His laugh tickled her ear and made her shiver all the more. “I meant, do you like it slow and steady, or hard and fast?” He let go of her hand and resumed rocking her against his thigh, and she worried she’d never get a chance to tell him how she liked it because she was going to come all over his leg like an animal in heat.
“Fast,” she gasped. “It’s got to be fast.”
He rocked her again. “Fast and rough?”
“I promise not to rough you up.”
“No deal. I want you to rough me up good, because I’m not stopping until you lose control—until you rake my ass with your fingernails, and sink your teeth into my shoulder to keep from screaming, ‘Faster, Michael, fuck me faster,’ at the top of your lungs. And when I finally let you come, it’s going to be brutal. You’ll take days to stop trembling. Are you ready for that?”
Ready? She was beyond ready. He’d just laid out what sounded like the best plan she’d heard in over a year. She tunneled her fingers into his hair and rained kisses along his jaw, his chin, closing in on his mouth. “I’m ready. Should I apologize
ahead of time for all the scratching and biting?”
“I don’t see why.” He kissed her quick and hard. “You’re not going to be sorry.”
Before she could wrap her head around that, he slid off the table and prepared to switch their positions. The die-hard therapist inside her woke with a start and applied the brakes. “Your back—I don’t want to undo all the good work we accomplished this afternoon. We want flexion, not extension. Here.” She hiked her skirt up and then turned and draped herself over the massage table.
And waited. The room went utterly silent, except for the flute music and the fountain. She craned her neck around and looked at him. He stared at her butt like a man in a trance. Shoot. Was this not a turn-on? Did she have a bunch of cellulite she didn’t know about? “Um…will this work for you?”
Her question seemed to yank him back to the here and now. His eyes lifted to hers. Then he stepped up behind her until she could feel the long, hard ridge of his erection against her backside. His quick, sharp, “Oorah,” filled her ears.
She bit her lip and pressed backward. “Really like my tattoo, huh?”
“I like every gorgeous inch of you.” He dragged her thong down until it dangled somewhere around her knees.
Those big, calloused hands grasped her hips and tugged her into position. She grabbed onto the massage table and scrambled for purchase on the slippery bamboo floor.
“Don’t lift me. You’ll hurt yourself. I can…” She arched her back and widened her stance, and although she couldn’t see him every soft pink part of her tingled under the heat of his gaze. Maybe she had regained her virginity after a year without sex, because just the anticipation of him filling her made her insides contract and release in the first thrilling warning signs of a complete, full-body meltdown. Please, let it happen.
He ran the head of his erection down her backside, and, oh God, that nudged her a little closer to heaven. She was there…right there…quivering on the brink—
The door swung open and banged against the wall. “Ms. Kincaid!” a shocked voice barked.
Behind her, Michael jerked as if he’d been shot. Despite the shock, he somehow thought to shift his body to shield her while he yanked her skirt down. Chloe pushed up and turned in time to see Sempler’s beet red face. “My office, Ms. Kincaid.” He spun on his heel and added, “Now.”
Chapter Five
Suffocating heat stormed up Chloe’s chest and into her cheeks. She stared at the door and whispered the first words that popped into her mind. “Holy shit. I’m so fired.”
Michael looked up from fastening his pants. “I’ll go talk to him. Explain—”
“Explain what?” She groaned and covered her furnace of a face with her hand. “You were delighted to discover your massage included a happy ending?”
“Chloe—”
“No.” She held up her hand and shook her head. “Nothing you can do will make this situation better. Please, just go.”
To make matters worse, her entire nervous system screamed with unfulfilled need. Every move introduced new forms of torture. She took a step toward the door and tripped over something tangled around her ankles. Michael caught her before she toppled like a bowling pin and pulled her back against his chest. “Take a deep breath and give yourself a second.”
She looked down past his crossed forearms locking her to him and saw her pink underwear dangling at her feet. Shit.
With as much dignity as she could muster, she bent over to remove them, inadvertently nudging her backside into his lap in the process. A pathetic little reminder of her almost orgasm shimmied through her at the contact and she barely resisted the urge to curl up into a fetal position and bawl. Instead she straightened, wadded the panties into her fist, and raised her head.
“You have to go,” she said, amazed out how steady her voice sounded and walked out of the room.
…
Where the hell was she? Michael knocked on Chloe’s door for the hundredth time and frowned at his watch. Eleven thirty and still no sign of her. And dammit, he was worried…and guilty. He shared equal responsibility for what had happened between them this afternoon, but their recklessness would cost her a job. It wouldn’t do much for his career either, if the manager of the clinic decided to report him, but since he hadn’t heard a peep out of Harding, he figured no complaint had been filed…yet. That particular sword still hung over his head, but there was nothing he could do to influence that situation. He didn’t know what, if anything, he could do to fix things for Chloe, but he had a deep-seated need to try…if he could ever figure out where she was.