Page 60 of Hunt Me, Daddy

“Why?”

“Because you left in the middle of deciding something.”

“I left because I have a workshop.”

“You walked past the workshop.”

I opened my mouth to argue and found I didn’t have one. He’d been three steps behind me the entire way and I hadn’t heard him, which should have frightened me and instead made my pussy clench with clear blatant arousal.

“You notice a lot,” I said.

“I notice you.”

“This is a mistake,” I told him.

“Probably.”

“You’re agreeing with me.”

“I’m agreeing that it’s a mistake.” He took one step. Just one. “I’m not agreeing to stop.”

He stopped close enough that I had to tip my chin to hold his eyes, and far enough that the last inch was mine to close or refuse. He stood there with all that quiet certainty and handed me the choice like it was the most natural thing in the world to let a woman decide what would happen next.

I closed the inch.

His mouth met mine in a kiss that was not gentle, but it was controlled, which was so much worse. He kissed like he’d studied the schematic and found the single input that would take the whole system down, and he used it without hurry, like he had all the time in the world and knew that I didn’t.

His hand came up to my jaw. His thumb brushed beneath my chin, his fingers along the side of my throat.My back found the cold edge of the sink and his body found the front of me. And every careful, paranoid system I’d spent my life building stood up, looked at the situation, and quietly excused itself from the room.

I made a sound I’d be denying for years.

One of his hands left my throat and skimmed down in an unhurried descent. I arched into it, which was its own kind of confession, and the low sound he made against my mouth told me he’d understood it perfectly.

“There she is,” he murmured against my lips, like he’d been waiting ages to touch me like this.

For some reason, I felt my cheeks blush bright red.

His fingers found the top button of my slacks and then he was unbuttoning them. The small sound of the zipper going down was so loud that it was obscene. His fingers paused there, tracing the waistband of my panties.

Then he slipped his fingers inside, and I forgot about being ashamed. I forgot about the conference, the workshop, and my carefully constructed life. He found me slick, swollen, and soaking wet, and the quiet, satisfied sound he made in the backof his throat vibrated straight through my chest. I was not only wet—I was dripping for him.

“Of course you are,” he said, like he was stating the simplest of facts. His thumb moved, finding my clit with no hesitation or fumbling. He pressed down, circling me gently and my entire world went white.

He didn’t rub me quickly or desperately. He rubbed me with a slow, steady pressure that was more intimate than a frantic rush could ever be. His other hand stayed at the small of my back, holding me still against the sink.

My knees buckled. His arm came around my waist, pinning me to him, supporting my weight as if he had known this would happen.

“Let go for me, Kit. Be a good girl for me,” he murmured into my hair, and the sound of my name from his lips was the final push I needed. The orgasm broke over me in an inevitable wave that I couldn’t hold back. I buried my face in the crook of his neck to muffle the cry that tore from my throat. The scent of him—clean, expensive, with a hint of something dark and masculine—filled my lungs as I came, my body shuddering against his.

He held me through all of it, his thumb slowing its movements. When the shudders subsided, I was left trembling, my face pressed against the fabric of his suit jacket, my breath ragged and uneven. He didn’t let go.

I stayed there for a long moment, leaning against him. The only things that existed were the solid feel of his body against mine, the cold porcelain of the sink at my back, and the faint, distant murmur of the conference continuing on without us outside the room.

He finally lifted my chin with his thumb, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes were darker now, the pale blue almost entirely eclipsed by black pupils that promised all sorts of things I wasn’t ready to think about.

“Such a good girl for me,” he praised, and the words, delivered in that calm, gravelly voice of his, sent a fresh wave of heat through me.

He withdrew his hand from my pants and brought it to his lips. His eyes held mine as he slowly licked my arousal from his fingers, one by one. He watched me, gauging my reaction, and when my cheeks burned with renewed heat, a look of deep satisfaction settled on his face.