Page 10 of Dirty Pucker

She bumps into my chest and stumbles, off balance.

I instinctively grab her waist, steadying her. She’s propped against the front of my body, her palms on my chest, staring up at me, those blue eyes as wide as saucers.

A pink blush paints her cheeks. She lets out a flustered laugh. “Sorry about that.”

I swallow, trying not to think about how good it feels to have her pressed against me.

How soft and warm her body feels…

I clear my throat. “No worries.”

Her gaze drops to my mouth. My heart thuds and I hold my breath. She presses her fingers harder into my chest…

And then my brain goes somewhere it shouldn’t.

I imagine us in this exact same position, except we’re on my bed, she’s straddling me, and we’re wearing a lot less clothing…

I drop my hands from her waist at the same moment she steps out of my hold.

I shake my head, dazed. What the fuck is wrong with my brain?

She bites her lip as she looks at me, blinking quickly. “I, uh, meant to ask if you wanted some coffee.”

Heat flashes across my body. Jesus. That’s what five seconds of accidental physical contact with this woman does to me?

I shake my head. “I’ve already had some. Thanks though. You go ahead.”

“I’ve already had, like, four cups.”

“Four? Wow.”

She chuckles. “Yeah. I’m a little addicted to Americanos with oat milk. If I don’t have at least two a day, I feel like a zombie.”

When she smiles this time, the bridge of her nose wrinkles. Fuck, that’s cute.

Quit fantasizing about the social media girl, you fucking caveman.

She gestures to a white plush armchair in front of her desk.

I sit down and glance around her office just to distract myself. It looks like something out of a magazine.

The desk is sleek and made of some light-hued wood. Ingrid’s chair is the same style and design as the one I’m sitting in. Behind her desk, against the wall, is a backless bookshelf made of what looks like the same kind of wood her desk is made of. On the shelves are some small potted plants, framed photos, and delicate decorative pieces.

“Nice office,” I say.

“Thank you,” she says brightly as she sits behind her desk. Her hair is styled in a pretty and messy side braid. She swipes it over her shoulder before setting her hands on her desk and looking at me.

“So. I have to confess something,” she says. That playful smile I remember from yesterday pulls at her lips.

Her gaze trails down my chest. Her soft blue eyes widen the slightest bit as she gives me a once-over. Normally I wear a hoodie and workout pants, but I figured I’d try and put in someeffort since I had a meeting. So I’m wearing a dark blue henley and jeans.

Her gaze catches on my chest, then my shoulders, then my arms. I try and fail to hold back a smile. This shirt does a better job than a hoodie of showing all the muscle I’ve put on during this season, and Ingrid seems to appreciate that.

I guess she likes what she sees too.

I don’t miss that dazed look in her eyes as she rakes her gaze all over my torso. My ego gets a nice little boost from witnessing this stunning woman get a bit flustered around me.

She blinks and quickly looks back up at my face. She clears her throat and refocuses. “I googled you last night.”

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