Page 73 of Ellie Hayes and the Himbos
He groans, backing off just enough to separate from my tush. “It was a really good nap!”
“You don’t say?” I roll over to face him. His expression is appropriately abashed, chin tucked and eyes wide. But he’s trying not to smile.
“It’s a really good boob, too,” he says, losing his fight and grinning. “Since you asked.”
“Thank you. We were enjoying your attention.”
For a few heartbeats, we stay on our sides, watching one another. I wonder how much time we have before he has to coach. But I can’t seem to look away from him long enough to check my watch.
Deciding that the activities of the past however long it hasbeen means we’re open to casual intimate contact, I press a hand to his chest. He holds it against him, taking in a long breath and exhaling slowly, eyes still locked on mine. His heartbeat is steady, but each throb punches against my palm.
My voice is thick as I say, “Hi, there.”
“Hi. You sleep like the dead.”
“Anything worth doing is worth doing right.”
His brow arches, and his hand releases mine, closing over my hip, his thumb pressing meaningfully. I arch into the contact. “Is that so?”
“It’s kind of my thing.”
“Ah. Good point,” he says, and tugs me closer. I drape a leg over his side, and he grabs onto it, hand smoothing up the length of my thigh to the leg of my shorts.
A faint twinge of anxiety goes off in my chest. As much as I’d like to linger in this lazy, sexy limbo, I’m too much Regular Life Ellie to tolerate its ambiguity. “What are we doing?”
He laughs. “Hayes, I swear, if you’re trying to label this out of some kind of need for control—”
“I need parameters! I’m not in a good decision-making period.” I squeeze my leg over his hip in emphasis, but it undermines my point; hugging onto him in any capacity feels like a really good call.
The hand on my thigh maneuvers to my rear. I was right. Excellent choice on my part.
“How ’bout we talk changes to our workplace dynamic?” I offer. “Or at least some discussion of discretion? Because I’m pretty sure that the flaunting of a physical relationship in the business place counts as harassment.”
“You plan to flaunt this?” He sounds surprised.
“I’d be happy to, but I’m pretty set on a ‘no grab-ass in the gym’ rule. But there might be some slipups on my part,” I admit, and tighten my hold over his hip.
“I didn’t think you’d dispense with the physical stuff so freely.”
“You—” I smile. “You thought about what I’d be like in this scenario?”
“Here, sure.” His smile is wry. “But nevernapping.”
“Ah! So you thought I’d dispense with sex freely enough, but not snuggling?”
“I don’t think there’s a safe way for me to answer that question.”
I laugh. “At least there is no power dynamic to worry about. You aretechnicallymy boss, but I can’t say that I consider you an authority figure.”
“Ouch.”
“You’re still an authority on many things, which is very sexy,” I assure him. Using the leg I have hooked over his hip, I lever myself onto his waist, nudging him to his back. He grips the backs of my thighs.
He cups my butt. “How does the ‘no grab-ass’ policy apply to surfaces around the facility?”
I open my mouth, a comment about workplace safety and cleanliness standards at the ready, and he silences me with a finger to my parted lips.
“Before you get in some smartass line, it’s not just that. I want—”
