CHAPTER TWO
Saturday, November 4
“Tell me again why we’re here. Wherever here is,” I say to Sebastian as I exit his sedan.
“There’s something I think you need to see.”
Since this place is a theater of some sort, I doubt it has anything to do with work. The giant sign out front in old-fashioned lettering simply reads BBB REVUE. I have zero idea what that means, but as Sebastian strolls inside and speaks in low tones with a hostess sporting a corset, fishnets, and not much else, I look around. The place is almost theatrical, like something out of a Victorian house of ill repute. Dim lighting and red velvet, lots of dark wood, flourishes, and detail. Booths line the walls. There’s a balcony above with cozy round tables hugging the railing, providing a view of the floor and stage below.
“What is this place?” I murmur to Bas as the hostess leads us to a table almost front and center yet still somehow steeped in shadow.
“Just…wait.” As we sit, he flashes me a smile. “You’ll find this interesting.”
Bas’s idea of interesting worries me.
We’ve barely managed to sit when a waitress, also wearing next to nothing, sidles up to our table. “Hey, boys. What are y’all drinking tonight?”
“Scotch,” Bas answers.
“Make it two,” I add.
“Great.” The blonde with this southern accent gives us a saucy smile. “I’m supposed to tell you that the appetizer of the night is calamari, but that stuff smells so awful I swear it’s gonna re-grow legs and walk itself away. Want some?”
With that glowing recommendation? “I think we’ll pass.”
She leans in, giving me a perfect view of her spilling cleavage. “Smart man.”
Sebastian clears his throat. “I’m the guy who insisted we come here tonight.”
The waitress laughs, then ruffles a hand through his thick, golden waves. “Well, that makes you even smarter. Whatcha doing later?”
Since she punctuates her question with a wink, she’s not serious. At least I don’t think so.
What kind of place dresses their waitresses like turn-of-the-century hookers and allows such outrageous flirting? This isn’t a strip club. There are no poles, no loud music, no one named Destiny shaking her hips and losing her top to the strains of an overplayed 80s metal classic. But I don’t know what to think.
“Well, now.” Bas grins. “That depends on you, darlin’.”
He’s good at turning on the charm. He manipulates women the same way he manipulates numbers—smoothly, efficiently, and perfectly. Truth be told, I’ve always been a bit in awe of his pickup skills. Not because I want them, but they’re infallible. I’ve never had that knack with women. I’ve never needed it. I first kissed Rebecca Martin when I was sixteen. We were inseparable after that. Married two years later. I’ve never thought much about what I’d do with another woman.
Which is why my sudden urge for Nia is blindsiding.
I was hopeful when I sauntered into the office yesterday that the odd feelings would be behind me, that I wouldn’t look at her and immediately think about peeling away her clothes and bending her over my desk. Unfortunately, I was overly optimistic. She swayed in yesterday morning, wearing something she’s worn a dozen times: a crisp white blouse, a black skirt with a slit halfway up the back of her thighs, and stilettos with straps that wrap around her ankles. Suddenly, those shoes are screaming “fuck me!” In that moment, I really, really wanted to oblige…like I wanted to on Thursday night. And last night. Tonight isn’t looking much better.
Not long after Becca’s death, my desire for sex resurfaced. I didn’t want another woman, per se. Just relief. My hand has been getting a hell of a workout, but I’ve never had a body or a face to put with my imaginary bed partner. Now, I can’t get Nia out of my head.
This is a problem I didn’t foresee.
Bas and the waitress laughing bring me out of my reverie. She looks ready to fall for his flashy good looks and smooth charm. But the blonde flits away moments later, and my buddy watches her go with a sigh.
“You brought me here to be your wingman? You don’t need backup to get laid, and I have a mountain of work I could be doing.” I move to stand.
“Don’t leave. I brought you here because a) you can’t work all the time, b) you have to stop avoiding the fact that you need to move on from Becca, and c) like I said, there’s something you’ve got to see.”
“Something here? What?”
He shrugs, but his face is full of mischief.
“Oh, I get it now.” I shake my head. “You think I need to get laid.”
“I know you do. But not by just anyone. That’s not your style.” He leans back and peers at me. “First, are you sure there’s nothing going on between you and Nia?”
In my head doesn’t count. “We beat this dead horse the other night. She took pity on me because I hadn’t had a home-cooked meal in months and my apartment was a disaster. Stop reading more into it.”
