Page 86 of Not Safe for Work

His low rumble shudders through me as his eyes meet mine. “You’re loving it. Admit it.”

Why is he right? If this were regular life or the office, I’d never let him order me around, but like this, with that fire in his gaze, it’s making my stomach flutter. His mouth captures mine as his hand slides into the folds of my skirt, his fingertips brushing the crease of my thigh.

“Rafe,” I say as he nips the skin on my shoulder. “Can you promise this stays between us? We’re just dealing with this weird tension. We’re friends.” I emphasize the last word like an exclamation point. I need this to be meaningless. I can’t let myself feel something real, only to be betrayed again.

He pulls up to look at me, amusement dancing in his gaze. “Sure, Tris. If that’s what you want.”

Something in his expression and his tone makes it sound like he’s humoring me, but I let it go for the moment because he’s doing things that make me forget the answer to two plus two.

With agonizing slowness, he runs a finger along the edge of my underwear and between my legs. I gasp, my back arching against him. He pushes aside the fabric, fingers sliding along my wetness as he makes a low sound of approval. He circles my clit with his finger, applying an exquisite amount of pressure.

I moan, and he releases my wrists before wrapping his hand around the side of my neck, his thumb tracing up the curve of my throat.

“I want to hear those noises you promised,” he whispers against my mouth, recalling my pithy comment during the storm. He kisses me as his fingers slip between my legs and along my seam again before one slides inside me. I gasp, my hips tilting as he slowly pumps out and then in.

“Yes, just like that. How loud can I make you scream, Tris?”

He thrusts into me, adding a second finger as he fills the needy, wet ache swelling in my core. His thumb circles my clit as he pumps a few more times. I can already feel myself spiraling, my thighs clenching, and my stomach fluttering.

He removes his hand and slowly drops to a knee, planting kisses down the center of my chest and my stomach and then against the fabric just below my navel. He looks up with that signature predatory Rafe gleam as his big, warm hands slide up my bare thighs.

He’s the villain about to ravish the princess, and I am here for all the ravishing. Reaching down, he circles my ankle and lifts my foot, placing it on his knee. Then he drags a finger down the inside of my leg until he reaches my shoe. I shiver at his touch, my hands clutching the wall for balance. Carefully, he undoes the strap, removes my shoe, guides my foot back to the floor, and then repeats the process with the other side.

Rafe is on his knee, taking off my shoes. I’m having trouble processing this. I ignore the voice reminding me to be careful. That I have rules about getting involved with anyone at the office. But I push it down and shove it away because I want this. I don’t want to be scared anymore.

He places my shoes next to him, and then his hands are on me again. Slowly, with his eyes pinned to mine, his palms graze over my hips before his fingers hook into the waistband of my thong. He pauses, tipping his head in question. I nod because I don’t think I can speak. My heart is wedged firmly in my throat.

He slides the fabric down, his fingertips dragging along my skin and his thumbs lightly brushing between my thighs. I tremble like the string of a plucked guitar as he lifts one foot and then the other before tossing my thong away.

When he hooks my knee over his shoulder, I bury one hand in the thick waves of his hair, the other flattening to the wall at my back. It feels like I’m falling and floating all at the same time. My hips tilt in supplication as his tongue makes its way to my center. I moan and gasp. He tastes and nips and sucks, and it’s been so long, and holy shit Rafe is fantastic at this.

“Fuck,” he murmurs into my skin. “You taste as good as I imagined.”

He returns his two fingers, slipping inside me as his tongue works in rough circles. He takes his time, teasing apart the shreds of my composure.

He groans in appreciation, feasting and savoring in a way no man has ever done before. His enthusiasm borders on feral, and this is more decadent than a seven-tiered cake layered with French buttercream.

His fingers curl, finding the spot where tension spirals into ever-tightening ripples. I can’t last much longer. His mouth closes over my clit, and he sucks. I twist up and up and up, and then I explode, granting him his wish when I scream. He finishes his exploration with his tongue as if he can’t get enough. Eventually, he pulls away, placing soft kisses on the inside of my thigh. Then he stands, crawling up my body like a panther before he presses his mouth to mine.

“How did that compare to your little toy?” he asks with a sly smile, and I bark out a laugh.

“You’re obsessed with that thing.”

He props an elbow on the wall and gently runs a finger along the ridge of my collarbone. “When you all but confessed that morning, I almost came right there,” he says. “I wanted it to be me.”

I wanted it to be him, too.

“You win,” I answer. “An eleven out of ten.”

He grins before kissing me again, and I start pawing at his clothes.

Buttons. Why are there so many buttons? His vest and his tie and his shirt fall to the ground, and I run my hands down his chest and his abs. He holds still as he allows me to explore his body, savoring the dips and edges and planes. The caps of his shoulders, the swell of his biceps, and the solid muscle of those perfect forearms.

This is my holy grail. My summit to Everest. As I run my hands along them, he lets out a breathless laugh at my obvious reverence.

“What’s with you and my arms?” he asks. I grin up at him.

“I’ve got a thing for them.”