I realize that he looks rawer this morning, on edge, his eyes not shuttered or icy like usual. He looks . . . like he’s burning on the inside. I swallow the strawberry jam and lick the corner of my lip, finally realizing how much last night must’ve tested him.
“You didn’t sleep, did you?” I whisper.
He brings me closer to him, his breath hot against the back of my ear as he lowers me to his lap. It feels so good, and at the same time I can’t stop shaking.
“I haven’t had anyone in bed with me for a while. It’s harder for anyone to hit my engage buttons. It’s because of you.” I can’t help but notice how heavy his lids seem to have become. I lick my lips, anxious.
His attention drops to where my breasts press into his chest, and my body homes in on how good this contact feels, how oversensitized the tips of my nipples are.
“Saint . . .” I trail off.
He cups the back of my head; then he silences me by pressing his mouth to mine and sweeps his tongue into my mouth.
“I’m obsessed with you,” he says.
He tastes of toothpaste and coffee as he teases my lips apart, one of his hands planted on the back of my neck. My hands seem to get away from me, and before I know it, they’re caressing his hair. “Saint,” I moan, pushing my breasts upward.
He groans, pulls me over and around him, adjusting my body over his in a straddle position, his hands on my ass.
I’m aware of the heady friction of our clothes as I let him adjust my body so that we’re both fitted so right; if our clothes weren’t between us, he’d be inside me.
And that’s the way he kisses me for a long while. A piercing need floods me, the kind of longing I’ve never known before. He opens my mouth with a firm parting of his lips; then he tastes me, his tongue relentless against mine, pushing hungrily over and around. The heat and seductive dampness of his kiss make me quake for more, every stroke thrusting me deeper and deeper into a whirlwind that revolves and focuses entirely on him, Malcolm Saint, the one who makes my heart race, my life spin faster and faster, my every waking thought now centered on what he does, who he’s with, what he likes, who he is. . . .
He doesn’t break the kiss as he keeps me on his lap, all while his greedy mouth keeping mine attached to his.
I straddle him better, shifting on top of him, seeking to bring the biggest, most delicious hardness I’ve ever felt as close to me as I can; he’s so big and thick, I almost jump from shock but instead I rock against it, wanting it. Needing it. A pained groan rumbles up from his chest as he brings me down by the hips, rocking me harder against his hard lap, his breathing rough and uneven in my ear.
“Come back tonight. I’ll send someone to pick you up after work. We can grab some dinner. . . .”
“No! No dinner.”
“Why not dinner?”
Because I can’t bear to be online like one of your floozies. I press my hands against the smoothly shaven flesh and hard bone of his jaw and whisper in his ear, horny as fuck. “Because you know what I want,” I breathe. It presses between my legs. It looks at me. It’s touching me. It smells good, tastes good. “Because,” I say, “I want you.”
20
TONIGHT . . .
I’m at my desk, editing, when a flower arrangement almost larger than the guy carrying it stops by my chair. “For you,” the guy says from behind the forest of orchids.
Shock freezes me for a second. I glance around, narrow-eyed. Did somebody in the office decide to play a prank on me? They’re all typing, but some are glancing curiously my way.
Then I realize the poor guy is about to pass out from exhaustion. I scramble to clear a little space for the vase and let him set it down. Then I stare at the most wild arrangement of orchids you can imagine. I pluck the card nestled in between all those white and purple beauties, and my heart quivers so hard I need to sit down.
It didn’t seem right for you to spend another day without the luxury of a gift from a man who thinks of you.
M.S.
I shake my head and put the card down. Sandy, one of my work colleagues, stops by to see them. “Wow. A man after Rachel’s heart!”
Valentine peers into my cubicle. “Trust me, he’s aiming lower.”
Victoria and Helen want to know how it’s going. “I’ve got so many folders,” I tell them, hedging but trying not to appear that I am.
I tell myself that the time I spend with him tonight will be just mine. Just mine and his.
I’m stealing it, and this makes me a complete sinner, but I’m aching to Sin. Throbbing.
Thank you, I text him.
Thank me in person tonight
He knows; we both know what’s going to happen. I can’t wait for it to happen. I’m anxious for the day to end, can’t eat or think without him present in every thought in my head.
Everyone in the office seems to have Saint on their mind; they can’t stop discussing how fresh and exotic the explosive combination of flowers is, how perfectly they’re arranged, how much they must have cost.
Victoria comes to peer into my cubicle and tries to open the card. I snatch it away and quickly tuck it into my bag.
“Wow. Protective much?” Her eyebrows furrow, but then she laughs lightly and strokes the petals of a small fuchsia orchid with her fingertips and smiles. “Best quality.”
“I’m busy, Vicky,” I sigh.
“You didn’t look busy.” She crosses her arms and leans her hip on the edge of my desk. “You were staring off into space. Into the space of these flowers.” She happily points at them.
“Did you need anything?” I ask.
“Yes. Tell me. Does Saint usually send flowers to the women he seduces?” She taps the corner of her mouth and pretends to think. “Hmm. I’d never heard that before. What’s the secret?” She smiles in mischief. “You’re playing him well and good, aren’t you?”
I think of how seduced I feel. How much I ache. His kiss. His touch. How I can’t sleep. How I can’t breathe. How I can’t go on without feeling him inside me at least once. And I can’t help but feel like the one being played expertly could be me. . . .
I’m so in over my head, I’m drowning in air.
But I stand and lightly brush her away by pulling out the files under her bum, and say, “Trade secrets. Now scoot, you’re breathing my fresh, flowery air. Go get your own flowers.”
When she leaves, I look at mine. Majestic and unapologetic, they take up all of my oxygen in a way I love, and I swear to myself I’m going to look just as good and smell just as good for him tonight.