Page 74 of Pack Choice
But the more I strain to listen, the more my ears seem to fill with the sound of Colt’s breath – ragged. The more his scent penetrates into my nose – masculine. The more I can feel the heat of his body next to mine. It leaves me a little light-headed. A little light-headed and rubbing my thighs together.
Colt glances at me and whispers under his breath: “You’re meant to be taking notes.”
I nod and his eyes return to the screen.
“We can arrange some lines to take on all of that, Dean,” he says to the older, grumpy-looking man on the center of the screen, his voice making me jump a little in my seat. “What’s the advice been from legal?”
Under the table, his thigh brushes against mine, and I fidget on my seat, my skin warming with the contact and a pulse beginning to pound between my legs.
I need some fresh air. I need to clear my head of all these dirty thoughts. I need to concentrate.
I force the tip of my pen to the surface of my notepad but I can’t make it move. The words being spoken are all junk. My skin feels hot and slick swims in my underwear.
I am a mess.
“Dean, I understand,” Colten says beside me. “You don’t want the company coming across as WET.” I peek at him but he keeps his eyes locked on the screen. “Molly, we need to make a note of that.” When I fail to move, he lifts the pad from my hands along with the pen and writes the word in big letters, circling it twice.
The big boss on the screen starts on a long tirade which has Colt nodding along as he hands me back the pad. Only his hand stays with it, resting on my thigh under the tabletop. My breath hitches.
I should bat his hand away. I should stand up and walk out.
I don’t want to do either of those things. I want his hand right there, his fingers finding bare skin below the hem of my skirt and stroking against me gently, drawing circles with his fingertips.
“Yes, I agree, we ought to investigate. Test if it is coming across as wet. We’ll get right on that, won’t we, Molly?”
His hand slides beneath the fabric of my skirt and automatically I part my legs for him, letting him glide his hand slowly up the inside of my thigh, where the skin turns softer, more sensitive, where his action sends electricity racing everywhere, that pulse beating with an urgency between my legs.
I bite on my lip, gripping my pen. His fingers trail higher, achingly so, and a shiver races down my spine to greet him. I open my legs wider, urging him onwards and he halts, his fingers mere millimeters from my underwear.
“So, Dean, just checking here, we have permission to proceed?”
Dean mutters something I don’t hear and Colt pinches my thigh. “Molly?” he whispers from the side of his mouth.
I nod my head ever so slightly. Because. Yes, god, yes, I want him to proceed.
His hand on the tabletop, the one visible for everyone to see, the one that isn’t halfway up my skirt, flexes and relaxes, and then he’s stroking the gusset of my panties, one way, then the other, over my mound, tracing the join of my lips through the fabric.
I bite even harder on my lip, finding it impossible to keep my eyes open, finding it impossible not to sink low in my chair.
I cling to the armrest with my free hand, my knuckles almost white.
“Absolutely, we’ve been keen to work on this for a long time, Dean. Keen to plunge right in,” Colt says, and I can hear the slight strain in his voice, as he dips his fingers under the silk of my panties and touches me.
It’s more than electric. I can’t help but let out a needy sigh which Colt covers with a loud coughing fit, reaching to take a sip of water from his glass.
Dean doesn’t seem to notice, nor do any of his underlings on this call. Their faces swoop in and out of focus, blurring, as Colt swims a finger through my folds, ringing my clit with the lightest of touches, making me jolt in my seat, and then finding my entrance and ringing that too. Round and round and round, making my legs shake under the table.
I grip the pen even tighter, scribbling in large letters: PLEASE.
He peers down at the note, and then his finger’s inside me. Sliding deeper and deeper, brushing against my spot and sending stars shattering across my vision.
A needy whimper escapes my mouth and the next thing I know, Colt smashes his hand across the table, sending his water glass and mine flying, water spilling everywhere.
“Ahhh, shit, look what I’ve done. We’re absolutely dripping wet here, Dean. I’m sorry, we’re going to have to cut the call short.”
He slams his fist down on the teleconference equipment and the screen and the audio die in a fizz of sparks.
“So wet!” he grunts, sinking off his chair and onto his knees and dragging my chair around so he’s kneeling between my open thighs. “So fucking wet.”
