“Are you wet?”
“Understatement of the year.”
He laughed lightly. “Good. Because if I were there right now, I’d be the one touching you, feeling how turned on you are. Running my hand between your legs, and you’d be moaning, and moving your hips, and wanting so badly for me to take off your underwear.”
“Would you? Take off my underwear?” The question came out in quick breaths, as I followed his direction. My hand was between my legs, and I wished he were the one touching me. But this — this was good enough for now.
“I’d kiss you through your underwear first just to tease you and make you crazy. I’d lean down, and I’d kiss those black bikini briefs, and I’d smell you, and I’d get even harder.”
“I’d want to touch you so badly.”
“I know, but I wouldn’t let you. Because I’d have to taste you, and you’d be begging me to take off your underwear, and to touch you with my tongue. And it’s all I’d want to do too. So I’d oblige your request.”
I slid out of the last shred of clothing.
“Did you just take off your underwear?”
“Yes.”
“Is your hand between your legs?”
“Yes.”
“Are you imagining it’s me?”
“Yes. I want you so much.”
“There is absolutely nothing in the entire world I want to be doing more right now than going down on you, and tasting you, and eating you. I would run my tongue across you and you would put your hands in my hair.”
“I love your hair,” I said, and the image of my hands in his hair sent me soaring. It wasn’t going to take me long at all.
“And I’d start off slow and light, and I’d tease you with my tongue, tracing you and tasting your wetness. God, I bet you taste f**king fantastic. And you’d whimper and moan, and tell me how good it feels.”
“It feels amazing. It feels so incredible.” My whole body was lit up; I was ignited all over. Every part of me begged and yearned for him.
“And I’d speed up, running my tongue over you in ways you’ve never felt before. And you’d tell me how it had never been this good, how you’d never wanted anyone like this before.”
“I haven’t. I swear I haven’t,” I said, and my breathing was ragged, and my body was pulsing, and I could feel how intoxicatingly close I was to grabbing his hair and pulling his face between my legs. Oh, how I wished he were the one touching me.
“And I’d take you there. I’d lick you and make you crazy and make you say my name over and over, until you were begging to come. Until you were begging me to make you come.”
“Oh god, Bryan. Make me come. Please, make me come.”
“I’m so going to make you come, Kat. I’m going to make you come with my mouth and my lips and my tongue and I am going to taste you right now as you come in my mouth.”
And so I did, shouting his name, calling out, feeling the wave of an intense, otherworldy orgasm pound through me. I was a live wire, exposed and beating, and I wanted him to be with me right now, taking off his clothes, climbing on top of me, entering me, making me feel that way again and again and again.
Chapter Thirteen
Over the next month, Bryan was true to his cautious word in the movie theater. Wilco attacked Made Here and Bryan’s board with spurious claims, so Bryan didn’t leave a shred of evidence electronically about us. We didn’t email, we didn’t text, we didn’t leave any paper trails. Nor was there any evidence that could have been captured photographically because we hadn’t touched each other.
We had, however, engaged in many delicious encounters. We’d had sex in a limo, on the beach, in the stall of one of those sleek silver and black bathrooms at clubs after we’d danced pressed against each other to pounding music. We’d done it in a hotel room, in the shower, on an airplane. I’d been on my hands and knees for him, I’d ridden him, I’d taken him in my mouth.
Even though I hadn’t.
We were make-believe lovers, and we’d gone there in our fantasies, in our late-night conversations with phones pressed to ears turned red and throbbing. With breathless words, and longing, and so many sighs and moans. I knew now what Bryan sounded like when he came. I knew the way his breathing intensified, the way he said my name. I knew when he was close, and I craved so much to have my hands on him, body pressed to his, legs wrapped around him.
He knew too exactly how I liked it. How sometimes I wanted to be taken, pinned down by my wrists, spread, powerless, and filled up. How other times I wanted to be in charge, to set the rules, to tell him what to do, when and how.
When I saw him at his office for the mentor-protege time, we pretended we were good boys and girls who hadn’t said those things. One afternoon, I joined him and his team for an operational meeting in the conference room to discuss the supply chain plans for the upcoming quarter, and I practiced the fine art of restraint as I kept my gaze on my notes the whole time. Only once, did I meet his eyes, and when I did I saw as much desire in his as I felt. But the specter of his conservative board as well as the lawsuit hung over us, so I shelved all my dirty ideas, especially since we had an appointment at Professor Oliver’s office that same day for a mid-term check-in.
He pulled three chairs into a circle, and Bryan and I sat next to each other, inches apart, eyes on Oliver the whole time.
“Ms. Harper, tell me about the business challenges that you’ve weighed in on at Made Here.”