Page 80 of Sexting the Boss

“Sorry,” I manage to say, my voice weaker than I’d like. “I must have…lost my way.”

I keep my eyes down, sidestepping him, my pulse still hammering, my body still too warm from those texts, from realizing it’s him.

I try to slip past.

I don’t make it.

His hand closes around my wrist.

Firm. Unrelenting.

A silent command to stay.

I suck in a shaky breath, forcing myself to meet his gaze?—

And that’s a mistake.

Because the moment my eyes lift to his, I see it.

The hunger.

The heat that darkens those storm-gray eyes, the tension crackling between us, a live wire pulled too tight.

Then—

His mouth claims mine.

It’s not gentle.

Not soft.

Not tentative in the way first kisses usually are.

No, this is possessive, raw, a declaration.

He kisses me like he’s staking his claim, like he already owns me and he’s just reminding me of the fact.

A low, needy sound escapes me, and that’s all it takes.

He presses me back against the sink, his hand sliding into my hair, tilting my head up to take more. His lips part mine, his tongue sweeping inside, tasting, devouring, demanding more.

I moan into his mouth, my entire body arching into him, the heat between my thighs borderline unbearable.

He’s hard. I can feel him through his slacks, pressing against my stomach.

His grip tightens, his fingers digging into my waist as he presses me further against him.

I barely register the sound of the lock clicking into place.

The hand in my hair slides down, tracing the column of my throat, fingers teasing over my collarbone before dipping lower?—

Undoing the first button of my blouse.

I gasp, and he takes advantage of it, swallowing the sound, his tongue stroking against mine.

I should stop this.

I should be thinking rationally.

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