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I let the door slam shut behind me, and then I stalk toward her.
She pauses her typing with her fingers resting on the keys as her eyes fall to mine. She looks…unaffected as she sits there typing while I’m a mass of exposed nerves ready to burst. I hear music playing, and I’m pretty sure it’s coming from her laptop.
“Welcome back,” she says.
“Who was that man?” I demand as I take my suit jacket off and toss it beside the television that’s currently turned off.
Her brows pinch together. “An old friend. Nobody.”
“Better be nobody,” I say gruffly.
She slams the lid of her laptop shut a little aggressively, and the music shuts off. We’re enveloped in silence. “And why better it be nobody, Mr. Nash?” Her voice is an accusation I’m not sure I like, and she pushes to her feet.
I don’t answer. I can’t.
I can’t say that it’s because she’s mine. She isn’t. I don’t even know if I want her to be. It’s too complicated, yet I can’t seem to force myself to stay away. I can’t seem to make myself stop wanting her with everything inside.
“What do you want from me?” She whispers the question, but somehow it sounds like she’s begging.
When my voice comes out, it’s gruff but firm and direct. “I want to fuck you so hard you forget every man’s name but mine.”
Her eyes darken. I’ve got her right where I want her. She wants this, too.
“I hate you,” she reminds me. “Why would I possibly consent to that?”
I can’t help a smirk at her words. It hurts when she says she hates me, but I also don’t think she really means it.
We’ve been conditioned to hate each other for two decades.
Does she drive me up the wall? Absolutely.
Do I want to shut that mouth up with my dick? You bet.
Do I want to tie her hands above her head and suck on her tits until she begs me to fuck her? Of course.
But there’s something else at play here, something I’m powerless against, and no other woman has ever had that sort of effect on me.
“Because a good hate fuck is better than nothing, and neither of us has anywhere to go tonight.”
She rolls her eyes as she crosses her arms over her chest. Her breathing quickens a little which only tells me this is turning her on as much as it is me.
“You said we needed to talk,” she reminds me.
I take a step toward her. She stands firm, so I take another step and another until I’m standing directly in front of her—until the orange blossoms float to my senses and I can feel her heat in front of me.
I run a fingertip along her collarbone, and her breath hitches.
I move in a little closer to her. “I think I’ve said everything I need to say.”
Her eyes edge over to mine, and I drag my finger up her neck to her lips, tracing them with the pad of my finger before pushing it into her mouth. She doesn’t react for a beat, and then she sucks lightly on the tip of my finger.
I draw in a sharp breath. She knows what she’s doing.
She lifts her hand to pull my finger out of her mouth. “You haven’t said anything.”
She grabs a fistful of my shirt, and I think she means to shove me away, but instead she only pulls us closer until my hips are up against hers. I thrust my erection against her stomach, and she glares at me as I drop both my hands to her hips. I slide them up her waist until they’re brushing against the sides of her breasts, and she lets out a soft moan that tells me to keep going.
I don’t. Instead, I lift her up by her hips, and she immediately links her legs around my waist, hiking her dress up so her black panties are rubbing against the fabric of my slacks.
