Page 61 of Tipping Point

I can’t bear it a second longer.

I thrust my hand under her calf and drag her towards me. She slides down onto her back and I place my knee between her legs, lowering myself onto her.

She places both hands against my chest, but she isn’t pushing me away.

I pause.

She’s trembling below me. Her breath catches. Her eyes are roving my face, her lips parted.

She is deciding on whether she’s willing to cross that line for me. The one between business and pleasure.

It’s taking everything I have to wait for her to give in to me.

Our breath is mingling between us and with a sigh, she wraps her arms around my neck and pulls herself up to kiss me.

If I was a better man, I wouldn’t ask this of her. I’m a fucking bastard. If I care for her at all, I won’t do this.

If I can just get her out of my system, I can move on.

* * *

CAMILLE

He tastes like fresh water. Sweet and warm. When I bring my lips to his mouth, his are already parted, his tongue pressing up against mine urgently.

My tongue against his is like a sign he’s been waiting for. He lowers his weight on to me, pinning me to the sofa. He’s already hard and pressing up against my thigh.

I can feel the need quiver through him, but he’s slow, thorough. He tangles his fingers into my hair, splaying his fingers over the back of my head and tilts it, deepening the kiss.

He’s kissing me with intention. He knows what he wants and he’s taking it, achingly slowly. Too slowly. His weight on me, his hand in my hair, the tremor running down the hard muscles of his back as I run my hand down his spine.

He’s holding back. Why?

I don’t get to think it over. I edge my palm under his shirt and run my hand over his skin, marveling at the heat. He puts his weight on one elbow, reaches up over his shoulder with his free hand, and tugs his shirt over his head.

I help him pull it free from his head. He looks down at me with black eyes that pierce through me. I can feel my flush crawl over my neck and face.

“Lovely,” he murmurs, dropping his mouth to my neck, and trailing a thin wet streak with the tip of his tongue up to my ear. He plants a kiss behind my ear. Now that I can hear his breathing, I’m squirming. It’s deep and slow and ragged. He’s battling his lust and still in control.

It drives me wild, how obviously he wants me. It makes me feel powerful, beautiful.

I arch up against him, bringing my hands to his shoulders. His right shoulder’s skin is a hard, pitted mess. I drag my fingertips over the bumpy surface, the skin like hard leather, soft to the touch. He pulls back and looks at me.

His eyes dart between my eyes, a frown appearing between his brows.

“I’m sorry.” It bothers him to be touched there for some reason, but when I make to remove my hand he grabs it, presses my palm against the burn scar.

With a sigh, he comes to some kind of conclusion.

There is a slight pause as he resigns himself to it.

I want to know what he’s thinking, but he has no intention of talking. He kisses me again, running a hand down my thigh, hitching up my leg, and switching his weight. He does the same on the other side. He’s positioned right between my legs and pressing up against me through the thin fabric of my leggings. I have both arms wrapped around his neck and he’s kissing me as if I am his very lifeline.

With a swift move, he pushes both hands under my ass and tugs me clean out of my leggings, now bunched up between my knees.

Yes. I shiver at the prospect of having him inside me. He’s urgent now, hitching up my leg to work the fabric over my calf. He’s losing control.

Yes.

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