in his, his mouth fully in control as he coaxes and teases. The moment seems somehow more intimate than his fingers skimming my panties. More intentional, at least.