Page 114 of The Love Losers

The business proposal is a long document, and the temptation to sit there with her and ask her questions every five seconds is strong. So I force myself to grab a book and pretend to read after I finish eating, but my eyes keep traveling back to her. Sitting at my desk, tugging on the purple strip in her hair, her eyes intent on the screen. Every now and then she leans in and adds a comment to the document.

Then she gasps and turns to me, her lips parting.

“You want me to be the activities coordinator?”

“Only if you want to be,” I say, instantly wondering if I’ve fucked up. “But I figured you’d be good at it. Incredible at it, actually. You said you want to help people, and I figured maybe you could do a bucket list thing for the residents, and—”

She stalks over and pulls me in for a kiss, her lips full of a purpose that thrums through me. When she edges back, her eyes are glassy again. “I’d love it. It’s perfect. What about Dom?”

“Well…I thought we could keep the bar if the owner wants to stay. Or I could buy it and keep Dom as the bartender. He’s obviously awful at what he does, but I think that adds to the charm.”

“Thank God. So do I,” she says, her eyes full of warmth. Then she kisses me again, making a sweet sound into my mouth. I try to pull her back onto the broken bed, but she pushes me away and grins at me. Probably because she can see the hard-on pressing at my pants. “To be continued. I need to finish this, Anthony. This is big.”

And she returns to that chair and resumes reading. Everything inside of me is attuned to her movements, her expressions, and the little smile turning her pink lips.

Finally, she moves my office chair toward me, and I feel like it’s my judgement day, and my soul hangs in the balance of whatever this remarkable woman has to say to me.

Angel.

Devil.

Mine.

“Come over here so we can talk about it.”

A guttural sound escapes me as I rise from the broken bed and move toward her.

“Take your pants off,” she says as I get close, and I do, watching as she takes off her shoes and pushes off the tights she’s wearing under her sweater dress. There’s a wicked glint in her eyes as she watches me, my dick jutting up beneath the hem of my shirt. “Now, sit in the chair, sir, and we can begin our meeting. I’ll take the meeting from your lap. With your dick inside of me, if that suits you.”

“It suits me very well.” I lower into the chair, my blood so hot it feels like it’s burning the insides of my veins.

I’d like to touch her first, to taste her, but this is her show tonight, and I’m letting her play it the way she wants. So when she turns to face the computer before reaching back and guiding my dick where she wants it, I just enjoy the anticipation—and the feeling of being the luckiest man in the world.

She slowly sinks downward, each inch of her descent full of torture and bliss.

“You’re so wet for me, Rosie,” I say, my voice strained as she lowers the last inch and leans back into me.

“Reading this made me wet.”

She leans over her shoulder to kiss me, and I grip her hip, thrusting into her. “It did? Do you have a thing for real estate?”

“No, but it turns out I have a thing for smart guys. Who would have thought, given my history.”

A feral noise escapes me as she arcs back into me and then leans forward to scroll through the document. “So, while I do enthusiastically accept your job offer, I have a couple of suggestions.”

“Tell me,” I say, reaching around to rub her while she rides me. “I want to hear everything.”

She leans over her shoulder again as she grinds down, her lips brushing the side of my face. “I knew you’d be a good boy.”

Listening to Rosie’s thoughts on my proposal while she keeps rising and lowering on my dick is, obviously, the best experience of my life. I want to add another five items to my bucket list, because I keep realizing there’s more I want to do. More experiences that have passed me by because my imagination wasn’t big enough to encompass them. This is one of them.

After, I ask her to stay the night.

She informs me that her brother has pledged to storm the fortress if she’s not back by twelve.

I point out that it would give us an opportunity to talk, man-to-man, so it’s not a bad idea.

“Not like that,” she says, her mouth tipping up in amusement. “Not yet. I can tell he still needs a little more time.”

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