Page 56 of The Trouble with Love and Ink
“Okay, but I think that’s part of the problem. No one else here is worried about their date being uncomfortable. All they are thinking about is having a good time and how to keep having a good time tonight.”
“What do you want me to do?” Beck moved backward, only an inch, so he could look into my eyes. I saw the conflicted line between his brows before I even made my proposal.
“I want you to forget I’m your coworker.” I licked my lips, and his eyes dipped to the movement. “And dance with me like having a good time is your only concern.”
“Are you sure?” he rasped.
We were intentionally edging toward breaking a rule. This was dangerous territory.
“Yes,” I breathed.
Beck spun me, pulling me in until my ass was flush against him. I gasped, lightheaded at the sudden shift. Then his hot palms met my stomach, fingers exploring that stretch of bare skin. A heaviness grew between my thighs. So much for being able to look Beck in the eye after this trip. As I ground against him to the beat of the music, I tried to find it in myself to care, to want to hold onto a scrap of dignity. But pressed against Beck, both of us sweating under low lights, dancing to Costa Rican music, my mind and my judgment were clouded by need.
It didn’t even take an entire song for Reagan to notice the position change. She looked over the shoulder of her date, eyes zeroing in on Beck’s fingers and where they splayed at my navel, slipping just under my shirt.
“I think our mission is complete,” I said, reaching up to run my fingers through his hair and tugging lightly on his curls.
“Which one?”
By this point, his length was pressing into my ass cheek. Rock hard. The idea of him wanting me made my breath ragged.
He’s been drinking. He’s not thinking straight. I reminded myself. He’s not into you.
I swallowed. “The one to make Reagan jealous. She’s staring daggers at me.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” he said before dragging his hands oh-so-slowly down my stomach to my hips.
I swallowed. “I told you. I’m detail-oriented.” His laugh rumbled against my back. “I think you should owe me one,” I said, trying not to get too lost in his touch. “For doing an extra good job convincing her of our infatuation.”
His lips were at the shell of my ear when he asked, “What did you have in mind?” His deep voice made my stomach swirly.
“I’ll think of something,” I said, sounding more confident than I felt.
“How about if we ever come across your ex, I’ll do the grinding?”
I laughed, a breathless thing. “Tempting.” I shoved my hips back, rocking my ass against him. The move elicited a groan, and he spun me to face him. “But I was thinking you should do the process documentation for the next project.” That kind of documentation called for anywhere from eighty to one hundred twenty pages of walking through each and every business process. It was an absolute nightmare. “And maybe some light groveling.”
“Process documentation I can do. Groveling, on the other hand . . .”
Beck’s gaze dipped to my mouth for a second time that night. I leaned closer, dizzy with want. Every cell in my body hummed with anticipation. He tilted his head, his lips a breath from mine. My eyes fluttered shut right before someone roughly bumped into us. Beck had to catch me to keep us from banging mouths.
I turned to see the culprit. “Sorry!” Madison called over her shoulder, snatching Reagan from her date before heading for the bathroom.
I took a step back, and Beck slowly released his grip on my shoulders. We’d almost broken another rule. I couldn’t kiss him—the man I shared a sleeping space with tonight and an office with next week.
With a mumble, I excused myself to the restroom, following the girls’ lead. I needed time to think. To cool off.
I’d barely closed the door when I heard Reagan and Madison in the stalls next to mine. “Can you believe the way she was grinding on him?” Madison asked. “I thought they would start fucking right on the dance floor.”
The tips of my ears heated. I’d never been slut shamed before. And even though I hadn’t done anything different from anyone else out there, I suddenly felt dirty.
“I don’t want to talk about Beckett and his date,” Reagan growled.
“Why?” Madison asked.
Toilets flushed, and faucets turned on.
“Because I miss him. Because he’s over me. Because it hurts.”
