Page 89 of The Affair
“Yeah, I’m sore in a couple places too, but I’m not sure if the sofa is to blame.” He gave me a solid wink before heading to the coffeepot.
I immediately felt a blush heat my cheeks as I thought back to our night.
The feel of his skin against mine.
The rush of need.
The cries of pleasure.
“Do you have creamer?” he asked, breaking my thought process.
“Uh, yeah,” I managed to say, rising from my chair at the table. Heading for the fridge, I was stopped abruptly.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, a determined grin on his face.
“Nothing,” I murmured.
His gaze dropped, eyeing the T-shirt I wore. Taking a step forward, he pressed his body into mine, and I felt myself melt into him. As our lips met, he pushed forward until I felt the counter hit my backside, and suddenly, I knew exactly what he had planned.
Spoiler alert: it had nothing to do with coffee.
As he lifted me onto the counter, I placed a hand on his chest. “Wait,” I breathlessly breathed out. “Do we have time?”
It was a weekday after all.
As we both looked around for a clock, it was me who found one first on the microwave display. “Seven thirty,” I said. “Do you think we can make it?”
A sly smirk spread across his face. “Only if we shower together.”
Pressing my lips together, I couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ve always been into learning more about water conservation efforts.”
“Good,” he replied, hoisting me over his shoulder in a quick, swift movement. “Let’s go learn together.”
* * *
It turnedout that water conservation could be a very titillating subject matter if taught by the right person. Sawyer was quite knowledgeable it seemed, and I was more than happy to be under his tutelage.
I had no idea how we were going to make it through the day at the store without trying to rip each other’s clothes off every five seconds.
“What do you say to a few ground rules?” I suggested as we finished getting ready to leave that morning.
I still had wet hair, and Sawyer was overly dressed up in his clothes from the night before, but so far, we were on time.
Well sated from lovemaking but perhaps a little starving from skipping breakfast, but still, we were on time.
It was a small victory.
“Ground rules?” he asked as we hopped into his car.
“For the shop,” I specified. “To keep things professional.”
He started the engine, and soon, we were pulling out of the driveway. “Completely professional?” he echoed.
“Exactly.”
When he looked over at me, I could see his mind working; that devious little devil that lived inside was just plotting away. “So, if I were to, say”—he let his words dangle for a moment, keeping me in suspense—“take you in the back and bend you over that desk of yours, that would be considered highly unprofessional?”
Clearing my throat, I tried to find an answer. “Um, well, I guess it’d depend on the time of day.”
