Page 70 of I Still Love You

“You come to rummage through my shit, Robinson?”

I secretly love the way he regards me with my last name.

A blush coats my cheeks. “What?” I pull my hand back to my side and walk around his desk to the side I should be on. “No. Sorry,” I apologize, shaking my head. I pin him with my stare, figuring it’s better if I extend Claire’s invitation sooner than later. “I came to tell you that Claire asked for her rematch.”

He raises his brows in amusement. “Now?”

“Well, not now, but yes, soon. She practically threatened me into extending an invitation,” I tell him, lying through my teeth, but it’s believable, nonetheless. “Tomorrow night work for you?”

He drops his arms to his sides, his hands finding refuge in the pocket of his pants. He stalks toward me, and I gulp down the discomfort of the lie on my tongue. Why the hell did I climb on top of him in that conference room?

“Are you going to be there?”

Oh, good question.

“I mean…I can be there if you want.”

He steps closer, eating up the space between us. Naturally, I back away, moving until my shoes hit his desk. The muscle in my chest works overtime when he comes closer and thumbs my chin. “I want.”

“Tomorrow after work at my mom’s.”

He traces the outline of my jaw, his palm sliding to the side of my neck. “I don’t get out of here until six. Will that be an issue?”

“No issue,” I squeak, looking up into his eyes. “I’ll tell Claire,” I promise while forcing myself to suck in a lungful of air. What is happening to me? Only I know. It’s the conference room’s fault. My skin flushes at the thought, heat branching down my body to my lower extremities, to my belly, to the space above my pubic bone.

He looks at me, intent on holding my gaze for as long as I’m willing to give it to him, which—newsflash—is however long he wants it. I miss this. Miss us. His stare reminds me of all the missed memories that I want back.

His eyes move to my mouth. My lips part slightly in hopes he’ll close in and take what his eyes are telling me wants, what I want.

“My next appointment starts in five. And if you don’t leave my office now, I’m going to have to refund the guy for the time slot.”

My head grows hazy, confused. “Refund him?”

His fingers find my hair and tangle in the strands. “All appointments are prepaid,” he explains, moving his other hand down to the hem of my scrub top. Lifting it slowly, his hand glides across the stretch of skin there. He’s cool against my warmth, and my heart thunders because of it, rumbling underneath my ribs in a way that numbs me.

“Oh. Well, I was just…” I can’t finish my thought, my head a jumbled mess, a mixing bowl of emotions.

“Leaving?” he questions softly, his fingers skimming the elastic of my bottoms.

“Yes,” I murmur, “that. I was just leaving.” My eyes flutter, begging to fall into the sensation of his hands caressing me again. Now I remember why I gave in so quickly in that conference room. Luke is in a league of his own and has always turned me on. He’s a man who knows what he wants and doesn’t waffle. He’s strong-willed and cares deeply. And when you’re on the other side of that, not much else matters.

The hand on the back of my neck tightens, though it’s not painful. It adds to the coiling in my lower abdomen, intensifying the excitement.

His fingers skim the cotton and rub over my clit. I wish he would tear the fabric away, or at least to the side, so I could feel his skin on mine. “Make sure you pull the door shut when you leave,” he comments, manipulating my swollen bud with the circular motion he’s so good at.

“I will, uh, make sure to do tha-ah-t,” I promise, my words succumbing to the moan sneaking up my throat.

Dipping his face into the crook of my neck, he breathes me in. “I shouldn’t want to touch you,” he tells me. “Not after…” His words die off, but the insinuation is there. Not after you left me. I should tear myself away and storm out of his office at the mention of it, but there are so many shoulds in the air between us that I’d be stupid to run. Why starve me of this, of him, when we both know we can’t escape each other?

“Should I go?” I ask with bated breath.

“My resolve is weakening,” he says honestly, moving to drag my panties to the side, finally. “I’m tired of fighting it.” He slides his finger down my slit, and I open for him like a blossoming flower in spring. He fills me gently, arching his thumb up to rub me while his finger thrusts into me. “Riding me at the charity dinner…” He grumbles, his tongue slithering over my skin before his mouth suctions and sucks. “I want you, Layla. I want you, and I shouldn’t, but I fucking do.”

Pressure builds inside me, thrumming everywhere. The weight in my arms fades, and my stomach contracts with anticipation as I grow warmer. Already, I’m so close, and it’s because of what this man does to me. I reach a hand up, twisting his shirt in my hand. “I want you, too.”

“Show me, Lay. Let your pussy finish on me. I want to think of your sweet cunt every time I’m in my office.”

Oh, God.

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