Page 136 of The Thing About My Rival

“Several times a day,” I breathe, as he drags his hand up the outside of my thigh from knee to hip.

The friction of his palm over my stomach makes the thousand butterflies sleeping in my belly take off, and I sink into him, running my fingers over his firm bicep and up to his shoulder.

“So, I found the—” Amelia’s voice comes from the doorway. “Oh, sorry. I’ll come back.”

That’s embarrassing. And not setting a good example as the leader of the club.

“No, no.” I leap from Hugo’s lap and run my fingers through my hair, which I now wear down for work. “It’s fine. Come in. He’s leaving.”

“Yup.” He stands up and yanks down his jacket to hide his crotch. “That’s exactly what I was planning.” There’s an audible eye roll in his voice.

He gives me a wry brow raise. “Just wait till I get you home,” he says in a husky whisper as he brushes by me.

And there was me thinking my panties couldn’t get any wetter.

“When you said ‘wait till I get you home,’ I thought you meant at least until we were through the door.” I’ve just bent over to take off my shoes and already Hugo is grinding against my butt.

“You know I love you as well, though, right?” he asks. “It’s not only that I want to shag you till your head blows off.”

“How very reassuring.” I straighten and turn around to face him, looping my arms around his neck. “And romantic.”

“Hey.” In one swift movement he ducks to my waist and throws me over his shoulder, fireman style. “Never let it be said that I am not romantic.”

“Hugo Powers, what are you doing?” I drum my hands on his backside.

“Oh, I see, want a bit of slappy-slappy, do we?” He gives one gentle tap on my butt, which is next to his face, and carries me toward the bedroom.

“Here we go, my darlin’.” He tosses me off his shoulder and onto the bed.

The mattress rocks when I land, and I look up at the most beautiful, most amazing, imperfect, yet perfect man I have ever known.

His jacket is on the floor in seconds, his T-shirt tossed on top of it, and I’m staring up at a torso straight from a magazine shoot of the world’s hottest torsos.

“I do like that you wear skirts to work sometimes now,” he says, sliding his hands from my knees, under my skirt, and up my outer thighs to my underwear. “Because now I get to do this.”

One swift movement and he’s upright again, swirling my thong on the end of his finger.

If my inner walls could talk, they would scream his name. My juices have been flowing since that moment in my office earlier, but now they’re a raging torrent of need, want, and desire.

“Well, in that case I’ll be sure to wear them more often.” I pull my top over my head and unhook my bra, desperate to feel his bare chest against mine, the contact of our skin, our hearts beating next to each other.

His mouth finds my nipple, and, as I melt into the pulses of pleasure from his circling tongue, I reach for his jeans.

With rapid kisses up my chest and neck, his lips find mine at the exact moment my hands slide inside his boxers and find him.

His heavy sigh fills my mouth. His heavy cock fills my hand.

“I will never stop wanting you, Wilcox.” His fingers tickle my inner thigh, sending sparks to the top of my head and the tips of my toes.

Higher, higher and higher he teases, until he reaches my soaking, desperate center and slides up to my clit.

“I will always want to touch you here. To taste you. And to be in this heavenly place right…here.” On the last word, his magical fingers slip inside me, forcing the air from my lungs, and my back arches away from the mattress and into him, finally pressing my bare chest against his.

“And I will always want this”—I stroke his long, hard shaft—“right where your fingers are.”

“Too fucking right,” he says, sliding out of me, yanking down his jeans and placing himself at my entrance.

“Maybe one day,” he pants, hands massaging my breasts, “we won’t be doing this only for pleasure.”

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