Mo groaned, low and feral, tilting my head so he could kiss me from another angle. Deeper, harder, more intense. One hand grasped the back of my hair, holding me in place, while the other moved down my throat to my chest. As easy as breathing, he slipped his hand inside the bodice of my dress and squeezed my breast. He wasn’t gentle, and I was still so sensitive, I let out an involuntary yelp.
Undeterred, he pinched my nipple hard, and I cried out in both pain and pleasure. There was a heaviness between my legs I hadn’t felt in a long time. It made me feel reckless, like I might lift up my skirt and invite Moses to come inside.
He released my hair to skate his free hand down my side, coming dangerously close to the new bulge in my abdomen. Though I was swept up in the heat pulsing between us, I remained aware enough to redirect him to my ass. He easily went, digging his fingers into my flesh.
When his mouth dragged down my jaw and throat, warming my skin, I breathed deep, catching a nose full of fake flowers. I inhaled again. The scent was so strong, my stomach twisted in revulsion.
I shoved at him with all the force I could muster, sending him stumbling back into the door. He swiped his lips with the back of his hand and scowled at me. “What the fuck, Michaela?” He was breathless, eyes cloudy, chest heaving.
“You smell like cheap perfume. Don’t touch me.” My boob was halfway out of my dress, so I straightened it and wiped my own mouth.
He ran a hand over his face, looking so utterly confused and tormented, I almost faltered. But the scent of the women who’d been all over him was burned in my nose, and I left that bathroom with a tiny bit of pride intact.
Mo caught my wrist in the hallway. “You’re leaving? After all that, you’re just walking out?”
One look at his mussed Superman hair, which hadn’t been caused by me, and the answer was clear. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
He sighed, still holding onto me. “I’m high and stupid, but I don’t want you to leave. Don’t we need to talk?”
“Not while you’re high and stupid and reeking of other women. You’re free to do what you want, but that doesn’t mean I want it rubbed in my face…quite literally.”
My hand dropped when he suddenly released it. For a second, a flash of pain and sadness crossed Mo’s otherwise stoic face. It happened so fast, I wondered if I’d imagined it.
“This was a mistake,” he murmured, echoing my own words.
He allowed me to push past him, and Mac met me at the elevator. I wondered if Mo had texted him to tell him to escort me down to my car, and the thought made my chest tighten.
“Are you all right, ma’am?”
“No, I’m not.” I inhaled a deep, shuddering breath and smiled at Mac. “I guess you’re used to this kind of behavior.”
His face betrayed nothing, and neither did his words. “I’m not at liberty to discuss Mr. Aronson’s personal life.”
“Even with his wife?”
Mac didn’t even blink. “No, not even then. In the same way anything you say to me is private.”
I pointed to my belly. “This?”
He nodded. “Yes, that would be private.”
“Is it that obvious? I thought this tent dress hid it well.”
Mac appeared vastly uncomfortable with this line of conversation, but he answered me anyway. “When my wife was pregnant, she often rested her hands on her stomach without even being aware she was doing so.”
That had me looking down. And yep, my hands were resting on my tiny bump. “I guess I gave myself away.”
“Only to me. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
The elevator doors slid open, and I let out a dry laugh. “Oh, Craig. You’re funny. I have so damn much to worry about.”