After Hours. Vicki Thompson Lewis
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her nipple and brushed her finger over her sensitive trigger point, right above where he was sliding back and forth. She was so close, so very close….
His hold on her bottom tightened, and with a groan he plunged deep, pinning her finger in place. In an instant, she climaxed, hotly, loudly, wildly. He erupted with her, his cries mingling with hers. Her writhing body sent the telephone jangling and crashing to the floor.
And then there was silence, except for the sound of their tortured breathing. When her world stopped spinning, she gradually opened her eyes and gazed up at the ceiling. She’d never had reason to notice the ceiling of her office before. Acoustical tile. Who knew?
She imagined the picture she must make sprawled across her desk, one hand clutching her breast and the other locked between her body and the body of the man whose penis was buried inside her. She must look like the sexual adventurer she’d always wanted to be. Crumpled and smeared papers lay under her and littered the carpet around her desk. Her phone could be broken.
She’d certainly nailed this fantasy.
He stirred. Then slowly he lowered her hips back to the desk and eased her legs down until they were wrapped around his waist. He stayed firmly connected to her, though.
She took her hand from her breast and tilted her head up to look at him just as he slid her other hand from between their joined bodies and lifted it to his lips.
“I’ll still give you credit for that one,” she murmured.
He glanced at her, a smile curving his handsome mouth. “I’ll take credit.” He kissed her fingertips. Then he leaned forward and gazed into her eyes. “But the round goes to you. I was so sure you’d tell me your name if I picked the right moment.”
She looked into his eyes and sadness erased the aftermath of pleasure. The fantasy was almost over. The way she had it scripted, they would never see each other again. That was for the best. Definitely. Their time together had been perfect. Even the little power struggle at the end had added flavor.
He braced his hands on either side of her and let his gaze roam over her bare breasts. “When does he come back?”
She didn’t have to ask who he meant. “It doesn’t matter.”
He looked into her eyes again. “You plan to marry him, right?”
“I think that’s what’s going to happen, yes.”
“And you’re going to be a good and faithful wife until death do you part?”
“Yes.” Put that way, it sounded beyond bleak, especially after the past hour.
“Then why not keep up our fantasy game until he comes home? One last chance to be wild before you turn into…whatever you’ll be then.”
“A grown-up?”
He smiled again, which made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “From here you look pretty damned adult to me.” He leaned closer. “So how about it? How many days would we have? Or rather, how many nights?”
She calculated, even though she had no business even thinking about it. Today was Tuesday. Benjamin would be home on Saturday. Three more days and three more nights to experience this incredible rush.
But even thinking Benjamin’s name made her feel guilty. She didn’t have to worry that he’d ever suspect, though. He would never dream that she was capable of what had just happened in this office. He didn’t operate in those terms, as he’d told her. And she hadn’t confided her innermost secrets to him.
“Consider it.” He dropped a soft kiss on her mouth. “I’m going to disappear for a few minutes. When I come back, we can decide.” He slowly withdrew. “Mmm. Sure hated to do that. You feel great.”
So did he, and she wasn’t happy that he wasn’t inside her anymore. But the fun had to end sometime. “It’s not a good idea to continue seeing each other,” she said. “The whole point is that we’re complete strangers.”
“I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He rustled around picking up his clothes, and then he left the office.
Although she didn’t feel the least bit like moving, she forced herself to sit up and slide off the desk. If he planned to reappear all dressed and presentable, she wasn’t about to greet him stark naked. The room smelled of sex, and it looked like the set of a porno flick. She loved it. Exactly what she’d been aiming for.
As she pulled on her damp panties and located her bra, she allowed herself to consider, for just a tiny second, having more of this kind of activity. No, it would be a mistake. He wouldn’t be a stranger any more, and they’d never have as much fun as they’d had tonight. Tonight could never be equaled, let alone improved upon.
She stepped into her skirt and pulled it up over her hips. No point in bothering with the garter belt and stockings. She was just zipping the skirt, her back to the door, when he cleared his throat behind her.
“Maybe I should wait for you in the reception area. One look at you half-naked, and I’m ready to beg.”
She turned, her heart pounding in spite of her efforts to stay calm and rational about this now that it was over. No man had ever begged her for sex. With Benjamin, she was the one more likely to do the begging.
He stared at her, hunger in his eyes. “God, you’re beautiful.”
This was what she’d needed from Benjamin—a little sexual desperation. Yet that wasn’t fair. She’d never given him a reason to be desperate.
She cleared her throat. “I’ll…I’ll meet you in the reception area.”
He nodded, raked her with one more hot glance, and walked out the door.
She continued to dress, all the while reminding herself that she’d achieved her goal. By cutting the contact now, she could guarantee that this would be an isolated incident. Any more liaisons, and things could get messy.
Yet his intensity made her feel wanted in a way Benjamin never had. She remembered trying to tease Benjamin, pretending that she wasn’t sure if she felt like handing out the sexual goods. She’d wanted to stir him up, wanted to see his need. He’d turned away, telling her he didn’t play those games.
But this man would play. She finished dressing and straightened her office, shoving the smeared notes in a bottom drawer of her desk. She’d come in early in the morning and finish her work. Right now she had to figure out what the hell to do. Maybe her preoccupation with sexual fantasy only showed that she was still immature. For someone past thirty, that was embarrassing.
Putting on her navy suit jacket and grabbing her briefcase, she shut off the lights and walked toward the reception area. Déjà vu. He was on his knees working with the wiring, exactly as if nothing had happened between them.
But the look in his eyes was about four hundred degrees hotter than it had been when he’d glanced up at her an hour ago. All she had to do was say the word, and he’d go along with another three nights of fantasy sex.
But life wasn’t about fantasy sex, and she knew it. Life meant sharing a mortgage with a good guy, giving her mother and dad some grandkids, having the neighbors over for a Superbowl party. Except for the little problem twenty years ago, that described her parents’ life, and they still had each other, still had someone to grow old with. She yearned for that kind of security.
She wouldn’t move a single step closer to adulthood by hanging out with this hottie for another three nights in a going-nowhere relationship centered totally on sex. “The answer is no,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry.”
Expectation died in his eyes. “So am I. I think we’re good together.”
“We were.” She deliberately put it in the past tense to keep herself grounded in reality. “And that was the idea—a perfect sexual fantasy that began and ended tonight.”
He sat back on his heels and nodded. “Yeah,