Page 46 of Waiting for Tuesday

“What are we doing?” he said between kisses.

I shook my head, letting my head fall back to give him better access to my neck. “What do you think?”

He groaned. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

I swallowed, not exactly sure what he meant, and pushed back so I could look into his eyes. “Why do you think you’ll hurt me?”

“I don’t know.” He stared at me, his breath as heavy as mine.

I looked into his eyes, sensing a confusion I wished I knew more about. It may have been selfish, but I wanted a piece of him. Even if it was only one night, I wanted it. “Just be honest with me, John. That’s all I want from you.”

“Promise?” His eyes grew darker, searching my face with uncertainty.

I swallowed. “I promise.”

He pressed his forehead to mine, but I felt his reservations. I trailed my hands down his back, causing his muscles to flex in reaction to my touch. “Maybe you’ll be the one who’s hurt by me. Did you ever think of that?”

His shoulders fell forward, and his lips came to rest at the crook of my neck.

I pulled in a breath and repeated the words he’d said to me in the office. “I want to stop fighting this. You make me feel good, and I make you feel good. We don’t have to think about more than that.”

He remained quiet, but I could feel him begin to relax. “Tuesday…”

I pushed my finger up to his lips, not wanting to hear another word. “Shhh…” I wrapped my arms around his neck and replaced my fingers with my mouth. “I don’t want to talk anymore.”

A deep groan filled the back of his throat, and he picked me up, flipping me around until my backside hit the top of the desk.

He shoved a stack of papers to the floor then pushed me backward until my shoulders were pinned to the hard surface. My hair spilled over the side, and his eyes bored into mine.

He only stared at me, while his hand trailed down the center of my body, lifted the hem of my shirt, and pulled it slowly up my abdomen and over my head. He bent down, pressing his lips against my collarbone, and I gasped. My body quivered with the sensation I’d wanted from the moment we met.

His kisses were like torture. A sweet, incredibly seductive torture I wanted more of. I let my head fall back, taking in the feel of his mouth against my skin. I couldn’t believe I was letting this happen. That I was entering a relationship with no guidelines, with a man who was all wrong for me.

My hands trailed up and down his back, my chest rising and falling quickly as his warm breath found my mouth. His kiss was firm, his heavy body hard against mine, and I lifted my hips to shove my underwear and skirt to the floor.

I was ready to end this torture, ready to have him inside me. I reached to the buckles of my shoes, but quickly decided against it. I didn’t have time for straps. I didn’t have time for buttons either. I took both sides of his shirt and pulled as hard as I could. Buttons flew in every direction, and he stopped moving. He met my eyes again and lifted his brow. I pushed his shirt over his shoulders, completely turned on by the way he watched me. I yanked his sleeves down his arms until he was free of them, pressed my lips to his chest, and began working on the fastening of his pants. Before long, I had shoved them to the ground.

He took a condom from his wallet and rolled it over his length. He pushed me back to the desk, looking down at me with an expression that was both hard and soft. “You should be made love to on a bed of fucking roses.” He yanked me down to the edge of the desk, his face heated. “But for some reason, you chose me.”

He pushed inside me, and the force of his entry made me hold onto the desk. I knew when we stopped fighting this there would be passion, but the animalistic way we reacted to each other left me winded, yet begging for more.

His breath was hard, his eyes focused as he thrust into me again. He looked into my eyes, as if I was the one thing he wanted most in this world. That he would live for me, die for me, protect me. Then his hands trailed up and down my body, and I arched my back.

He moved again, this time slower, gentler, and I lifted my hips, forcing my body downward, pushing myself harder against him.

The way he made love was raw, open, exposed. He eased his way out then pushed inside me again. Watching me, taking me, in so many more ways than one. I sat up, needing his body closer to mine.

He wrapped his arms around my shoulders, supporting my weight when I curved my legs around his waist, taking every delicious stroke as his body moved with mine. We were one, rocking, moving, grinding until I pulled in one last breath, and let my body shatter to a million tiny pieces in his arms.

He rocked with me a few more times, faster and faster until I felt his release. We both collapsed back on the desk, my body taking all of his weight.

“Wow.” My breaths came hard and broken.

He only nodded, pressing his forehead into the crook of my neck. The room was a thousand degrees but I didn’t care. I looped my arms around his chest, squeezing him tighter as my body continued to roll with release. We stayed like that for a few minutes, just breathing, skin to skin… nothing else between us.

He kissed me one last time then pushed from the desk and excused himself to the restroom.

I rolled to my side, watching him pick up his clothes from the floor. My brows furrowed, and I sat on the edge of the desk when he closed the door. I wasn’t sure what I should do now. Normally after sleeping with a man, we were in a bed. We’d cuddle for an hour and maybe go for round two, but he’d taken his clothes to the bathroom with him.

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