Perfect Chaos

“At work?”

“Yes.”

“Behave,” she says on a laugh, wriggling free of my grip and circling my shoulders, crushing me down onto her.

“You need to tell that to my cock.”

Her body jerks from her chuckles, her legs coming up and wrapping around my lower back. “What time is it, anyway?”

That’s a good question. I reach across to my phone on the side and look at the screen. “Motherfucker.”

“What?”

“It’s eight o’clock.”

“No. It can’t be. I never sleep past six.”

My panic ebbs for a beat. “Really?” I ask, and she nods as I stare into her eyes. “Me either,” I whisper. Should we read more into this? The mammoth sleep. The peaceful, mammoth sleep in each other’s arms. No. I don’t have time right now. “Fuck.”

Our bodies are untangled in a split second, and we both scramble up off the bed, Lainey to one side, me to the other. And then we look at each other’s naked bodies for a few distracting seconds before remembering, in unison, what the fucking time is. Our wide eyes meet and we snap ourselves out of our daydreaming. “Shower,” I blurt, running at full pelt into the bathroom and turning it on. No sooner have I dived in and gasped my shock at the temperature of the water, Lainey is in behind me, shoving me to the side.

“Holy fuck,” she cries, splattering herself to the tiles. “It’s freezing.” Her arms come around her body and hug her torso tight, the position squishing her boobs up, her soppy hair splaying the flesh. My mind instantly puts my cock between the two perfect globes of pink flesh.

Christ. I grab the shampoo, restraining myself, and turn away as I squeeze some into my palm. “I haven’t arrived at work later than eight in seven years,” I tell her, dropping the bottle and scrubbing my hands through my hair briefly before rinsing. “You are a bad influence, Lainey Summer.”

“I’ve never been late, either, you know,” she retorts, pushing her hands into my back to shift me aside. “I’m new in the job.”

I sweep my hair back as I turn, finding her under the spray massaging her hair into a huge ball of suds. “You’ve certainly impressed,” I muse, my eyes dropping down her wonderfully wet skin, past her neck, onto her chest . . . her boobs. I lick my lips. And her hands shift and start soaping her amazing breasts. My soft cock springs to life, forcing me to reach to my groin and pin it to my thigh before it gets any ideas and tries to guide me to somewhere that I haven’t got time to be. I haven’t got time, damn it. I look up at Lainey. She’s holding back a mischievous grin. “Pack it in,” I warn.

“What?” She bats her lashes, the teasing little sod.

I pull in some calming air and exit the shower, leaving her behind chuckling to herself. All I can think of while I’m at the sink moisturizing, cleaning my teeth, and fixing my hair is that there is an insanely hot woman in my shower, who blows my mind on every level, and I have to go to fucking work. Or do I? I stand back from my reflection, half-heartedly checking my hair, while I consider that. In bed. All day. Just get back in the shower and maul her. The primal growl that bubbles up from my tortured soul snaps me from my reckless thoughts. No. There’s no way the absence of both Lainey and me will go unnoticed. I have to be sensible.

I turn away from the mirror—and the little devil on my shoulder trying to convince me that it’s a good idea to stay home—planning what suit I’m wearing today as I go. But something stops me. Lainey. Soaking-wet Lainey. Soaking-wet Lainey with a towel hanging in her hand. I could cry. I’m a grown fucking man, and I could be reduced to tears at any moment. This is fucking awful. I’ve never wanted anything so badly, and knowing I can’t have it at this particular moment in time is killing me. Don’t touch. Don’t touch. Do not touch her.

My arm shoots out and grabs her, hauling her into my chest. “Oh,” she yelps, startled, but I swallow her shock whole as soon as my mouth covers her. “Tyler.” She half demands half moans around my kiss. “I can’t be late.”

I groan and rip myself away, scowling at her. “Then stop brandishing this.” I wave a deranged hand up and down her wet body. Her wet, naked body. “Arh,” I yell and stomp past her, heading for my wardrobe. My shirt buttons are fastened clumsily, my black suit pulled on roughly while I mutter under my breath, and my feet shoved into my socks and shoes.

“I have no clothes.” Lainey’s panicked voice hits me from behind, and I turn to find her bollock-naked in the doorway.