Page 104 of Business Casual
“Charlie,” she sighs, head lolling to the side. “I knew you were upset.”
“I’m not upset.”
“You seem upset.”
“I’m not upset,” I say again. I keep one hand at her neck and curl the other around her hip, walking us back from the door toward the desk shoved up against the window. I hold her there, tighter than I probably should. “I’m just trying to clarify.”
“Clarify what?”
I drag my knuckles from her hip to her belly button and undo the top clasp of her jeans. My hands are shaking. I want her to forget anyone that isn’t me. I want to overwhelm her the same way she overwhelms me. I want a bunch of things I absolutely should not want and yet I cannot stop myself from wanting them. I yank her zipper down, then slip my hand down the front of her pants. “Am I the only one allowed to touch you like this?”
Nova gasps as I trace her through her lacey underwear, then moans when I tug it to the side to tuck my hand beneath. She is bare skin and wet heat. I drag my fingers against her, and her hands clench tight in my shirt.
“Charlie.”
“Spread your legs,” I order. She does as I ask, resting more of her weight against the desk at her back. The thing in my chest that’s in control roars in satisfaction. I love that I can request this of her with a crowded room full of people on the other side of this wall and she does it. I love that when I press harder against her, she fights to tip her legs wider, trying to feel more of me. I reward her with a rough stroke of my fingers and cup her jaw with my free hand, holding her still so I can touch her the way I want. I trace my thumb over the swell of her lips.
“Is it just me, Nova?”
She takes my thumb in her mouth and sucks. I clench my teeth and twist my hand so I can press two fingers into her. I grunt when she lets out a breathy moan. Fuck, I love that sound.
“Nova.”
Her head drops back, and I trail my thumb that’s wet from her mouth down the line of her neck to the hollow of her throat, farther still to the rise of her breasts through the tight material of her top. I hook one finger beneath the shiny material and tug it down until I can brush a kiss to my favorite rose, her tits straining against the hem. Another inch and I could have her half bare against this desk.
“What?” she breathes, circling her hips and pressing down harder. Chasing my touch.
“Am I the only one that gets to make you feel like this?”
I twist my hand, knuckles brushing against the lace of her underwear. I move my fingers faster, my forearm flexing. She gasps and then moans, hands scrambling from the desk to my shoulders. She pushes at my coat until it’s half hanging on me and curls her fists into the back of my button-down. The one I picked out because she said she liked it.
“Am I the only one that gets these sounds? The only one that gets you this wet?” I ask. The only sounds in the room are our rough breathing and my hand working between her legs. “I am, aren’t I? You don’t get it like this with anyone else, do you? I know exactly what you need.”
She nods. “You do.”
“All you have to do is take it, isn’t that right? You always let me do whatever I want to you.”
She hums, hands clenching and releasing in my shirt. “Yes,” she breathes.
“But I make it good for you too. Don’t I?”
She blinks open her eyes and watches me. “Always,” she says quietly. “You always make it good for me.”
“Tell me.” I move my hand harder in the constraint of her pants. She sucks in a breath through her teeth. “Say it.”
I want it to be a demand but it tumbles from my mouth like a plea. Even when I’m the one controlling her pleasure, I’m on my knees for her.
I brush my mouth against hers. “Can you please say it?”
The fists in my shirt ease, and she slips her hands beneath, palms against my bare skin. She traces the lines of my back, drawing temporary tattoos that only she knows the design of. I gentle my hand between her legs and rub her clit in slow, wet circles. Exactly how she likes it.
“It’s just you.” She nudges me with her nose and buries her face against my neck, hands holding me tight. “You’re the only one, Charlie.”
The hand I still have at the back of her neck squeezes. “Good,” I whisper, mouth against her ear.
She comes with a gasp and a whine, legs trying to shut around my hand. But I wedge my hips between her thighs and guide her the rest of the way through it, until her body is relaxed and her nails aren’t digging half-moons into the skin of my back. I hope she’s left marks. Maybe I’ll have her tattoo those into my skin, so every time I glance at them in the mirror I can remember her exactly like this. Looking up at me in the moonlight from the window with her chin against my chest, some of her hair sticking to her neck, a satisfied smile on her color-smudged lips.
I pull my hand out of her pants and tug up her zipper. Redo the button. It’s easier to focus on these tasks than the yawning, hollow feeling right in the middle of my chest. I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have pressed the issue. I shouldn’t have—
