Page 32 of The Vegas Rerun
"I just don’t like feeling trapped," I say finally. It’s hardly an inspired thought, but it’s reasonable and pretty run of the mill.
It’s not exactly a lie, but it’s not the truth either. His gaze lingers on my eyes then my mouth, like he’s weighing up whether or not to believe me, but then he takes another sip of his drink and lets it go. I’m not sure whether he actually believes me or whether he has just decided it’s a bit too personal to push an employee into saying more.
"Fair enough," he says, ending the conversation.
He leans back against the arm of the couch behind him, looking far too relaxed for how fast my heart is beating. As we study each other’s faces. The air between us is charged and I’m sure I’m not the only one who can feel it. It is almost alive with need and lust.
I drain the rest of my drink and set the empty glass down on the coffee table with a quiet clink, trying to act normal. Joshua watches me, then he pushes himself off the arm of the couch and he too empties his drink and puts his glass down and then he shuffles closer to me, closing the gap between us. He has one leg up on the couch, bent at the knee and his shin is suddenly touching my thigh and God the touch of him is driving me crazy.
"You know," he says, his voice lower now. "I think you underestimate yourself."
I swallow loudly.
"What do you mean?" I say, barely making any sound.
"You’re always so worried about making mistakes, but you’re good at what you do, Molly. Better than you give yourself credit for."
I blink up at him, thrown by the sincerity in his voice. I’m about to tell him it’s just something I do but that I’m working on giving myself a break.
"I …" I start, but whatever I was about to say disappears from my mind and my mouth leaving me speechless and breathless when he reaches out, his fingers brushing a stray curl away from my cheek. My breath catches, and I’m even more aware of howthe air between us is so charged, humming with something I don’t know how to name.
"Joshua," I say, about to tell him that nothing can happen between us.
I realize it’s the first time I’ve used his first name since starting work here, and it should probably feel weird or awkward, but it feels natural and it occurs to me that actually, calling him Mr Redfern is more awkward. It also feels more intimate though which is the opposite to what I was going for.
I try to gather my thoughts, but it’s hard with Joshua so close to me, his eyes locked on mine, and before I can think of anything to say or do, before I can remind myself of all the reasons why this is a bad idea, his mouth is on mine, and I know right then I’ve lost the battle.
Joshua’s kiss is slow and deliberate, like he’s testing the waters, waiting to see if I will pull away from him. But I don’t. I can’t.
Heat floods through me, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as he deepens the kiss, his other hand slipping to my waist. His touch is firm, steady, grounding me in the moment. And just like last time, his kiss awakens a hunger inside of me, a hunger that must be fed or I will go crazy.
When we finally break apart, my lips feel swollen, and my breath is uneven. Joshua’s eyes are darker now, locked onto mine, searching. I should say something. I should move back a bit. But I don’t.
Instead, I stay exactly where I am, waiting to see what happens next.
CHAPTER 22
MOLLY
His lips pressagainst mine again, and I let myself sink into him. The heat between us is undeniable, the air thick with tension and something even deeper, something unspoken. My fingers find the buttons of his shirt, and I work them open one by one, my breath coming fast, my hands slightly unsteady.
As the fabric slides from his shoulders, my gaze catches on his bare skin. His chest is just as I remember it, solid, warm, and defined, the kind of chest that makes you want to reach out and touch it. But my eyes are pulled away from his chest when I realize that something is missing. My stomach clenches as my eyes dart to the top of his arm where his tattoo used to be.
It’s gone and for a second, I feel like I might cry, but I swallow away the lump in my throat and the moment for crying passes. I’m still shocked to see that the small, reckless star tattoo that we had gotten together three years ago in Vegas is gone. It’s just been erased like I’ve been erased from Joshua’s memory. It’s like for him, it never happened.
A dull ache pulses in my chest, but I shove it down. I shouldn’t care. It’s not like it meant anything to him, and it’s notlike me choosing to keep mine means anything about him either. But still, the absence of it stings.
I swallow hard and force myself to keep moving, pushing the thought away as I trail my fingers across his skin, feeling the heat beneath them. I kiss him again, more urgently now, like I can block out the pang of disappointment with the press of my lips.
Joshua doesn’t hesitate to help me forget, even though he doesn’t know that’s the mission, His hands move to the buttons of my blouse, and he slips them open with practiced ease. The fabric falls from my shoulders, and I shake it free and toss it on the ground.
He stands up, bringing me to my feet with him. He pulls me closer to him, pressing my body against his. I can feel his hard cock pressing against me and his tongue probes into my mouth. His fingers are all over me, skimming my waist, my spine, and then he reaches the zipper of my skirt. It slides down smoothly, the material pooling at my feet, leaving me in just my lace panties and heels. I kick the skirt away, well aware that I’m likely to trip over it given the chance.
Johsua’s hand moves between our bodies and his fingers brush the inside of my thigh, and I shiver, my breath catching as he teases me, his touch slow and deliberate. My pulse thrums, anticipation coiling tight inside me. When he finally presses against me, his touch firm and knowing, my head tilts back, a quiet gasp slipping from my lips.
He doesn’t push my panties aside – instead, he touches me through the material. I expect the panties to dilute the feelings of his touch, but actually, they magnify them. The lace is just right to add friction to his touch and my clit pulses as he rubs me.
He watches me, his eyes dark and hungry, his fingers moving in slow, torturous circles. My body tenses, the pleasure building, winding me tighter and tighter. His slow touch has me on thebrink of coming, but he won’t up the pace, won’t up the pressure and let me go over. I try pressing myself against his hand, but he moves it away altogether and I gasp and grab his wrist, guiding him back into place. I’ve learned my lesson though and I resist the urge to writhe against his teasing fingers.