“Ever think about why she’d bother? Why she’d care?”
Actually, I have. “Because she’s a nice person who likes to help others. She’s done some babysitting for Marcy when her husband was out of town and her older son had a soccer game. She also helped Don and his wife when they moved into a new place over Fourth of July weekend. I’m not looking for ulterior motives.”
Mostly because if I thought she was hot for me in return, I’d be way more tempted to throw caution to the wind, risk a lawsuit, and carry her off to my bed.
Then you’d have no assistant, dipshit, and where would you be?
“You should. I think she’s got a thing for you.”
I scoff. “I think you’re insane. I also think you should drop it.”
If he doesn’t, I’ll fixate on the possibilities. Nia is not only the first female who’s stirred my interest since Becca, but she’s the only one who’s ever made me feel like my blood is boiling. I don’t understand it; I’ve barely touched her.
“All right. Let’s sit back, enjoy the show, and see what tonight brings.”
Whatever he has planned will at least be more entertaining than his October profit and loss statements. Maybe this show, whatever it is, will help me keep my mind off the newest offer Colossus Investment Corporation submitted just before five o’clock on Friday…and the fact that today my son or daughter was supposed to have been born.
In March when the obstetrician gave Becca and me the baby’s due date, November fourth hadn’t sounded that far away. Before we even left the office, she was furiously making plans to hire a decorator for the nursery and interview potential nannies. We even discussed private schools.
I had no idea then how different my life would be now.
“Sure,” I say finally. It’s probably better—and healthier—than sitting in my penthouse alone, stewing about my worries and lamenting all I’ve lost.
The waitress returns with another sassy grin, a few drinks, and a veggie tray on the house. Over the next ten minutes, I see more women dressed suggestively bustle in and out of the curtain draped across the stage, some showing thigh or ass to appreciative audience members. Others outright wriggle, flirt, and tease.
“God, I love kittens,” mutters the forty-something guy behind me.
I lean in and peer at Bas. “Kittens?”
He smiles. “They help the show run smoothly.”
“What kind of show?”
Before Bas can answer, the room goes dim. A spotlight hits the stage. Then a man in a red velvet tux centers himself in the beam of light, mic in hand. “Welcome! Who’s ready for a swinging Saturday night?”
The crowd cheers raucously. Even Bas, who is never a joiner, claps and whistles.
“Who are our experienced guests? Let me hear you.”
My buddy surprises me by applauding even louder.
“You’ve been here before?”
“Yeah. Last weekend with one of my basketball buddies. One visit, and I knew I had to come back. We’ll see if you feel the same.”
On that cryptic note, he leans back in his chair and focuses on the stage, leaving me no choice but to do the same. I nervously bite into a stalk of celery and wonder why the hell I’m keyed up.
“A lot of returning friends here tonight,” the emcee praises. “Always good to see you. And who are our virgins? Raise your hand. Don’t be shy.”
When I sit quietly, Bas kicks me under the table. Grudgingly, I lift my arm above my head. The spotlight zips around the room and zeroes in on me before highlighting a few others, then returning to our host.
“Excellent. Let’s get your cherry popped. Who’s ready for a great show?”
If anything, the decibel level goes up again. People, especially men, are excited. My disquiet returns in earnest.
“Then get ready for the Bawdy Boudoir Burlesque Revue!”
Music fills the air—trombones and saxophones mostly—giving the old music a lively, sexy vibe. Then the curtains part, and an artificial redhead hustles onto the stage in a stark black pea coat, a top hat, and heels. Behind her, a dozen women all dressed in French maid costumes cluster around her. The live horn section goes silent before prerecorded music fills the speakers around the club. It’s whimsical and cheeky and suggestive as hell, especially when the redhead peels off her coat and tosses it aside, revealing a glitter-studded bra and thong, then proceeds to undress even more until she’s covered only by a pair of feather dusters and a couple of pasties.
“Burlesque?” I raise a brow across the table at Sebastian. “This is what you think I need to see?”
He nods, barely taking his eyes off the stage.
“Bas, I don’t need to gawk at half-naked women.”
“Keep watching. It’ll get better.”
In what way?
