Off the Clock. Roni Loren

announcing how turned on she was through the thin cotton of her shorts. Oh, shit. Oh, God. Oh, fuck. Mortification like none she’d ever experienced bled through her. Her thighs snapped together. “Can you please not make this worse with your analytics? Just let me be embarrassed in peace.”

      His blue eyes met hers, the tired resignation from earlier gone and replaced with something she’d never seen before from him—intent. “Let me help.”

       “What?”

      “I made you a promise to keep things professional. I’ll keep that promise if you want me to.” He reached down and took the hand she’d been using on herself in his. He traced his thumb over her fingertips, setting the sensitive pads on fire. “But I fucking want you.”

      Marin’s lips parted. He could’ve punched her in the face and she would’ve been less shocked.

      “This week has been like the slowest, most painful kind of torture.” His voice was like a hypnotic song as he held her gaze. “When you drop off the files at the end of the night, you’re flushed and glassy-eyed. I can see how keyed up you are. I can almost scent it in the air.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Do you know what that does to me? Knowing you’re turned on by my words? My fantasies? And now to walk in and see you touching yourself over them? Fuck.”

      Marin was too stunned to speak.

      “I get hard every time I think about you.”

      And she could see that, right there in front of her. That thing between his thighs getting more and more obvious as they spoke. She swallowed, his words and the sight like a lit match to the fuel flowing through her. “Oh.”

      “Yeah. Oh.” He pulled her up to her feet but didn’t break eye contact. “All the fantasies I wrote this week, guess who I was casting in the role in my head? Guess whose face I imagined? Whose body? I can’t get you out of my fucking head.”

      She had no idea what to say. She could barely believe the words coming out of his mouth.

      “But I’m not going to pressure you. I’m just letting you know that if you want my help. If you’d rather it be me getting you off than your fingers, you just need to say the word.”

      Her head was exploding. Bombs going off. Rockets launching. Everything inside her activating at once. She tried to form some sort of cogent response. But nothing came out.

      “So tell me to go away, Mari,” he said softly.

      She shook her head slowly. Once. Twice.

      He stepped closer. “Tell me.”

      It didn’t sound like a request. It sounded like a dare.

      That’s when she kissed him. She had no idea where the upswell of bravery came from, but she grabbed his face and pressed her mouth to his like she knew what the hell she was doing. He stiffened under her touch at first, his whole body going rigid, but then she let her tongue graze his lips—a plea—and he groaned into her mouth, opening to the kiss and grabbing her waist with those long-fingered hands.

      The first touch of their tongues was like a lightning strike, loud and powerful and blinding. Her brain buzzed with the impact of it, and she almost lost her rhythm. But then he took control of the kiss with an urgent fervor that made her moan, like he was a dying man and she was the sole owner of the last oxygen on earth. His fingers curled into her sides and his tongue dipped deeper into her mouth, exploring and mapping and tasting. Goose bumps chased tingles over her skin and she pressed herself closer, feeling the heat of his body, the pounding of his heart, the desperation of it all.

      She’d imagined this so many times—what’d he’d feel like, what he’d taste like, how’d he kiss. She’d spent hours putting those fantasies together. She hadn’t even been close to matching the reality. There was an intensity she couldn’t have conjured up in her own mind, this raging need. She half expected their clothes to light up and burn right off of their bodies. Everything was on fire. She couldn’t stop. This was like a first taste of a drug, hooking her immediately and making her crave more. Her fingers slid into his hair. That luscious thick hair that she wanted to nuzzle and tug and feel against her naked body.

      She made a needy sound, one she didn’t even recognize, and the kiss went deeper, lewd in the best way. He yanked her fully against him. His erection notched right along the spot where she’d been touching a few minutes before and sparks skated over her skin. She rocked her hips, rubbing herself shamelessly against him, her body going on some version of erotic autopilot.

      He groaned and backed her up against the desk. His mouth attacked her neck, planting hot, wet kisses there, sucking, nipping. “You taste so good. I’ve wanted …”

      She tilted her head back, giving him better access and not caring that he didn’t finish the sentence. She knew how he felt. She wanted, too.

      “Tell me to slow down, baby,” he said as he dragged the hard length of himself against her. “It’s been a fucked-up day and you feel so good. But I don’t want to push you too far.”

      “I don’t want to slow down.”

      He pulled back for a second and took her face in his hands, his gaze fierce. “Tell me it’s okay.”

      “It’s okay. It’s so okay.”

      He stared at her for a moment longer and then his hands slid back, his fingers catching in her hair, and he bent and kissed her again. She reached for him, latching on to his shirt like a desperate thing, and pulled him even closer to her. Her body was already revved up, but now she felt as if she would incinerate from the inside out if he didn’t touch her soon.

      A low rumble escaped him as she grappled for him, and he slid his other hand down her hip while deepening the kiss. Her butt was pressed hard against the edge of her desk and when he gripped the back of her thigh, she damn near melted into his hold. He lifted her onto the desk, various office supply jetsam going overboard along with the soft drink, and she wrapped her legs around him. His fingers on her bare legs sent another wave of heat rippling over her.

      “Donovan.” His name was a prayer between kisses. “Donovan. I need …”

      “I know, baby. I know. Me, too.” He kissed her throat. “I’ll take care of you.”

      His hand slid up her shirt, his hot palm finding the curve of her breast. She arched when his thumb grazed her nipple, and she grabbed for the edge of the desk, sending a canister of paper clips tumbling to the floor. “God.”

      He made a hungry sound in the back of his throat as he unhooked the front latch on her bra and cupped her naked skin. “Is that what you need, beautiful? I can feel how on edge you are. It’s so fucking sexy. Your whole body is trembling.”

      She arched her back, a riot of sensations tracking over her. “I’ve been listening to you talk dirty for the last twenty minutes. The last week. I can’t help it.”

      “Mmm. I love that my voice got you off.” He kissed the spot beneath her ear. “And I love that you’re wet for me.”

      It was like one of the fantasies on the recording times about a thousand. His breath against her ear, his hands on her, that silken voice threading through her senses. She let herself slip into the fantasy version of herself, the one who wasn’t scared, the one who knew what she wanted and could be bold about it. The one who was not a terrified virgin. “I’ve wanted this all week.” Longer.

      The sound he made was one of pained restraint. He leaned back and went for the button on her shorts. “I was going to take my time with you. I was going to be slow and gentle. But I’m not sure if I have it in me tonight.”

      “Sounds like one of those failed fantasies from your experiment.”

      He laughed and dragged the zipper down on her shorts. “You’re right. Lose the shorts and spread your legs for me. Let me feel you.”

      The words ripped over her like an