wiped sweat from her brow. The last two hours had been a blur of bar patrons, strobe lights and that ever-present thump of bass. Every song seemed designed to heighten her arousal. The smell of sex permeated the air, hanging there, mixing with the thin haze of smoke so that every breath teased and tortured.
Cut the crap. You can’t smell sex. But she could. It was dark and sensual, slightly spicy and full of promise. She wanted to roll around in it, coat herself in those unspoken promises and find a way to unlock the Orgasm Express. The idea of riding that train brought back thoughts of Griff, naked, face buried between her thighs. Yeah, he’d definitely drive that train. “Choo-choo,” she whispered. A small smile crooked one corner of her mouth, and she absently traced her upper lip with her tongue.
“You okay, lady?” The guy across the bar eyed her speculatively. “Looks like you could use some company. I’ll volunteer.”
“Keith, take over.” Griff’s voice cut through the din. “My office, Bailey. Now.” He turned and stalked away, shoving through the swinging door that led to the back.
“Shit.” Bailey ripped off her apron and tossed it in the bin beneath the counter.
Keith glanced her way as he pulled a beer. “Sounds like you’re in for it.”
“Sounds like that’s the case.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks.” She moved toward the door to the back and, with every step, fought the urge to run. But would she run toward Griff or away from him? The answer drove her through the doorway and down the hall. Her breath came in hard draws and harsh exhales. The silk of her bra rubbed her nipples, tightening them until they hurt. Every sway of her hips rubbed the seam of her jeans against her clit until she struggled not to detour to the supply closet and try, one more time, to make herself come.
“Inside,” Griff called out, his deep voice reeling her in.
The smell of sex, thick and decadent, assaulted her the instant she slipped through the door.
“Close it.”
No request, just the command. She kicked the heavy door shut with her heel. Despite her wariness, something about Griff’s tone encouraged her to purr and rub against his body. The images that followed were definitely not anywhere within the sphere of employer-employee relations.
“Lock it.”
Her chin jerked up. “What?”
He moved around his desk and towered over her. “I said, ‘Lock it.’”
She turned and laid a hand on the lock, stunned when he stepped in close and settled his hands on her hips.
He leaned down and rested his lips against her ear. “Now, Bailey.”
“I—”
“Now.” The deep growl in his voice said there would be no arguing, only submission.
Involuntarily arching her back, she ground against his cock. Shock froze her mid-grind.
“That’s what I thought was going on.” His hands tightened and pulled her closer.
Bailey groaned at the sensation, at the heat pouring off his body. And that smell. Sex. Pure sex. Stronger now than ever. Her mind raced through every raw fantasy that involved her boss. She wanted him, craved his nearness, coveted his touch. “Griff, please.”
“Please what, baby?” His deep voice rumbled through her back.
“I need...” She shuddered, unwilling to place her well-being in his hands. Trust was hard, mistrust easy. Life had proven that she shouldn’t, couldn’t, count on anyone but herself.
Strong hands distracted her. Fingers feathered over her hips and up, under her shirt, across her belly. Flat palms pressed her against him. His erection pressed into the seam of her ass.
Familiar distrust crowded her desire and whispered, “Why now and never before?”
Before she could ask, he bent over her, sealing his chest to her back and placing his lips behind her ear. “You can’t get off, can you?” he whispered.
The question burned through the haze of lust. “I... What?”
“I didn’t stutter, Bailey.”
Absolute confusion dragged the truth out before she could edit her response. “How did you know?”
“Let’s just say we have a few things in common.”
Those clearly capable hands roamed over her body, clouding her mind again. “Like what?”
“Later.” His breath washed over her, hot and suggestive. “What would you say if I told you I could cure your little problem?”
Tilting her head, she gave him better access to her neck. “I wouldn’t call it little.”
“You’d be right.” He nipped her ear.
Distrust tagged doubt, sending it into the arena and forcing her to ask, “Why are you interested in me now?”
“Why not now?” When she didn’t immediately answer, he placed a kiss against her neck. “You interested?”
She wanted this. Wanted him. Badly. He was worth the cost, whatever it was. Shaken, she managed a stilted nod.
“Let’s get those pants off.”
With one hand, she fumbled with the button on her jeans. Large hands settled over hers and Griff took over. The slow rip of the zipper mingled with their heavy breathing to create an erotic chorus. The sinfully delicious smell of sex wafted around them, intimate and suggestive.
Griff knelt behind her, fingertips skating over bare skin as he inched her jeans down. “A thong. I approve.” He punctuated his comment by nipping her bared ass cheek.
Bailey gripped the door handle so hard her knuckles were white. “What’s going on, Griff?”
“So many questions.” Another nip. “I’m going to show you what you’re capable of, beautiful.”
“Something’s wrong with me.” Even to her own ears, her whispered admission sounded ashamed.
“There’s nothing wrong with you that a night with me won’t fix.”
She tensed. “Arrogant much?”
“It’s not arrogance if I can deliver.” He traced an incredibly tactile tongue up the back of her thigh and licked the line between upper thigh and butt cheek. “And I can.”
What the hell. Worst case scenario, I end up with fodder for my fantasies. Best case? He lives up to his own hype. She shelved her misgivings for the moment and toed her sneakers off at the urging of his hands, making way for him to pull her jeans free. The silk thong slipped away from her vulva with silent promise. Air moved over bared skin. Pleas hung in the back of her throat.
“Patience.” Leather creaked. Something
