Page 80 of Nothing to No One

Roxie’s joy encircled them. Yes, there was pressure and negativity and all kinds of drama piling up around them, but they were in Crimson. A place she was learning was the happiest on earth.

“What happened to the music?” she asked though it was still playing. “Doesn’t it go any louder in here?”

“Now, that’s my language,” Roxie said, whirling on the spot. “Casanova! Where is our cellphone?”

TWENTY-SEVEN

WHENEVER HER EYES flitted to Struan’s, he was already watching. They were in a VIP pod in Crimson with other people. Yes, people… with eyes. Although the walls were opaque, flaunting what they were, what they had, even in this elite group, wouldn’t be smart. There was such a thing as tempting fate. It wouldn’t pay to get too used to access to each other.

Roxie and Zairn sat so close not a sliver of light broke between them. They whispered to each other and there was the occasional maybe-too-familiar caress, but they couldn’t feel the same as she did in that moment. No, they had each other, owned each other; frustration and isolation clawed at her.

She rose. “Going to the restroom.”

Yes, it was true. She needed a few silent moments without the pressure of desire squeezing her chest. All she wanted to do was climb into his lap, seek his lips, to feel his hands on her body. Alcohol and desire tended to overrule restraint, and she was close to her limit.

“Get it together,” she whispered to herself in the cubicle and went out thrusting her shoulders back.

In the mirror, as she washed her hands, she practiced conveying determination in her gaze. This was easy, no big deal, just exist in the same space as him without mounting him. Easy. Easy? God, she didn’t even believe it in her own head.

Staying in the bathroom forever wasn’t an option. Talk about drawing attention to herself. And she didn’t want to worry anyone by cowering until the sun rose.

Get back out there, Bambi, come on. Few alternatives lay before her, so she dried her hands and exited. Difficult as it may be to check herself, she didn’t want to go home if that meant going back to Roxie’s and spending another night without him. She could do it. She could go back to that pod. Listen to conversation. Contribute. Be a regular member of the group. Socialize. Friendship.

On the cusp of admitting defeat, someone appeared in the hallway up ahead: Struan. He went through the door nearest him with a sort of semi-side nod that indicated she should follow. Is that what he meant? Was she getting the signal or about to embarrass herself?

Not a restroom. The door said nothing and was just a little off the latch. Was it security protected? Could that mean privacy? She tiptoed in, ready to apologize for being wrong. Suddenly, she was yanked aside and planted against the wall. His hand propelled the door back into its frame, then glided over to rest just by her crown, his forearm supporting his weight.

“You’ve got to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” she asked, breathing segueing to a pant.

“I can’t quit looking at you. How the fuck am I supposed to leave you alone at work when you’re all I think about? I’m obsessed. Addicted. For all the crap I give Roman about his issues, I’m no fucking better; I need to get my own shit together.”

When her hands skimmed up his torso, he gritted his teeth, hissing like flames traveled in their wake.

“I don’t want you to get over it. I want you obsessed. I need you addicted to me because I’m addicted to you. You, Struan, I need you, beau.”

Snatching her head in both hands, he stooped to slam his mouth on hers.

There in the shadows, isolation gifted privacy. The music hid each mew and whine seeping from her throat. She couldn’tcontrol the sounds, the writhing, the need. Yearning drove her, owned her, in desperation for a satisfaction only available in him.

He shunted her hips along the wall and up on to a hard surface. That was better. Being higher she could tilt her pelvis and push the want burning at the apex of her thighs against the solid ridge that complemented it.

Her hands on his shirt weren’t enough to break the fever. Even in spite of the tantalizing wall of his muscular chest, she wanted more than what they’d had before. His fingers combed through her hair, tightening in a brief fist at the back of her neck to angle her head higher, then they went across her shoulders and down to her breasts. He wanted more too. His pain was hers.

The flash of scorching flesh on hers betrayed he’d rid her of the straps of her dress now pooled somewhere around her belly.

She could do the same, open his shirt and kiss his body until they were stolen from each other again. It always ended that way. Each moment they shared was fleeting. They weren’t living together and weren’t allowed to play, or even engage, at work. Where else would she get the chance to…?

The decision made itself.

Undoing his belt, she was quick to open his pants. A rumble of primal want escaped him, though she didn’t know if it was appreciation or reluctance. She needed to feel him. Too many times he’d been pulled away. It wasn’t right. This was hers, he was hers. She coiled her fingers around his shaft slowly, one by one. Tightening each preceding digit as the next took up its place. Arching her body, undulating herself, she used the head of his cock to stimulate herself through her panties.

It wasn’t enough.

That heat was meant for her, that desire, that broad evidence of what they were had a home it never visited. He snatched her head again, tighter this time; his mouth barely left hers even as he clenched his jaw.

“Don’t tease me,” he hissed.

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