Page 8 of The Gathering Storm

He obliged, opening his mouth and waiting patiently as she positioned herself between his widespread knees, leaned forward, and rubbed the swab along the inside of his cheek. He fixed his gaze on her face and not on the hint of cleavage peeking through the drape of her shirt. Her scent washed over him, just as tempting as the view, and he closed his eyes, willing his body to behave.

She stepped away, snapped her gloves off, then brushed cool fingers along his jaw. “Look at me, Will.”

His eyes flew open and met the brilliant blue of hers. She was close, so close her light breaths feathered along his mouth and the end of her long braid tickled his chest. For a moment, he thought she might close the distance between them and kiss him, and his heart leapt into his throat, hoping against hope for another kiss, another touch, anything to sustain him until he could see her again.

At lunch. On a date. Just him and her.

She scratched her fingernails gently along his jaw and stood. “Meet me at my office at eleven.”

“Yeah. Ah.” He cleared the thick gravel coating his throat and tried again. “I’ll be there at eleven sharp.”

“Good.” Her luscious mouth tilted into a full smile, sparking humor in her eyes. “Be ready for my full attention.”

He stifled a groan, but just barely. Her full attention? Holy cow. What was she trying to do, make him cum right then and there? She might as well have stroked her hand over his dick; her words hit him that hard.

She gathered the kit together and strode toward her coat hung near the entrance. “Don’t get up. It would be a shame not to enjoy your arousal while it’s fresh.”

Rampant need shot through him, shoving him close to an orgasm. Sweet Mother. Sigrid was deliberately stirring him up. And that’s what he got for letting her in the door while wearing a thin pair of gym shorts over his morning hard-on.

He clapped his hands over his face and ignored the soft sounds of her shrugging her coat on and leaving. Oh, he was in for it now, and he had no one but himself to blame. That kiss. Two years of wanting her, of biding his time trying to catch her eye, and a hotheaded, impulsive kiss was what she noticed.

Maybe he should’ve tried that sooner.

He snorted out a laugh and, resigned, eased the elastic waistband of his shorts down over his throbbing erection and stroked a firm fist along its length. Pleasure shuddered through him, rolling along in a steady grind under the lingering musk of her perfume tickling his nose and the remembered feel of her skin on his, and he lost himself in the possibilities she’d opened when she’d stepped through his front door.

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