Page 49 of Dirty Politics

“OK,” he said, taking a deep breath. She nodded and closed her eyes. “On three...one, two...three.”

With a loud grunt, he pulled the fabric of her dress; a loud ripping noise pierced the silence. He was breathing heavily. Liv was too terrified to open her eyes.

“That should do it,” he said, scooting his feet away.

She looked down at her dress - ripped right down the middle to her navel - her lacy black bra peeking out. She turned her eyes up to his face. His breathing was still heavy. Eyes all pupils. She sucked in a quick breath of air.

“I should.” he started to say, backing away.

She looked down at her dress again and burst out laughing.

He just watched her.

“Why...” she said, pausing to laugh. “Why...didn’t we...get scissors from the front desk?”

His mouth dropped open.

“I don’t...” he started to say, but stopped short and howled with laughter.

They were both doubled over, unable to control their fits of laughter. She’d never seen him laugh like this before; it felt comfortable like putting on a favorite sweatshirt.

“I think my brain malfunctioned,” she said, her stomach hurt from laughing so hard.

“Me too,” he said, wiping his eyes. A giant smile spread over his face.

God, he has the perfect smile,she thought. Her stomach fluttered, and she reached out and grabbed his bicep.

They both froze.

The moment suspended in time as she looked at his face. His smile melted into a new expression - one full of desire. Liv stepped closer to him; closing the distance between them.

She licked her lips.

His breathing stopped.

She placed her hands on his face, brushing over his soft stubble. He exhaled slowly, never breaking eye contact with her.

She drew herself into him and pressed her lips to his. Softly.

He groaned as she ran her hands through his hair.

What am I doing?She thought, her heart racing.Am I doing this? Is this really happening?

He pressed his tongue against her lips, and she parted them. He swept his tongue inside, and she moaned and pulled his body closer to hers. His arms wrapped around her waist; her chest pressed against his.

What the hell am I doing?She thought again, warmth building between her legs.

She placed her hands on his chest and lowered her head. He rested his forehead in her hair - breathing heavily. She felt his chest rise and fall.

“We can’t...” she said, shaking her head. “We shouldn’t...”

“Why not?” he said, his voice thick.

She exhaled.God, he smells good. She lingered for a moment in his arms then pushed herself back.

“You’re my...”

“I’m not...” he interrupted. “I’m not your boss.”

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