Page 17 of Power Play
Chapter ten
Lacey
The elevator doors open at the lobby and a group of rowdy girls falls into it, clearly already having had a good night. I notice one of the girls wearing a sash and tiara. Ah. Bachelorette party.
Ward backs into the corner and I move to stand just in front of him. The girls are loud and swaying, and I'm honestly nervous one of my tit's going to get elbowed.
Before the doors have a chance to close, a strong hand wraps around my hip, pulling me backwards. I let loose a quiet 'oof' after landing on a hard chest. It's just like at the pub, but it's more dominating, more insistent. But just as I make contact, one of the drunk girls in front of me stumbles into where I had been standing and catches herself on the elevator wall.
Pressed against his hard body, I feel Ward's body heat through our layers of clothing, and a warm breath on my neck.
“You look stunning tonight,” Ward whispers, his breath warm against my neck, my back now fully pressed against his front. Is that...? Is that him I feel on my lower back? Or he has his phone in his front pocket? "You look beautiful every day, but I like seeing you in something other than scrubs. You seem... more relaxed."
His low voice, centimeters from my ear, talking low and intimate sends heat flooding my core. I suppress a whimper.
I don't know what to say. Is he making a move on me? I know there's no no-fraternization policy with the team. I read all the onboarding paperwork. But we work together on a daily basis.
The two halves of my brain war with each other. One side wants to see what this older, clearly experienced, sexy silver fox can do to me. The other side screams to keep it professional and uncomplicated.
The push and pull leave me immobile.
The hand on my hip circles it even more, gripping it tightly, and the mental image of both of his large hands gripping my hips like that, and what he could do with me, start giving the lust-fueled half of my brain more ammunition.
The logical part of my brain surges forward. I don't do relationships. I don't want to complicate my professional relationship with this man. I'm sure he doesn't either. But with teams that travel together on the road for extended periods, I'm sure this happens all the time. It's hard maintaining relationships when you're on the road half of the year, and training twelve-hour days even when you're home. I'm sure the single professionals, working together, bunking together, eating together, give in to their urges all the time. It doesn't have to mean anything serious.
I want one night. One incredible night to be his, and then tomorrow, when we pass each other in the hallway, we'll give each other knowing smiles, light blushes but go back to being co-workers.
One side of my brain wins. And it's clearly the one run by my hormones.
This time, I do whimper. My body presses back against him. I press my lower back into him to see if I can feel if it's him or his phone, and my head tilts back to rest on his chest.
He lets out a low growl. I almost can't hear it above the drunk girls talking and giggling.
"Tell me to stop," he growls against my ear.
But I don't. I want him. I want everything he brings to the table. At work he's intense, focused, driven, and in control. It makes me wonder what he brings to the bedroom. A part of me feels guilty sleeping with someone other than Ben, but I'm not going down that road with him. I love him. He's a good man, and he was my first everything, but I'm not dating, and I told him that. He's slept with other people. I've slept with other people. I don't owe him anything.
And if tonight is just one night with a gorgeous, older, incredible man?
I'm not hurting anyone.
So, I don't respond.
The hand on my hip wraps around to my stomach, his fingers spreading wide. His one hand goes from the bottom of my breasts to the top of my pants. His head drops and he kisses where my neck meets my shoulder.
I close my eyes and breathe deep, suppressing a shudder. He kisses up my neck and when he reaches the spot behind my ear, I whimper.
Warmth pools at my center, and I feel my panties dampen. My nipples pebble beneath my shirt. He must notice because he lets out a low groan of appreciation.
The elevator stutters to a stop and the gaggle of drunk girls get off on the fourth floor.
"Have a nice night!" One of them shouts and waves at us as she's dragged down the hall by her stumbling friends.
I smile. Drunk girls are so nice.
When the doors close again, I have the opportunity to move away. But I don't. The heat, the pull between us that started when he wrapped his arm around me in the brewery, increases even more in the silenceand solitude of the empty elevator car. Ward grinds his hard length against my back and tugs me against him even harder.
I tiny gasp escapes my lips as I realize that's not his phone. He's hard. For me.
