Page 34 of Stroked by (Stroked)
Time slows down, our breathing becomes ragged, and no longer are we chopping. From behind me, Reese’s head dips to my neck. I can feel his lips a whisper away, begging to press against my sensitive skin. Chills run up and down my spine, and I wonder if he’s actually going to make a move.
I want him to make a move, desperately. Every square inch of my body wants him to take charge, to tear my bathing suit off and ravish me on the kitchen counter. I want to know what it looks like to have his head between my thighs, to see him look up at me during my throes of passion.
“Paisley,” he breathes out and turns me around, slowly.
Pushing me up against the counter, he tilts my head so I’m forced to face him. His eyes are searing with hunger . . . for me.
My breath catches in my throat as he leans forward, inches away from my lips. He smells, expensive, addictive. Male. His body is hard against mine, heated, and willing. All I have to do is press myself a few inches closer, weave my hands in his wavy black hair, and revel in the feel of his short scruff on my face.
But I remain still. I don’t move for two reasons: my job, and he has a girlfriend.
Shit, he has a girlfriend.
Just as he closes the last few inches between us, I slide to the side and part from our connection. Feverously running my hands up and down my body, as if I am trying to wipe myself off, I glance at him, confused.
“What are we doing? You’re in a relationship . . . with my boss. Am I insane?” I poke him in the chest, his rock-hard chest. “Are you insane? I can’t believe you would cheat on Bellini like that.” I pause for a second and then think about what I said. “Well, I guess I could believe it. She’s not the biggest charm on the bracelet.” I shake my head. “That doesn’t make any sense. This doesn’t make any sense. What am I doing here? This was a huge mistake. I need to get my things.”
I weave my way past him, through the kitchen and into the living room, all the while he’s laughing.
LAUGHING!
Annoyed now, but hiding my fingers so I don’t have another flicking episode, I turn to face him, hands on my hips. “Why is this so funny to you? Is adultery funny to you?”
Still with a smile on his face, laughter crinkling the corner of his eyes, he glides toward me until his hands meet my hips. I step away but he stops me, not letting me go. In his deep, sultry voice he says, “You have to be in an actual relationship, Paisley, in order to commit adultery.”
“What?” I ask. “I’m not in a relationship, you are. You are the one being the adulterer.”
“Also, adultery is for married people. Neither of us are married.”
His calm attitude is starting to make me mad. “Fine, cheater, you’re a cheater.”
“Also incorrect.”
“Oh, because you didn’t actually kiss me? Well, getting close enough so you can lick me is pretty much cheating, I don’t care how you spin it. Now, if you would please let me go, I need to leave before I do something stupid.”
“And what might that be?” He brings me closer, so our chests are pressed together.
Lord, is he strong.
I sigh in exasperation. “Reese, you’re my boss. Your girlfriend is my boss. You are attached to someone. This isn’t a good idea.”
“But you want to,” he counters, a spark in his eye.
“It doesn’t matter. Nothing can ever happen.”
I disengage his hands from my hips and step away to grab my bag from the floor. I feel empty without him near me even though the heat between us is still very strong. I tell myself not to look back, to keep moving toward my exit, but my body defies my mind and gives him one last glance.
A cocky grin stretches across his face while one of his hands pulls on the back of his neck. His muscles flex, his bicep bulges, and everything about him screams, “jump me right now.”
“We’re not together,” he says.
I roll my eyes. “Yes, I know we’re not together. I’m well aware—”
Pressing his finger to my lips, he says, “Bellini and I are not together. It’s all for the show. It’s not real. Our publicists set it up.”
Come again?
Did he just say his relationship is a hoax?
