She gasped as his fingers gripped the cup of her bra and tugged it down, forcing her breast to pop free of both the bra and her shirt. "Reece!" she cried, but he squeezed her nipple between his fingers, and his name came out strangled, lost inside her breathy gasp of decadent pleasure.
"Why?" The word was as forceful as the way he grasped her waist and pulled her toward him, and the pressure of her body against his sent electric shocks of bone-deep longing racing through her veins.
"Why isn't he kissing you?" Reece growled, his thumb leaving her breast to stroke roughly over her lower lip. He pressed his hips forward, and she could feel the outline of his erection against her belly. "Why isn't he taking what's his?"
"Why aren't you?" The words came out as a strangled whisper, and she knew she was playing with fire. "You're not kissing me." She reached around him and cupped his ass with her palms, increasing the pressure of his cock against her. "You're not fucking me, either. You're not doing anything except teasing me."
She felt more than heard his low groan. It vibrated through him, a potent mix of pleasure and torment that culminated in a violent passion when his mouth closed roughly over hers, claiming her just as he said he would.
Just as she'd wanted him to, damn her.
The kiss was hot and hard, and she opened her mouth to his, losing herself to the taste of him. The sweep of his tongue as he explored her mouth. The nip of his teeth against her lips. This wasn't a kiss, it was a substitute for sex, and every cell in her body knew it. Her skin felt warm, her nipples hard as stones. And the ache between her thighs was so intense that it took a monumental effort to keep from straddling his leg and rubbing herself shamelessly against him simply to relieve the pressure.
He shifted his stance, stepping back and breaking the contact between them. She whimpered in protest, but soon his hands were on her hips, and he was slowly gathering up her skirt. She held her breath as slowly--so deliciously, painfully slowly--he revealed her bare thighs.
"Reece..."
"Hush," he ordered. "Take a step back."
She swallowed, but silently complied, then found herself trapped between the man and the desk.
"Lift your skirt," he demanded as her heart pounded in her chest. "All the way up to your waist. I want to see your panties."
"Maybe I'm not wearing any," she teased.
He chuckled, the sound low in his throat. "That's okay, too. But I hope you are. Plain white cotton. Bikini style. Crisp and bright against the brown of your tan."
"It's April." Her mouth was dry, and she swallowed. "I'm not very tan. And what makes you think that's what I'm wearing?"
"Not thinking," he said. "Hoping." His hands were on her legs, his thumbs positioned to stroke her soft inner thigh. A feather-light touch that was sending an electrical current up her thighs to pool at her core.
"Why?" She whispered the word, her eyes closed as her sex burned, throbbing with a violent need to be touched. To be taken.
"We were in ninth grade, and we were in the courtyard of your apartment complex, and Brent had snuck a bottle of his dad's bourbon into his backpack before he came over. Do you remember?"
She tilted her head, trying to conjure the memory. "We'd just finished final exams before Christmas break, and my mom was working late. So we were celebrating. And I'd never had bourbon before."
"Brent told you that you needed to learn to drink like a guy if you were going to hang with us."
"And I said that I could put away as much bourbon as either of you and still be a girl. Oh, my," she added. "I'd forgotten."
"I'm not surprised. You weighed about half of what Brent or I weighed, but you matched us drink for drink."
"Took me until my last year in college before I could stomach bourbon again."
"Not me," Reece said. "I think I loved it all the more after that night."
A slow warmth rose up Jenna's neck. "I'm scared to ask why," she admitted.
"You seriously don't know?"
She closed her eyes, trying to think back, but she had to shake her head. "I remember the drinking. And I remember telling my mom the next morning that we must have gotten some bad Tex-Mex at the dive at the end of the block. The rest is missing."
"Too bad we didn't have camera phones back then," he said. "I would have cherished those photos."
"Tell me," she demanded, laughing as she gave his shoulder a shove.
"Like I said, you matched us drink for drink. But then you got it into your head that you had to prove that you were a girl. So you stripped off your jeans and T-shirt and dove into the water."