As soon as the nearly naked redhead flounces off stage, her pale ass swishing to the closing beats of the music, another horde of women race front and center, dressed in what I can only describe as Flamenco garb—ruffled skirts, low-cut necklines, and bright red lipstick. A Latina beauty shimmies her way on stage, dressed in a skimpier, drop-dead red costume. A shirtless beefcake follows in her wake. They dance together…if you can call it that. It looks like vertical, rhythmic sex to me.
I don’t want this woman, but I sure would like some action. Unfortunately, right now I can’t picture doing it with anyone except Nia.
After a striptease down to a G-string and some swinging tassels, the brunette and her partner tango out of sight, littering the floor with glitter and sequins.
The waitress slides by in silence and brings both Bas and me another drink as the Latin dancers are replaced by a busty blonde barmaid in a parody of traditional German garb. A corset thrusts her boobs up, and her skirt looks indecently short. Her white knee socks are a schoolgirl throwback and utterly at odds with her shiny black heels. She carries two big steins as she skips to a cluster of men in the corner whose tongues practically hang from their mouths. Instead of setting the big mugs down, she turns and bends, wriggling her backside and revealing a tiny thong. One bare cheek is painted with the word SPANK. The other reads ME. The middle-aged man closest to her happily complies.
A few minutes later, the barmaid is replaced by an Asian woman wearing a dress in transparent green vinyl. She stirs a giant pot like a mad scientist with a seemingly evil smile, then leads one of the male dancers clad in a business suit into her lair, tossing off her dress and tempting him with come-hither glances until he dives into her concoction and emerges wet and horny and nearly naked. Another sex-standing-up number ensues.
I still don’t know why Bas insisted I come. All the sexual reminders are only revving me up.
As the latest duo leaves the stage, I reach for a couple of bills in my wallet. “Thanks for an interesting evening, but I think I’m going to call an Uber and head home. It’s getting late, and I’m tired.”
“Tired?” he parrots. “It’s barely eleven o’clock on a Saturday night.”
I shrug. “I haven’t slept much.”
Try not at all. Instead of seeing Becca all around the apartment, I’m now imagining Nia. In my kitchen. In my bedroom. In my bed.
Why the hell can’t I think of anything except her?
“Give me until midnight. It will make sense by then.”
I’m not wavering. “I’m done.”
Suddenly, he shoots me a challenging grin. “That supplier you hate dealing with so much—what’s his name?”
“Bill Rhodes.”
“Right. When he comes into town for his next quarterly schmooze, I’ll volunteer as tribute and go golfing with him for you. I’ll even do the dinner bit.”
I sit. Now I’m tempted. I don’t like Bill Rhodes. I like golfing even less. Spending twelve hours with the man is pure torture. “You’re mean.”
“I’m helpful,” he corrects.
“If you were helpful, you would have volunteered to deal with Bill without coercing me to stay.”
“I’m doing this for you. You’ll thank me later.”
Before I can ask how that’s possible, another act trots on stage, this one a heavy thirty-something comedian. He’s a dead ringer for Jackie Gleason back in the day. Speaks like the actor, too. I only know that because when I was growing up, Diana loved to watch reruns of The Honeymooners. He’s funny. I relax, finding him easy to enjoy.
A half hour later, the emcee who had appeared earlier in his red velvet tux now flits onstage in a green corset, full makeup, and crazy heels. Gotta say, it looks damn awkward with his handlebar mustache.
Sebastian laughs, then gives him a considering stare. “I’m kind of impressed.”
“Don’t think you’d look that good in a corset?”
“I’d look better,” Bas scoffs. “But I sure as fuck couldn’t walk on those heels.”
The man has a point. Neither could I.
“Now, for our grand finale this evening… The moment you’ve all been waiting for. Let’s give a big BBB welcome to the one, the only, the most beautiful goddess of burlesque, Precious Noire!”
The man backs off stage, and the curtains part. An African-American woman wearing a white sequin dress that hugs her body and covers her from head-to-toe waltzes into the spotlight, hair secured demurely at her crown. A mask covers most of her face, except for a pair of red-painted lips that do crazy things to my libido.
As the music turns bawdy, she slinks forward, the slit in her costume revealing her thigh and teasing me with a glimpse of her hip. With one hand, she flicks open a huge white feather fan and covers the tempting valley of her cleavage before she shoots a coy glance over her shoulder. I look to see a man following her wearing a pair of tights…and nothing else. He’s hard as hell and makes no move to hide it.
