So was she, not that she wanted to admit it, but she couldn’t talk about making love with him without thinking about how it felt and that just made her want to do it.
“I’m serious,” he said. “I kissed you and then what? Where in the office were we?”
“The sofa.”
He backed them to the bed and sat her next to him.
“How did I kiss you? Show me.”
“We’re not doing this,” she said, face so hot it hurt.
“We are,” he assured her, leaning forward to brush his mouth against hers. “Show me.”
She was just annoyed enough to do it. She came up on a knee so she was taller than he was, put her hand behind his head the way he’d held hers and kissed him with firm purpose.
A jolt went through him at her aggression, but he wasn’t the type to submit. He adjusted their position and took control of the kiss, as commanding as he’d been that day, consuming her as if it hadn’t been just this morning when they’d last made love.
When she was pliant and leaning into him, he lifted his head. “Then what?”
“You pulled me into your lap and we kept kissing.”
He did, hand stroking her bare thigh where the skirt of her cocktail dress dropped away in loose pleats. “What were you wearing?”
“Pants. We’d been on the bridge that morning and it was windy. I didn’t want to risk a skirt.”
“The black pair that shows off your ass really well?”
“Cesar!”
“They do.” He shrugged. “On top?”
“The sheer green over the light green cami.”
“Nice. You never wore a bra with that.”
“Because the cami had one built in.”
“I could still see your nipples when they were hard. Did I tear it?”
“No!”
“Did I suck your nipples through it? I always wanted to.”
Wicked, sexy flutters contracted her abdomen.
“I did,” he said with a lusty narrowing of his gaze before he looked down at the lined bodice of her indigo dress. One strong arm went behind her back, arching her up as his head went down.
“Cesar!” She grappled for his shoulders, bottom firmly imprinted with the thickness of his prodding erection as he opened his mouth on her breast and bit lightly at her nipple through the fabric.
She writhed as he aroused her very deliberately, just aggressive enough to produce sharp sensations through the material.
“Did you do that then?” he asked, looking at where she rubbed her thighs together in restless friction, trying to ease the ache between.
She swallowed. “Maybe.”
“Did I open your zipper and help you find relief?”
She shook her head, wondering where she got the nerve to talk about this, but the weeks of lovemaking they’d already enjoyed had created this safe place between them, where they could be raw and brazen and intimate. She could see he was enjoying this in his own wicked, kinky way and she wanted him to. Being the only one with the memory of that day was hard for her, too.