Page 69 of The Pucking Arrangement

The counter is at her back. No escape. Not that she seems to want one.

“I just…” She wets her lips.

Fucking mistake. Now I can’t stop looking at her mouth.

“Thought maybe I should?—”

“Should what,solnyshko?”

The endearment is rough and possessive, laced with a dark intent.

Her breath catches just like in the gym. Just like in every filthy dream I’ve had since. Her pulse flutters at the base of her throat.

Fast.

Unsteady.

For me.

“Be…professional?” she offers weakly. It’s supposed to be a joke, but her voice wobbles when I plant my hands on the counter, caging her in.

“Is that what you want?” I lean in. Not touching. But so close she can feel my heat, my breath stirring the loose strands of hair at her temple. “To be professional?”

She shifts, and the movement almost presses her chest against mine. The thin material of her sports bra does nothing to hide how her body responds.

“I—” She swallows hard, her fingers curling around the counter’s edge, bracing herself.

I let my eyes drag over her, slow and lingering. Her throat. Her collarbone. The soft swell of her breasts, the way they rise and fall too quickly.

When I meet her gaze again, her pupils are blown wide.

I could have her.

Right now.

One more inch, one more push?—

And fuck it.

I lean in, my eyes locked on hers. My thumb slides over her cheekbone, stroking her soft skin.

Her eyes pop.

I run my thumb lower, along her jaw, down to her chin. When her breath catches, I wait. Hold it there. Then murmur?—

“Ask for it.”

She knows what I want. Doesn’t pretend or hesitate.

“Kiss me.” She shudders, her eyes pleading.

Fucking hell.

I brush my lips against hers. Barely. Just a whisper of contact.

She exhales sharply, her breath hot against my skin, her lips parting, waiting for me, inviting me.

But I don’t take it. Not yet.

---