The ridiculously shredded and ripped male dancer approaches her from behind and wraps his pale hands around her dark shoulders, caressing his way down her arms. She gives a shiver and a wriggle. Then he finds the slit in her skirt and flares it wide, revealing her sleek thighs and a small red glitter-studded brief beneath.
Holy shit, she’s sex on stilettos. I feel myself start to sweat.
When she lifts her knee in front of her then slowly opens it to her side, the man behind her takes her thigh in hand and lowers his mouth to her exposed neck. She tosses her head back, lips parted. My cock responds immediately.
This woman is sensual in a way I’ve never seen, not in person. Sure, movies and whatever. But somehow being in the same room with her makes it real. Her sexuality is tangible; I feel it.
In that moment, I would gladly have walked on stage and offered that man a million dollars to give her to me.
Instead, I shift in my chair and find myself barely breathing as I wait for what comes next. They don’t keep me hanging for long.
The guy spins her to face him, anchors her thigh above his hip, then bends her back over his supporting arm. She arches, face upside down for the audience, as she throws her arms wide in total trust.
As I watch him touch her, I’m jealous. Which makes no sense.
But that gnawing envy only grows when he uses his free hand to unfasten the front of her dress. Slowly, slowly, he exposes a glittering red-and-white bra with dangling loops and feathers, all designed to snare a man’s attention. I can’t stop looking at her as he caresses her dress off one shoulder and nibbles at her flawless, gleaming skin.
When he raises her to face him again, she backs away as if she’s taunting him, but he grabs her dress by the other shoulder and gives it a tug. The garment falls away from her body, giving me a spectacular view of her ass, her plump, pert cheeks almost totally exposed. Her waist looks incredibly small above her lush hips. And when he thrusts his hands in her hair and unpins it, the mass of dark curls tumbles halfway down her back…drawing my eyes to a shape that suddenly looks familiar.
I zip a shocked stare over at Bas. “Is that Nia?”
“You figured it out quick. I’m impressed. It took me until Thursday night to be sure that’s her.”
Thursday night? When he saw her at my house? “Why then? What made it click for you?”
“Her ass. When I saw it in those gray pants…” He shrugs. “It’s unmistakable.”
He’s right. I want to be furious at his observation, but how can I fault him for identifying the copious beauty of her taut, juicy backside when it’s so obvious?
“Stop looking at her,” I bark, even as I realize my demand is ridiculous.
The whole room is transfixed by Nia.
“Are you going to beat me up?” He glances around him. “Are you going to beat every other man up?”
I grit my teeth and try to hold in an explosive fury I can’t explain. It isn’t logical. First, she’s choosing to be here, exposing her body to whoever walks through the door. I don’t understand why, and I’ll demand to. Except…I have no right. She’s not my wife or my girlfriend. She doesn’t owe me any explanation about what she does when she’s not working for me.
I hate that.
Fists clenched, I stew and watch the son of a bitch dancing with her toss her dress across the stage and trail his palm down her body from her neck, over her cleavage and abdomen…then lower. I don’t want to know what part of her he’s touching now. I simply want to throttle him.
“You going to tell me again there’s nothing between you two?” Bas baits me.
“I’ve never touched her.”
“But you want to.”
I ignore the knowing smirk on his face. “Drop it.”
“You wanted to leave earlier.” He pushes away from the table. “If you’re still ready to get out, I’ll go, too.”
“Stay where you are.”
Bas has made his point, and I can’t fail to understand. Somehow, Nia has become more to me than an assistant.
What the fuck am I going to do about it?
As the slide of a trombone turns more suggestive and a sax further heats the mood, Nia faces the audience and lures the man on stage with a flirtatious roll of her body, even as her palms trace her curves from breast to thigh. She thrusts forward and arches back to the beat of the music in a smooth rocking of her hips, simulating sex. Ecstasy seemingly transforms her.
I want to put that expression on her face for real. I’m compelled to. I don’t think I’ll be complete until I know at least once what she looks like, sounds like, feels like as she’s coming for me.
This is stupid for so many reasons. Completely illogical. And I right now, I can’t bring myself to care.
Her partner sidles up behind her, takes her hips in his grasp, and rolls his body with hers. Jesus, they’re simulating sex so realistically. If they were naked, I’d believe he was actually palming her ass and sliding deep inside her.
I’m about to burst. I grab the arms of my chair and try to keep my shit together. I remind myself this is an act. None of it is real. But their bodies are so in synch, so fluid together that I can’t help the nasty suspicion Nia and this guy have fucked before.
