"Oh yeah? What's that suppose to mean?" I smirk and roll my eyes. But inside, my heart starts beating faster. It’s like I want to believe him and fall into his arms, you know? I want to see where this is going.
"You're so hot you've raised the temperature of this room at least 20 degrees."
"Is that the best you've got?" I roll my eyes and sigh again. But I’m smiling. Ear to ear.
"What's going on between you and Liam?"
Oh. My. God.
The question catches me off guard. "What do you mean?"
"Come on. Don't think I haven't noticed. What are the secret meetings about?"
"It's nothing. Honestly."
“Sex?” he asks me.
I bristle. “Listen, to me, Carter Andrews,” I say, taking a step forward and placing my index finger on his lips. “If I didn’t tell that Communist bitch Tina about my sex life, what makes you think I’m going to tell you?”
“Because you’re going to be having sex with me in about five minutes,” he says, his eyes boring down into me.
He thinks I can’t hold out five minutes?
OK, babe, I know I can hold out for three. I think we should try and do six.
He's standing so close to me that his cologne is clouding my judgment. The smell is classically masculine, and confident, with a hint of spice and the airiness of the Mediterranean—Sandalwood, juniper, sea salt, and citrus. In other words, it's the kind of scent that makes you want to lean right in. I look at the computer on his desk and notice his open browser. I touch his arm softly and say, "You still use Internet Explorer?"
"Observant. Do you always look on people's computers?"
"I guess that means you like things nice and slow, huh?"
"Sometimes, I'd say so." He leans in and drags his fingertips across my cheek. Our eyes are locked on each other and my pulse quickens.
"I suppose," I say, "But sometimes you need to think outside of the box."
"I'd like to think inside of your box," he says with a smile and reaches over to run his fingers through my hair. His touch sends a shiver down my spine and it takes all of my resolve to not quiver under his strong fingertips. He senses this and drags his fingers gently across my lips. His hands then move down to my shoulders. He traces my collarbone and slowly runs his fingers down my bare arms. My entire body is tingling. I hook one of my own fingers on his belt loop and pull him into me. He gives me an intense gaze and everything that happened before—with Tina Ling and Liam Jeffries—melts away. The only thing that matters is this moment. Carter's touch sends a jolt of electricity through my core that makes me want to stay with him in this office forever. I reach up and rake my fingernails through his hair, and he reciprocates by placing his hand on my head. Suddenly, he grabs a chunk of my hair and pulls it back, exposing my neck and mouth, and he leans in, pressing his lips against mine. Our mouths open as we take each other in, our tongues pressed up against each other, twisting and flexing. I pull back slightly and nibble on his bottom lip. “More,” I say, "Don't stop." Without a word, he grabs my hips and leans into me as he presses his mouth against mine for a second time. I feel an unconscious moan escape from my body as he brings his hands down to my breasts, cupping them in his palms. As he gives them a squeeze, my mind is reeling.
I look at the clock real quick before surrendering myself to him.
Four minutes and thirty seconds.
I hate it when he’s right.
75
Vivian
The moment our lips touch, there’s no stopping us. Call it attraction, call it lust—as far as I’m concerned, you can call it whatever you want. The name doesn’t matter. What matters is that Carter’s hands are on my waist and he’s pulling me in, his body pressed against mine. Parting my lips, I slide my tongue inside his mouth; he mimics me and does the same, our tongues dancing around one another in lustful circles.
How did I get to this point? First Liam, and now Carter. I should be a bridge between them, the one to fix
the mess they pulled New York into. But here I am, kissing Carter days after letting Liam inside my hotel room. Instead of solving anything, it seems that I’m just making matters worse. And the worst part? I don’t care. Not now… It’s impossible. How can I worry when I’m kissing a man such as Carter, when I’m feeling his eager mouth pressed tight against my own?
While we kiss, I press one hand against his chest and let it fall, my fingers sliding down his crisp white shirt until they meet his belt. I open my hand, trying to reach for the bulging in his pants, but moving in a blur, he grabs me by the wrist, stopping me. His grip is strong, and even though I fight against it, I just can’t free myself. Pulling back from our kiss, he looks me in the eye, a hard edge to his gaze.
“On your knees,” he tells me, the tone of his voice leaving no room for doubts or hesitation. Of course, that only makes me want to fight back harder. Who does he think he is to be bossing me around? I’m a Senator, not his secretary. Not one to take orders lightly, I try and grab his cock again.
Holding my wrist even harder, he takes his other hand to my hair, and tangling his fingers in it, yanks hard, forcing me to throw my head back; then leaning into me, he presses his lips against my ear. “I said, on your knees,” he repeats, carefully intoning each word. This time, there really is no maneuvering around his commands. Before I can even respond, my knees grow weak and I go down in front of him, my heart drumming so fast it might just explode.