Page 24 of Mile High Coach

“Then why are you leaning toward me?” I ask, knowing my voice sounds rough and not caring. I see the way her lashes flutter, the flush on her face. How much she likes the sound of my voice.

I’m used to women melting for me. But watching Lovie Waters come undone—it’s something else entirely.

She opens her mouth, but says nothing, her eyes flicking up to mine from under her lashes, and I don’t waste any more time.

When our bodies crash together, her hunger is evident in the way she tugs at the bottom of my shirt, skating her hands up and under the fabric, over my stomach, which tightens under her fingers.

“Fuck,” I mutter, already picking her up and setting her on the desk. It doesn’t stop her hands, which tighten on the hem of my shirt and yank, pulling it up and over my head.

I break the kiss with her, and my body moves on its own, dropping down to my knees. It feels like the victory pose after scoring a tight goal, being on this level and looking up to find Lovie staring down at me, her hair wild, her eyes blinking, her hands gripping the edge of the desk like she might leave this reality without the tether.

“What are you?—”

I don’t waste another second. Instead, I lean forward and press my lips against her damp panties, making it perfectly clear what I intend to do.

Chapter 11

Lovie

When Harrison’s mouth makes contact with me through the thin fabric, I let out a too-loud, and slightly embarrassing noise, my entire body shivering from the touch.

Guys have gone down on me before, of course. For my birthday, or on Valentine’s Day, and always as some sort of reward or treat. Five minutes of care from them before we got to the real main event.

But when Harrison hooks a finger around my panties, drawing them roughly to the side and pressing his mouth fully to me, it’s not with the hesitancy of a favor. It’s with a certain hunger, a desperate, lunging swoop of his tongue through me, that catches in the bottom of my throat and tells me immediately that this is going to last a lot longer than five minutes.

It tells me that Harrison Clark isn’t going to complain about his chin getting tired, or how he’s so hard he just wants to be inside me.

What it tells me is that Harrison is about to make me come like this, spread open on my desk.

Distantly, in the back of my mind, I know that this is the last thing I should be doing. Logical Lovie screams with a hoarsevoice about HR and policies and public indecency. Logical Lovie reminds me how much we need this job.

But Lovie on the desk can only focus on the feeling of Harrison’s large palms on the inside of my thighs, the scrape of his stubble against the ultra-sensitive skin there. The way his noises vibrate against my clit, sending a current of pleasure straight to the core of me, shivers rippling out over my body like aftershocks.

This shouldn’t be happening, but it’s like I’ve returned to that night on the airplane, out of my mind with something I’ve never experienced before.

This must be what people are talking about when they use the word lust. When characters in romance books crash into one another, slamming through a hotel room and breaking everything in their wake.

I’ve never understood it before.

Harrison drives forward into me, his hands dropping, his thumb still looped around my panties to keep them out of the way as he cups my ass and holds me in place. I whimper, then clap a hand over my own mouth, knowing I should check to make sure the door is locked, that the windows are fully covered, but I’m too far gone to care.

And my orgasm is right on the horizon, hovering just out of reach, a tremor threatening to take hold.

Harrison seems to sense this, because he draws his tongue the full length of me, then returns to my clit, murmuring so the low tenor of his voice vibrates through me.

“Fuck, Lovie, you taste so good,” he says, punctuating each word with a swipe of his tongue. “I want you to come in my mouth, baby.”

It’s like I can’t keep a breath inside me, and my legs start to shake around him. The feeling hovers somewhere between unbelievably pleasurable and almost unbearable. Then Harrisonslides his hand up, plants his thumb on my clit, and drops his chin, delving his tongue inside of me.

The sound that comes out of me is muffled into my hand, but still loud, broken and twisted, a gasp of surprise and pleasure that morphs into a long, low moan as I tighten and finally, finally release.

Harrison smiles through it, holding onto my hips as I try to squirm away from him, the feeling too much to share with someone else. I realize why I usually do this in private—Harrison is taking me in, seeing me laid out for him, completely undone.

I relax back onto the desk, trying to catch my breath, and Harrison peppers the insides of my thighs with gentle kisses as I try to figure out what the hell we’re going to do now.

Half of me wants to sit up, pull him into me, and slide his belt off, already remembering that night on the plane.

The other half of me wants to get up and sanitize this desk, pretend like this whole thing never happened.

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