Page 66 of Sexting the Boss

I move back to her mouth, my tongue sweeping against hers, coaxing, demanding more.

Her fingers tangle in my hair, her nails scraping the back of my neck, making me groan against her lips.

I need more.

I need to feel her bare.

I grip the hem of her blouse, sliding my hands beneath it, up her waist?—

Ping.

The elevator doors slide open.

I blink.

I’m standing exactly where I was, hands tucked into my pockets, back pressed against the wall.

Sasha is still across from me, adjusting the strap of her bag, completely oblivious to the fact that I just had her moaning against this very wall in my head.

Fuck.

I inhale deeply, willing the heat in my body to settle, to subside.

It doesn’t.

She steps forward, walking toward the open doors, her scent trailing behind her—something soft, warm, fucking intoxicating.

And then?—

She looks up.

Right at me.

Her dark eyes are wide. Searching.

I don’t move.

Neither does she.

There’s no reason for her to look at me like this.

Like she feels something. Like she knows.

She doesn’t. She can’t.

But for a second, I wonder if she does.

If she can feel the pull just as much as I do.

Her lips part slightly, like she wants to say something?—

And then she’s gone.

She steps out of the elevator, her heels clicking against the floor as she disappears into the hallway.

I let out a slow breath, rolling my shoulders. Then I shift, subtly adjusting my pants, easing the pressure against my already aching cock.

Jesus Christ.

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