Page 282 of Small Town Firsts
“Who?” I was so consumed with watching her fondle that fritter that I truly had no recollection.
“The pretty brunette. Her hair is a shade away from cinnamon.”
“Is she pretty?”
“Are you blind?”
“No. I see you quite well. Give me that.”
Committing the most unwise act in the history of off-limits office gestures, I rose and leaned forward, planting my hands on the desk. And rather than snagging that purloined bit of pastry with my fingers, I grabbed it with my teeth.
Stunned, she stared at me while I chewed, our heads entirely too close for workplace propriety.
She had a crystal lodged in her belly button. Or freaking close, because yes, her summery dress dipped nearly that low.
The stone was clear. Shimmery. An icy chip against her bronze skin.
“Good?” That husky question made me think many thoughts, and not one of them was about the fritter I’d just swallowed with a damn near orgasmic groan.
“It’s buttery,” I managed.
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Flaky.”
“Definitely.”
“Just the right amount of caramel coating the apples.”
“Moist apples,” she agreed, delicately licking the corner of her mouth.
“The moistest.” Was that even a word?
Were we still talking about apples? I suspected not. But it had been so long since I’d done this particular dance that my moves were rusty.
What wasn’t rusty was my eager cock, threatening to split a seam in my Hugo Boss trousers if she so much as commented on sticky juice.
“Since you’ve waited so patiently,” she licked her lips, “you can have the last bite.”
I started to argue. Foolishly, since I really wanted that fritter. It was surprisingly good and would have been even better if I’d been able to eat it off her thighs.
Apparently, that was the body part I was fixated on today.
But she shut me up before I even got going by dangling that last piece over my mouth then sliding it between my lips. Slowly. Like nothing had ever been slid into my mouth before.
At least that I could remember, which wasn’t saying much considering I was pretty sure my name was now John Doe.
“What do you think?” She placed her hand close enough to mine on the desktop that our pinkies touched. “Should I pass along your appreciation to Dre?”
I chewed and swallowed. “I’m definitely appreciating.”
I had no clue who Dre was. Did not care.
Ryan’s eyes were the exact shade of aquamarine, surrounded by the densest darkest lashes. Inky black like her hair. Her dress.
My supposed cold, dead heart that was now practically a glowing ember in my frigging chest.
Her eyelids lowered a fraction. “So…lunch. Where are you taking me?”
