Page 108 of Sin

Then she whispers, “Move.”

So I do. Fast. Hard. Quiet only because we have to be.

The desk creaks beneath her. Papers shift. My pen cup tips over and rolls somewhere across the floor. Her heels lock behind my back, pulling me deeper, and I bury my face against her neck to keep from making a sound that would give us both away. I thrust harder. Laurel bites my shoulder through my shirt, and I almost lose it.

“Careful,” I breathe.

“Don’t start.”

I grip her hips. “You started this.”

“You opened the door.”

“You locked it.”

“And you’re still inside me, so maybe we both made choices.”

A rough laugh tears out of me. Then she clenches around me, and the laugh dies.

“Fuck, Laurel.”

Her hand flies to my mouth. “Quiet.”

I kiss her palm. Then I take two of her fingers into my mouth and suck. Her eyes go wide and her body tightens around me so suddenly I nearly come.

“Sin,” she whispers.

I slide my hand between us and touch her exactly where I know she needs it. Her back arches. I cover her mouth with mine before she can cry out, and she comes against me, shaking so hard I have to hold her upright. The feel of it drags me under. I thrust once, twice, then bury myself deep and come with my mouth pressed to her throat, her pulse racing beneath my lips.

For a moment, there is nothing but breath.

Hers.

Mine.

Then reality returns in pieces. My undone belt. Her skirt around her hips. I pull out carefully and kiss her. Then, we go through the motions of getting dressed. When I glance at her, she’s smoothing her skirt and trying to look like she wasn’t just wrecked in the middle of my workday. She is failing. Beautifully.

She bends to collect the folder from the floor, but I reach it first. Our hands brush. The touch is small. Ridiculous after what we just did. Still, she inhales sharply.

I hand her the folder.

“Important files,” I say.

Her mouth curves, but her eyes are too soft. “Very.”

The softness is dangerous. It’s worse than the sex and the guilt. Because for one second, I don’t want to bend her over my desk again.

I want to take her home.

Not her apartment. Not a hotel.

Home.

I want to wake up with her and not sneak out of bed. I want coffee in a kitchen that doesn’t feel like a lie. I want things I have no right to want.

She steps back, reaching for the door.

“See you after work?”