“What?” he throws at me, leaning back in his seat and stretching, mischief twinkling in his eyes.
I know that look.
I know it so well.
We share a stare before he straightens, pushes out of his seat, walks to the door, locks it, and beckons me to the bathroom.
He keeps the door open for me before he follows me inside and locks this one as well.
“You think locking the doors won’t raise a suspicion?”
“I locked the doors because I don’t want to get interrupted.”
I laugh.
He chuckles, amused, his arms lopping around my waist and pulling me into his chest.
His back presses into the door when my arms snake around his neck.
We hesitate, and maybe it’s not even a hesitation.
He just tilts his head to kiss me, and I wait for him to make the first move, inhaling his scent while getting reacquainted with him.
Two weeks is a long time when living life in the fast lane.
I slept, ate, and worked while he traveled from one continent to another.
The few moments of waiting make my heart race. Tiny beads of sweat form under my hair at the back of my neck.
As if he knows, he looks down.
Despite making sure that my bra doesn’t peek from under my jacket, he can still see it––a scalloped lace navy bra with tiny red bows.
It cost me a fortune, and I felt guilty that I splurged despite telling myself I could afford it.
And also, as if he knows, he brings his fingers to my three flat buttons and undoes my suit jacket.
The garment falls open, showcasing my bra entirely. Embroidered sheer fabric, satin bows, lace trimming.
He brushes my cups, flicking my nipples. Even without his teasing, I feel a swirl of tingles between my legs.
It’s been two weeks, and only now do I realize how much I missed his touch and smoldering eyes.
He slides his touch inside my cups and takes my breasts into his hands, smoothly using his thumbs to unfasten the front of my bra.
The cups fall away so he can drape his hands over my chest, unhindered, before sliding my jacket and my bra off.
He drops them on the edge of the sink and unfastens my pants.
Without a word, he undresses me.
When I’m completely naked, he takes me in his arms.
“I missed you, baby…” he says, and I turn into a blaze.
Despite the coldness of his shirt, metallic buckle, and his pants against my skin, I feel hot.
His shirt rustles against my chest, his buckle scratches my skin, and his pants rub against my legs. He lowers his lips to mine, and my wetness trickles the second we begin to kiss.