Page 51 of I'm Your Guy
It’s all over but the crying, but I’m having too much fun to give up so easily. I slide to the side, pressing my back against his stainless-steel refrigerator, and grab his thick wrist in a last-ditch effort to avoid capture.
“Oh no, you don’t.” He smirks. Then he performs the kind of ninja maneuver they probably teach at athlete school. He gathers both my hands in one smooth motion and pins them over my head.
I stop breathing, because all my favorite sexual fantasies start off just like this.
Then? He plunges his hand into my pocket to grab the linen square. Which means his thick fingers are fishing around at my inner thigh. So naturally I take a stuttering breath, as all my blood rushes south.
Lord forgive me, but all the inappropriate thoughts I’ve ever had about him come rushing back at once, and my hips move of their own volition to press against him.
His hand goes instantly still, his eyes flying to mine.
I expect him to recoil. But that’s not what happens. Instead, he stares at me for a long beat, while his chest saws in and out with ragged breathing. His eyes go darker than I’ve ever seen them, and his gaze drops to my mouth.
I’m still pressed against the refrigerator, basically losing my mind. I have a bit of a kink for being manhandled, so my misbehaving dick is liking this way too much. He can almost certainly tell.
“Fuck,” he whispers.
“Okay,” I volunteer, because I’m not in control of my faculties.
Somehow, we’re caught up in one of those tractor beams from a sci-fi movie, moving closer without knowing how or why.
Then his mouth is on mine. Or maybe mine is on his. I don’t even know who moves first. But I finally know how soft his beard is, and how great his hard body feels against mine.
The first kiss is just a taste. Like dipping your toe in the water and finding it warmer and more welcoming than you’d expect.
But then he kisses me again, more urgently. My hands are still trapped overhead, so all I can do to show my approval is to part my lips against his firm ones. Our teeth click, and he grunts. The abs of glory pin me against the fridge, and his tongue sweeps into my mouth.
My body goes slack and pliant, because I can be very obedient in the right hands. And his are the right hands. One of them is holding me in place, while the other one clamps onto my hip.
I suck on his tongue, and he makes the sexiest noise I’ve ever heard in my life—it’s a cross between a groan and a growl. I drink that noise down, and then I tilt my head again, tasting him from another delicious angle, wondering if I have enough wiggle room to grind against him. His thick shaft presses against my hip, and if I could just get a hand free I could—
His phone rings on the kitchen counter. Loudly.
Tommaso yanks himself back as if he’s just received an electric shock. Before I can even blink, he’s released my wrists and moved halfway across the room.
All I can do for a moment is stand there and gape at him. What just happened? And why did it have to stop?
“Fuck,” he says, raising both hands to his eyes. “I’m sorry. Fuck.”
“Um…” I look down at my khakis, clearly tented by my erection, as my sludgy mind wonders exactly what he’s apologizing for.
That was just about the most exciting minute of the year.
I open my mouth to say so, but his expression stops me cold. His gaze is laser-beamed on my wrists, and I realize I’m rubbing them absently. There’s a bit of redness where he’d gripped me. It’s no big deal, but his face is such a thunderstorm that I can’t speak.
His phone is howling like a banshee. He finally grabs it and checks the screen.
“I’ve got to take this,” he says icily. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
He wants me to leave?
My face burns as I numbly collect my wits—and my fabric samples. Tommaso is already on the phone in the living room as I shove the samples into my bag with shaking hands.
It’s just dawning on me that I kissed my best client and the only person who’s keeping me out of bankruptcy. And he’s upset about it now.
God, I really am the worst businessman ever born.
