Page 27 of Café Diablo

“One taste, Edwin,” she pants. “I’ve tasted you. Now it’s your turn to taste me.”

I stare at her frosted sex—scandalized and ravenous. She’s just exposed her hot, glossed heat and every sane thought in my head has been obliterated.

My hands hook under her knees, pulling her to the edge of my desk, my eyes mesmerized by this sugary gift. The motion of pulling her toward me knocks the pastry onto the floor, it hits the ground with a thud, splattering whipped cream and cherries all over my shoes and ankles.

I don’t care.

Dear God, all I want is to taste what’s right in front of me—the decadence that’s trembling and aching for my tongue to split open its frosted seam.

I lean forward and Olivia moans.

“Edwin!” she rasps out my name on a wicked whisper. I haven’t even touched her yet, but her body is turning to liquid. “I can feel your breath on my pussy, Edwin, and it’s so damn hot! God, please don’t stop! Please don’t—”

She’s a flower, open and vulnerable. I inch closer, my shoulders spreading her legs, and as my face moves closer to her wicked treat, she starts to go wild.

“Edwin! I had no idea that younottouching me could be so hot! The second I feel your tongue on my tart I’m going to—” She moans, as if there are no words.

“Can you be quiet, Olivia?” I ask, my lips ghosting the edge of her folds.

“Can I be—!” Her eyes flare at the wisp of my breath—because I’m right there! She growls, shaking her head. “Be quiet? What the hell do you think, asshole?” She lifts up her ass, trying to get closer to my mouth.

“We’re in my office,” I scold, moving my face away from her frosted skin. “I don’t know if you locked that door or not. But if you start screaming, everyone in this office is going to rush in here to find you—”

I run a finger up the inside of her thigh—her legs spasming as her pussy creams. I’ve never seen anything so hot and dirty in my life. God, I want to lick that nectar from her frosted slit, but my cock is so hard I’ve half the mind to pull it out and fuck her right here on my desk, with the sunlight streaming in and whipped cream coating me with my thrusting.

“Olivia! The things you make me want to do—”

“Stop talking, Edwin, and take the risk!”

My tongue parts my lips and I lean forward over her throbbing sweetness, smelling her heat and the sexy musk of how badly she wants my tongue inside her.

“Mr. Voss—!”

That’d be hot if it was Olivia—but it’s not.

It’s the loud buzz of the intercom as Judy’s voice shoots through the room. “Mr. Bellamy and his wife have arrived for their 1:30 appointment. Should I send them in?”

Fuck!

I snap backward, yanking my face away from Olivia. She does the same on instinct, covering herself with her panties and shoving her dress down over her legs. I fumble for the button on my phone, stepping in the pastry on the floor and cursing.

“Uh, hold on a minute, Judy!” I bark into the phone, sounding way too ragged in my tone. “Give me, just uh—tell them I need another ten.”

I pray that my door is locked and Judy keeps them from barging in because I’ve got a raging hard on, and from the disheveled look of Olivia’s dress, and the tart smashed on the floor—it looks like, well, it looks like exactly what we were doing!

Olivia’s off my desk and smoothing out her skirt, walking around to the far side of the desk—thankfully!

“You know, I don’t think I can afford another ten minutes,” she says saucily, and my eyes cut to her something deadly. She laughs when she sees it, fanning herself to try and reduce the rosacea that’s blotching her shoulders and neck, evidence of how I affect her.

“You have to leave,” I growl, leaning down and trying to pick up the broken crumbs and whipped cream that are smeared all over the floor.

“Why don’t you, uh—” Olivia points to my trousers. “You have a private bathroom in here, right?” She looks to the side of my office at a door that does in fact lead to a personal restroom. “I think it’s gonna take you the next ten minutes to deal with…”

She’s talking about my erection. I curse, because this is the most embarrassing thing imaginable—well, save Mr. Bellamy walking in and seeing me digging for gold between her thighs.

“It’s fine,” she laughs. “I’m flattered.” I glower at her, not amused in the least. “I’ll clean this up.” She points to the mess of cream and chocolate on the floor. “While you …” She nods to the bathroom and makes a lewd gesture.

“That is not—!”

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