I glance at the clock. Five minutes until four.
“No,” I say.
“Then I’d pull your panties down and leave them around your thighs,” he says. “Hopefully no one else opens the door, because you’re really putting on a show. You even wiggle a little, the way you do when you’re too horny to be patient.”
He pauses again, like he’s trying to regain control.
“When you want me and can’t remember how to ask for it.”
I meet his eyes, and I can’t stop the next question.
“Does it work?”
“I’d make you do it,” he says, softly. “I’d use my fingers in you, and then stay still while you rock back and forth. I’d make sure you feel good and watch you work yourself up until you can’t think about anything else.”
Fuck. What the fuck am I doing? Fuck.
“And it would be so fucking hot, watching you,” he goes on. His voice is shaking. I might be dying. “Knowing that anyone could come in and find you, fucking yourself on my hand, forgetting to be embarrassed. You’d be breathing hard. Swearing the way you do to keep yourself from begging me.”
Now I’m staring at his hands, imagining. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. If I do either of those things I’m in serious danger of actually dragging him into the stairwell. What the hell was I thinking?
“So I’d get on my knees, put my tongue on your clit, and you’d use me to make yourself come.”
My eyes are closed and I’m counting my breaths, because this was the worst idea I’ve ever had. The worst, hottest, worst idea, to ask this of Silas. For him to go along with it. I’m so fucking turned on right now that there might be a wet spot on the back of my skirt, and I cannot go into this meeting that way.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
“Then you’d pull your skirt down and get back to work,” he says, and there’s the cocky little smile, the light in his eyes, as if we didn’t just do… that.
I take a deep and somewhat shaky breath.
“So, now I have to go to a meeting with my ex and my boss,” I say.
“Shit,” Silas says. “Right.”
“Yeah.”
Then we look at each other. He starts laughing first but I join in, pinching the bridge of my nose between my fingers because honestly, what the fuck?
“It was distracting,” I say.
“Jesus,” he mutters through laughter. Then: “Come over tonight?”
“Yes. Definitely yes,” I say. “God. Okay. I can do this.”
I stand and he starts to lean in, but I hold up both hands to ward me off.
“You cannot touch me right now,” I tell him, and something feral sparkles in his eyes.
“Good luck, Kat,” he tells me.
“Thank you.”
He glances at the door again, then back at me.
“Do you mind leaving first?” he asks. “I could use a few minutes.”
Yes. Yes, he definitely could. I nod and step away, walking all the way around the other end of my desk because I. Cannot. Touch him.
“Kat,” he says, right before I leave, and when I turn, he blows me a kiss.