Page 37 of Under Pressure

You mean the thing I haven’t been able to stop thinking about for the last two days? That thing? “I’m game for it,” I blurt out, unable to resist the temptation.

“Good,” he whispers, using his hand to press me into his body as he lowers his head down to my mouth.

He kisses me hungrily, his other hand coming up to cup the back of my neck so I feel like I’m surrounded by him. Consumed by him.

How does this keep happening here in the lab? I’ve never in my life thought of psychology labs as arousing, and yet this is the third time we’ve kissed in here. I’m going to develop a Pavlovian response where just the sight of the Stress Lab turns me on.

I can’t complain, though. Everything I do with him seems to be on another level. I’ve been with a few guys, but there was never this immediacy, this need-to-have-you-now feeling. I didn’t know I could inspire this kind of heat, especially with someone as hot as Tyler.

He’d seemed so surprised last time we spoke that I’d initially been attracted to something other than his looks. He said he doesn’t do girlfriends, but has he ever had one? Anyone that got to know him? Appreciate him for what was inside?

Because once I finally cracked that hard outer shell, I’m finding more and more glimpses of a gooey center. The way he softened at Muffin. The way he helped me out of my anxiety attack. The way he offered to teach me boxing.

The way he didn’t want me to date Brad.

He might have acted like it was purely professionalism on his part, but I saw the look in his eye. Even if he won’t say it, there has to be caring there. Maybe it’s buried too far in his subconscious for him to recognize, though.

But one thing he’s not afraid to admit is this attraction. And with him being so straightforward, there’s no chance for my inner critic to doubt it. Not with the way his tongue is sliding against mine, his strong hand massaging the back of my neck, making me go boneless.

He urges me to hop up on the desk and I gladly comply, his hands continuing to roam my body.

“I didn’t get to touch you last time,” he whispers as his palms settle on my chest. I do my best to contain the keening sound that wants to escape, but some still manages to leak out.

“You liked it here before too.” The erotic tone of his voice combined with the way he gently squeezes me has me squirming. “Are your nipples sensitive?”

“Tyler!” I startle back.

“What?” He grins. “I can touch them, but I can’t talk about them?”

“I—” He actually makes a valid point. But I’ve never had a guy ask me such a direct question about my body, even in the thick of a sexual encounter. “They are,” I whisper. “Sensitive, I mean.”

“Unbutton your shirt,” he says, leaning back.

I gape at him. “What?”

“Unbutton it,” he repeats casually. “I wanna see how sensitive they are.”

My eyes dart around the lab, as if someone is lying in wait. “We can’t do this here. Someone could catch us.”

He strolls over to the door and flicks the lock, his eyes hot on me as he turns back around. “Better?”

“What are you going to do?”

He comes in closer, placing his hands on either side of me on the desk, leaning in until his lips tickle my ear. “I said I’d kiss you anywhere you want. Would you like that?”

He keeps his hands on the desk, crowding me but not touching, putting the ball in my court. Do I want him to do that? Right here in the middle of the lab? Is it wrong that that makes it seem even hotter?

I unbutton the first button of my Oxford shirt with trembling fingers. His gaze narrows on the sliver of my chest I uncover, his lips parting when I unbutton the next. His reaction spurs me on to do the third and fourth in quick succession, his hands gripping the desk tightly, the fifth and sixth making his breaths pick up.

I slowly part the shirt open, revealing my pink pushup bra that I thank God I decided to wear rather than the ratty one I don most days of the week that has the underwire sticking out.

He spends a few moments simply gazing at my chest, his stare like a physical touch. The longer he looks, the harder it is to breathe, until I’m practically spilling out of my bra with how rapid my chest’s working.

He takes my mouth in a fervent kiss, his palms finally cupping me, so blessedly sure in their touch that I groan in relief. His thumbs dip down into my bra cups, lightly circling my nipples until they’re hard buds, my breaths coming so quickly I’m practically panting.

He positions my arms back behind me, hands flat on the desk, and angles me backward so my torso’s at an incline, leaning over me, and pulls the cups of my bra down until I’m finally exposed. He bends down, his tongue gently lapping at me, so at odds with the need-it-now pace of before that it has me straining toward him, desperate. I push out my chest so he’ll take more in his mouth and he leans back slightly, grinning. “Patience, Mia.”

I make a garbled sound of dismay as he switches to my other breast, carefully attending to it at the same rate. He knows exactly what to do to get me hot and bothered, the sensation of his tongue both wonderful and cruel. It only leaves me wanting more.

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