The thought burns. I seethe. She isn’t mine. But I goddamn want to be the one inside her now.
Then the man reaches around her, knuckles brushing her collarbones before he spins her to face him again. He seems to cup her breasts in his big hands. Seconds later, he pulls her bra away and tosses it aside. Then he reaches farther south and removes a layer of embellishment from her briefs, shrinking her thong and exposing even more of that luscious ass.
With her back to the audience, Nia flares out both of her big white fans to cover the front of her body and turns to the small crowd once more. She seemingly looks right through me as she smiles, purses her lips, and teases everyone with what we can’t see.
I’m torn. On the one hand, I feel as if I’m going to explode if I don’t feast my eyes on what’s behind those feathery shields right now. On the other hand, if she flashes me, she flashes every other man with a stiff dick in the room. The thought makes me homicidal.
But Nia doesn’t know or care what I want, she merely goes on with her act, sliding her hips from side to side in a slow, sensual rhythm while her partner gyrates behind her, his lips all over her bare shoulders, as he takes hold of her wrist and slowly pulls the fan away from her breasts. They are ripe and real, symmetrical and smooth—and covered only by a pair of red pasties with matching dangling tassels.
She shimmies, gives the crowd a seductive brush across the swells with her fingertips, and closes her eyes in pure pleasure as her partner wrests the fan from her grip, then reaches for its twin in her other hand, which still sways over the mystery between her legs. The music ramps up. He seemingly thrusts into her from behind again, then yanks the frond of feathers away from her body and chucks it to the other side of the stage.
I gasp. Hold my breath. Stare. The tiny thong she’s wearing leaves her close to exposed. It’s antagonizing me. It’s arousing me. Shit, the elaborate mask on her face covers more than her pasties and her thong put together.
Something shifts inside me. I already know I’m never going to be the same. And Nia keeps dancing, taunting me as if she has no idea she’s utterly ruining me.
Holy fuck, how did I have absolutely no inkling for the last three years how sexy she is? I already understand I can’t unknow that now. And I’m beginning to suspect that tonight, I’m going to cross a line I may regret.
But I can’t stop myself, not when Nia’s every move seemingly goads me toward her.
As the music comes to a bumping, grinding halt, she turns one last time, hips rolling as she spins slowly, treating me to a final glimpse of her world-class ass before she strikes a pose. The music stops. The theater falls dark.
The entire place erupts in applause.
That’s my cue. I stand.
“You going to find her?” I hear Bas over the thunder of her ovation.
“You’re fucking right I am.”
As the house lights come up, he slides his keys across the table with a smile. “Take these. I’ll catch an Uber home.”
I scoop them up, then hesitate. “Am I making a mistake?”
“How can you be? Whatever happens next is far better than you sitting at home, drowning in guilt over a woman who’s long gone. And I’ve never seen you want something as much as you seem to crave Nia right now.”
It’s ugly, but he’s right.
Fuck it. I’m about to make emotional decision number six. And I don’t care.
Jaw clenched, I slip through a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY and hang in the shadows, acting as if I belong. No one calls me out or questions why I’m here. The scene is crowded and chaotic. Dancers surround me, half-dressed in their costumes or emerging from little rooms on either side of the narrow hall in street clothes.
Beside me, the German barmaid looks surprisingly girl-next-door now that she’s in a pair of jeans and a pink T-shirt with a kitten ironed on the front.
I turn to her. “Where’s Nia?”
The blonde looks surprised that I know Precious Noire’s real name. And she probably she sees my agitation. “Last door on the right.”
I don’t have the composure to speak words of thanks. Instead, I nod and charge down the hall toward what might be the stupidest mistake of my life.
I move through the sea of bodies, shrugging past the Latina dancer, a few of the French maids, then bump into my assistant’s handsy dance partner. I stare him down. He looks at me blankly. One thing I realize instantly? My gaydar is absolutely silent. He’s every bit as straight as I am.
As he hovers protectively around Nia’s dressing room, I snarl and shoulder my way past him.
He grabs my arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To see Nia. Let go.”
His eyes narrow. “Is she expecting you?”
No. In fact, I’m about to shock the hell out of her. I don’t know if I’ll be unwelcome, but I’m going to test Bas’s theory that she wants me. If he’s right…this could get messy really fast.
