“Either you want this or you don’t,” I whisper. “Make up your mind now, Keane. I already have.”
I crush her mouth with a kiss, my fingers still sticky with her arousal, and she accepts my tongue with hers.
“Hurry it up in there! I gotta piss!” A man yells as he pounds on the door.
Keane’s body jolts with a quick shock and then her lips curve against mine, the two of us sharing a smirk, and then she reaches for my belt.
“I hate that I want this,” she says.
“I know.”
“This can’t happen again.” She lets my belt buckle go before working my zipper.
“I know.” I reach into my wallet, grabbing a condom, and I rip the packet between my teeth, holding her wanton gaze prisoner. I won’t tell her this—now or ever—but screwing a girl who hates my fucking guts feels like it could be at the top of a sexual bucket list I never knew I had.
The man outside knocks again.
“Hurry,” she says, widening her legs and hooking her hands at my hips. “He’s going to bust down that door if we make him wait much longer.”
Sheathing my cock, I smirk. “He’s going to have to find an alley to piss in. I’m taking my time. Going to enjoy the hell out of this.”
Aerin rolls her eyes. “And that’s exactly the kind of thing I’d expect you to say.”
I steal a kiss before gripping my cock and teasing it along her slit. She moans, her hands digging into my shoulders as she waits for me to slip the length of it inside of her, slow inch by slow inch.
“Does it ever get tiring? Making the world revolve around you?” she asks.
I find my rhythm a moment later and slide my hand up her back as she steadies herself on the counter. Running my fingers up her spine, I stop at the nape of her neck to gather a fistful of her silky dark hair. Giving it a gentle tug until her head leans back against the mirror, I watch as she bites her full bottom lip, and I swear it makes me even harder.
“Never,” I say. “Because I don’t. And it doesn’t.”
“So arrogant.” She shuts me up this time, her mouth warm and her tongue hot, and her soft hands cupping the sides of my neck.
The man outside the door pounds once more. Harder.
“You need to finish.” The sensation of her breath against my ear helps the situation along, though I’d bask in this all night if I could. So tight, so wet, so laced with sexual animosity. If only we could take this back to my place.
But she’s right.
“What about you?” I ask, gripping the outside of her thighs as I piston into her, growing closer.
“Don’t worry about me … just … finish.” She eyes the door.
I’ve never, in my entire adult life, heard those words uttered from the lips of a beautiful woman before.
“Are you worried he’s going to bust in here and see us?” I laugh. She doesn’t. Guess I hit the nail on the head. “I thought you didn’t care what people thought?”
“I don’t.” Her hips buck against mine, like she’s trying to speed things along. “I just don’t want to be on display like … this.”
“And I do?” If she keeps talking, it’s only going to delay things—which is fine with me. I could stay in this all night. But she’s the one so concerned about the guy on the other side of the door.
“You know what I mean,” she says, face winced and lips bitten. Before she gets a chance to take another verbal swing at me, her body seizes and her mouth gapes and her eyes roll to the back of her head. For a moment, I think she’s convulsing, but nope.
This is Aerin Keane having an orgasm.
And it wasn’t that it wasn’t hot as fuck to witness … it’s just that it came out of nowhere. She was mid-correcting me and then bam.
Her eyes widen. I think it’s safe to say she’s as shocked as I am, and that’s really saying something.
The swell below tells me I’m next, and a few quick thrusts later and I’m finished.
She doesn’t make eye contact when I’m done, only slides off the counter, cleans herself up with as much finesse as a lady who’s just been fucked in a bar bathroom can muster, slips into her panties, and waits by the door, her back to me.
“Keane,” I say, wanting to make sure she’s okay.
“It’s fine. I’m fine. I just—I should go.”
I wash my hands, zip my pants and grab the door for us, only before I have a chance to yank it open, she places her hand on mine.
“This can’t happen again,” she says, as if I needed a reminder.
There are dozens of reasons why it shouldn’t, why it won’t, and why it can’t. Most of which? I’m her boss. But something tells me that’s the least of her worries.