With a huff designed to tell him just what she thought about him sitting there presiding over her, ordering her, she slowly parted her legs.
And no, she didn’t wear her best set of underwear just for him. She’d worn them for her. To make herself feel pretty and special and desirable. Yes, they were black lace. Yes, they were a little sheer, with roses twining all over them. Yes, they were damp, despite her annoyance with the bastard across from her.
His eyes danced between her legs and smoldered.
Her body was clearly a traitor because she felt the rush of wetness soak her lace panties. There was nothing there to absorb all that moisture and she could literally feel the beads of her arousal trickling down, probably soaking her dress.
“Tell me, Office Baby,” Blaze ground out. “Do you find me attractive?”
Good lord. Did he really need her to stroke his already massive ego?
“I- if I didn’t, why would I have asked you to do this?”
“Beggars can’t be choosers?”
“Thanks. Thanks a lot.”
He winked at her before he tumbled to his knees in front of her, his hands splayed out on the seat at either side of her thighs. Another shiver ripped up her spine at the feral gleam in his eyes.
“I wanted to know if you found me attractive before. Because I promise you, there is nothing like seeing a man prostrate on his knees before you, knowing that you have all the power.”
CHAPTER 6
Blaze
Oh yeah. She wants me. She doesn’t want to, but she can’t help herself. This is fucking happening.
Blaze thought for a second that she was going to refuse. To make her job that much harder and the chase that much merrier, by asking him to take her home. Game. On. Instead, she changed her mind and god, seeing her sitting there, her dress riding up her creamy thighs, her black lace panties peeking out, nearly slayed him. He wasn’t the hunter at the moment. He was the damn prey.
Not that she knew it.
Which made it all that much hotter.
There wasn’t anything like a woman who didn’t understand her own beauty.
Blaze admitted that he was pretty damn shocked at the fact she wasn’t wearing granny panties. He’d always pegged her as a cotton underwear type of person and if she wasn’t, that she would have gone out and purchased a set just to taunt him.
But no. She was sitting there in her black lace number and his heart proceeded to tear out of his chest. Which was nothing compared to what his dick was currently doing. His balls felt like they’d just been kicked up into his stomach with a steel toed boot. In a good way. If something like that could be good because fisting- booting- that kind of thing wasn’t exactly his kink.
“I planned to take us to dinner, but I’m going to feast on you like you’re my last meal,” he growled. Nothing like breaking her in gently.
Colette made an astonished noise in the back of her throat. “W-why?” she gasped.
“Are you kidding me? You’re going to ask me, a man, why I’d like to taste your pussy?”
“I- I mean- thank god I showered.”
He didn’t look up at her. He figured if he did and she saw the naked lust in his eyes, she’d get up and bolt, high speeds or not. She was so fucking adorable. And he could already see beneath those panties he wanted to tear off her and shove in his pocket for safekeeping, that she was totally shaved.
Lord, never mind the boot, it felt like he’d just been shot in the nuts.
Because yeah. They hurt that bad.
“If you hadn’t, I’m sure you’d taste just as sweet.” He brought his face closer, swept his hands to her thighs, and inhaled deeply, scenting her beautiful feminine musk. It was barely there, honeyed and as sweet as the rest of her. She obviously wasn’t lying about just having showered.
She made a strangled noise in the back of her throat before he spread her thighs and kissed his way over them. She gasped and went rigid under his hands, the muscles of her thighs straining and vibrating. When he nipped the tender flesh of her inner thigh, she nearly shot through the roof.
“Jesus, god,” she muttered, her hands sweeping down automatically to grip at his hair.
And yeah. He didn’t give a fuck that it was going to be completely messed up in a five-star restaurant where a meal cost more than what most people made in a month. Or that he’d undoubtedly smell like her pussy.
“Not Jesus and not God,” he muttered darkly, a hint of self-deprecating humor in his tone. “Just Blaze. Or, Office Master. Or if you must, Sex God. Because I suppose I definitely am that.”
“You’re an idiot,” she ground out, but her lips wavered, a direct giveaway that she’d thought about him with some kind of title that wasn’t his name.