I shake him off, barrel inside the room, and shut the door. Behind me, I immediately hear the asshole jimmying the knob. I throw my weight against the portal to keep him out and lock it behind me.
Nia whirls to the sound of my intrusion, dressed in an inch of stage makeup, a silky white robe—and nothing else.
The moment she recognizes me, her mouth drops open. Shock spreads across her face. “E-Evan?”
“Nia.” I can’t find more words. I can’t do anything except stare and put one foot in front of the other. I certainly can’t defuse the anger and possessiveness I know I have no right to feel.
“What are you doing here?”
“That’s my question for you,” I growl. “Why the fuck are you taking your clothes off for strangers?”
She rears back and blinks at me. I don’t think she’s ever heard me curse. I keep the office professional, totally aboveboard. But I can’t manage decorum now when she’s breathing hard and her nipples are poking her thin robe.
She raises her chin and glares at me. Everything about her demeanor is like waving a red cape in front of a bull.
“It’s burlesque, not stripping,” she snaps. “I don’t do this for money. I do it because I enjoy dancing.”
“Yeah? You enjoy that asshole’s hands all over you, too?” Even though the logical side of my brain tells me I’m way out of line, I point at the door behind me and stalk closer to her. “You enjoy sex standing up with him?”
Her nostrils flare. Her mouth presses into a firm line. “Last time I checked, boss, I don’t have to justify my personal life to you.”
The fact she’s right only pisses me off more. “You do when your behavior reflects badly on Stratus Solutions.”
She shoots me a quelling glare. “You’ll have to do better than that. No one in the audience knows who I am. I never take off my mask and I never use my real name. Nothing I do on stage can taint your reputation.” Arms crossed over her chest, she saunters closer. “Why don’t you be honest and tell me what’s really bothering you? I know you’re not this mad simply because I was dressed a little risqué and gyrated on stage with Kyle?”
I debate the wisdom of blurting the truth. The rational part of my brain tells me to shut up, leave, and act on Monday like nothing happened tonight. Every other part of me knows that ship has sailed. My cock is especially eager to lay my cards on the table, grab Nia in my arms…and not worry about what happens next.
“You’re right. I’m mad because I think you’ve fucked him.”
She jerks as if I’ve slapped her. “Not that it’s any of your business, but we haven’t been together in almost two years. Thanks for letting me know you think I’m a whore.”
Hearing I was right royally pisses me off. Having her put words in my mouth kills what’s left of my patience, stripping away anything resembling professional civility.
I try not to squeeze her arms as I drag her close. “I never said that. Or thought it. I’m telling you that I can’t stand knowing he’s touched you. I don’t like the fact you still have anything to do with him. I don’t even understand why I’m here yelling and angry. I’m just…”
How the hell do I put the storm raging inside me into words? No clue, but I need to get it all out somehow or I’m going to explode.
“Jealous?” Soft surprise crosses her face.
Something about her confusion rips the confession from me. “Yes.”
“Because you…want me?”
I grit my teeth and try again to think through the wisdom of spilling all this to her. But I can’t keep it in. The softness of warm silk and hot woman under my palms almost undoes me. “Yes. I know I shouldn’t. I’ve spent forty-eight hours telling myself what I’m feeling is ridiculous and I can’t allow this—whatever it is—into our perfectly comfortable, efficient working relationship. But I can’t turn it off. I can’t fight it. I can’t pretend it doesn’t exist.”
“Is that what you’d rather do? Bury your head in the sand and not feel it?” She looks hurt.
Her expression makes me feel like an asshole. Nia always asks insightful questions. Why should now be different?
I shake my head. “For the first time in months—maybe years—I feel alive.”
Nia stares at me in silence, her gaze fused to mine. I swear I see a hundred thoughts whip through her head. For once, I can’t read a single one.
“Say something.” If she doesn’t soon, I don’t know what I’ll do. I don’t even know if I can be responsible for what happens next.
“Have you been drinking?”
“Not enough to drown out how much I want you.”
“In spite of your opinion about my sexual past? And what about our working relationship?”
She’s not wrong, but they’re barbed questions. I have to maneuver around them carefully. “Nothing matters to me except touching you right now.”
Before Nia can chew on my answer and remember all the reasons she should say no, I pull her against me. She gasps. The instant her soft body makes contact with my hard, aching cock, I groan and hold her tighter, cupping her face and lowering my mouth to her parted lips.