Page 8 of Snowed In With the PUCK

I shift in my bed, slipping my hand down into my PJ pants. Oh, God, it feels good. Images of Eric’s impossibly handsome face flood my mind. I can see him, kissing me, kissing my neck and then… my breasts, his lips sucking on my nipple before moving to the other one. I gasp in bed, my finger moving faster on my own pussy.

I want him to kiss his way down my stomach all the way to where my hand is. I need to feel him put his lips on my core, teasing my clit until I come undone in a release of pleasure.

“Yes,” I whisper, pleasure building in me. I need this. His face is so vivid in my mind that I come fast and hard, breathless and wanting him.

Twenty minutes later, with my stony wall back in place, I edge my way into the kitchen, hoping to grab a cup of coffee before Eric wakes up. Within seconds, the smell of the fresh brew I’m making is wafting through the air, and I feel a small sense of victory. I can make it out of here unnoticed. How could I face him now, after that fantasy?

I pull a mug from the cabinet, my back to the entry, when I hear footsteps behind me. Great.

“Hello Jessica,” Eric says, his voice deep and a little too close for comfort.

I feel a shiver of anticipation rush through me. Then I stiffen, embarrassed that I just orgasmed to thoughts of him making love to me.

I clear my throat. He’s been formal ever since the meeting. I can’t figure out why. His usual playful attitude, which he's known for, has drastically changed.

I turn around, keeping my expression neutral even as my heart pounds. “Morning to you.”

Eric’s standing there in a faded t-shirt and sweats, looking way too relaxed and way too sexy for someone who can set me off with just one smirk. His hair is a mess, his eyes half-lidded from sleep, and I hate how effortlessly attractive he is. It’s infuriating. It’s endearing. It’s… everything.

I reach for the coffeepot, but my hand bumps into his. His skin is warm. The mug I’m holding tilts, sending a splash of coffee over the rim and onto the counter.

“Crap,” I mutter, pulling my hand back and grabbing a napkin.

Eric chuckles softly, stepping closer to help, and before I know it, we’re both reaching for the same spot on the counter. His arm brushes against mine, and I feel goosebumps rush over my skin. His warmth is distracting, and the scent of his aftershave—something woodsy and clean—hits me.

“You’ve got it,” he says, his voice lower, and when I glance up, he’s looking at me, really looking at me, with those sexy hazel eyes. I can see it—he’s into me.

My breath catches. There’s an unmistakable attraction hanging in the air between us. I try to fight it because it is incredibly unwise to lean into it, but it doesn’t budge. I look at his lips. Big mistake.

I long to lean in and just kiss him. To add that physical realness to my next fantasy of him. Once, only. Just to taste him. I feel my entire body respond to his nearness. It’s intoxicating… and off limits. He’s on the team my firm represents. I cannot allow this attraction to leave my mind and become real.

I straighten up, trying to break the moment, but when I step back, my foot catches on the leg of a barstool, and I stumble right into him. My God—he is strong. I feel the ridges of his muscles as he catches me. It feels so good. I let myself stay there just to get it out of my system; I tell myself. I just need to feel the nearness of him for a moment, then I’ll be satiated and can stop feeling aroused by him.

“Whoa,” Eric murmurs, his hands coming up to hold me.

I look up—another mistake, because for the briefest moment, everything seems to stop. His hands are warm on my waist, and his gaze dips to my lips. I swallow hard, my heart like hummingbird wings in my chest. This is not happening.

But it is. And then, before I can think or stop myself, we kiss.

It’s soft at first, almost tentative, like we’re both testing the waters. Then, just as quickly as it started, it deepens, and for a moment, I forget where we are. How is this possible—it’s just a kiss, and yet I’m lost in it. His lips are warm, firm, and when he pulls me just a little closer, I don’t resist.

I feel his hands on my back, and one hand drops to grip my hip. I press my breasts against him just to feel the firmness of his body against mine. I have the wild urge to rip his shirt off. As if reading my mind, his fingers inch up under my shirt. I moan into the kiss. I can feel my own heart beating fast as I dare to slip my hand down the front of those joggers. I grasp his naked cock that nestles beneath the fabric, his size making my core tighten with excitement.

He is majestic. I stroke him once, and he grunts against my lips, nipping my lower lip.

“Careful what you start,” he murmurs.

I’m breathless, carefree and, for a moment, I let myself believe that I can do this. That we can do this. I feel his fingers brush across the softness of my breast under my shirt. Then he pinches my nipple. My lips curl into a smile against the kiss. His hips start to move, thrusting through the fist I have wrapped around his manhood.

The moment is perfect. I feel free. I feel like anything is possible…

What am I doing?

Just as quickly as my infatuation kicked in, reality rears its head and crashes back in.

I pull away, breathless and utterly horny for him. The bulge in his joggers entices me to finish what we started. Eric looks as if he’s ready to pull me in again, but I step back. I guess I’ll have to be the one to set boundaries here. Looking at him… I see how hard it’s going to be.

“Uh…” I am an expert at avoidance. It comes with the job—I find data to support my firm’s stance and then we avoid every other bit of data in our arguments that might not support our stance. If I can avoid things at work, I can avoid them here. “I need to get going. Thanks for cleaning up the spilled coffee, Eric.” There. I was smooth as silk. Not rattled at all.

---