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As we finally break apart, breathless and flushed, the moment lingers, our need far from satisfied.
Natalie's cheeks are tinged with color, her breath coming in quick gasps that match my own. The realization of what just happened—and what it implies—hangs heavily between us. But I don't care. All I can think about is how right it feels, how much I need this. Need her.
Just as I'm about to reach for her again, Natalie's apology cuts through the spell. "I'm sorry, Julian," she breathes out, her voice thick with emotion. "I know you asked for distance, for professionalism, but being around you every day... I just can't help it."
The raw honesty in her confession resonates within me, as if she's opened up my own mind and pulled the words right out. The tension still encircles us as we stand there, eyes locked, unmoving. It's as if all the air in the room has been replaced by a thick, pulsating current that fills my throat and sends electric jolts along my skin.
I want Natalie too; I've wanted her from the moment our paths crossed again under the intricate ceilings of the Langford Building. No—since I saw her at the diner that night in the rain, when she wasn't the put-together professional I see every day. When she was tired, sweaty, and exasperated; so akin to the girl I knew so many years ago.
"Natalie," I start, my voice rough and strained. I know there are so many reasons we're not supposed to be doing this. But for the life of me, I can't think of a single one.
Before I can formulate any kind of response, her lips crash against mine again. The kiss is forceful, desperate, her hands gripping my shirt as if she could anchor herself in the storm of emotions swirling between us. The last of my restraint crumbles and I respond with equal fervor, my hands fisting in her hair, our bodies pressed together tightly as if trying to merge into one.
In our next breath, I quickly scan the room for anything we can use to ease the difference in our heights. I spot it—a table laden with cans of paint and scattered paint brushes. It'll have to do.
Without another thought, I grasp Natalie by the legs and hoist her up to ride on my hips as I move us toward the table. She responds with an intoxicating little gasp and locks her ankles behind me, holding herself even tighter to me. I can feel myself growing harder in my jeans, and I quicken my pace to the table.
In one sweeping motion, I knock the paintbrushes to the floor, clearing a space for Natalie to rest. Now that she's better supported, my hands are free to roam; down the arch of her back, around her waist, and back up to her breasts. They're perfect—even more amazing than I had fantasized about as a teenager—round and soft and full. Experimentally, I brush my thumb over her nipple, and her answering moan is all the encouragement I need to continue.
I can't believe this is happening. Natalie and me. After all these years, thrown together again in this magnificent room that bridges the gap between reality and fantasy.
My hand moves south, reaching for the button of her jeans, but finds nothing. There doesn't even seem to be a zipper or a waistband or anything to work with. The flood of hormones in my system is fogging my brain, making it impossible to think, and I fumble around clumsily for a moment before Nat rescues me.
“Oh shit, Julian, it’s up here,” she rasps, her throat dry from desperate gulps of air. I watch in dazed confusion as she unfastens the straps of her overalls, the fabric falling around her hips in a pile of denim.
I don't have time to contemplate the intricacies of female fashion. My hands are already back on her clothes, yanking her overalls down to her ankles as she lifts her hips.
God, what a sight. Natalie, breathless and disheveled, down to her t-shirt and underwear is more beautiful than the masterpieces on the walls behind her. I've never seen her like this before. Part of me wants to take my time and relish the vision, but a stronger, more primal part of me cannot be interrupted right now.
My lips land on her neck, tasting and nipping my way down to her collarbone. Natalie arches against me as her breathing stops, her breasts crushing against my chest. Finding her knees, I slowly and gently trail my fingers up her bare thighs, grinning as gooseflesh erupts along her skin, and stopping only when my fingers touch cotton.
It's almost impossible to tear my lips away from Nat, but I have to do this right. “Is this okay? If it's not, tell me now, because?—”
“Yes, God, yes,” Natalie interrupts. With a confidence I wasn't expecting, she grabs my hand with her own and pulls my fingers over the damp fabric of her underwear. “Touch me.”
Her eagerness, this fervent need she expresses so openly, sends waves of desire cascading through my body, heightening every sensation. Her slight gasps and the way her body arches towards mine encourage me further, emboldening my actions. Her need, mirrored by my own, strips away any remaining veneer of restraint.
“Yes, ma'am,” I answer, tracing over the folds of her center beneath my fingers.
Natalie throws her head back with a moan, her hands finding their way to my hair once again. I rub her slowly at first, learning my way around her shape, discovering her hidden places and the stunning reactions they each elicit. When I finally slide the fabric to the side, the wetness I find sends a surge of hot desire through me, and I have to grit my teeth to keep my composure.
My cock is already pressing hard against the inside of my pants, and the sight of her so unraveled and needy nearly sends me over the edge. But I don't want to screw this up. This is our first time, and I want it to be good for her. Not to mention that I don't know how long I'll be able to last once we really get going.
Guiding my face back to hers, Natalie kisses me again, long and deep. She wriggles beneath me on the table, her hips rolling in a desperate search for more contact. Just one finger at first, I slowly slide inside of her, relishing the tight warmth of her core. Natalie gasps, stealing my own breath, and I dip my tongue into her open mouth, needing to explore every inch of her.
I add a second finger, enjoying the sensation of her stretching around me. My cock throbs painfully as I imagine how good it would feel to be buried inside her. Natalie’s shallow panting spurs me on, and I begin to find a rhythm that her body responds to, curling my fingers and bringing my thumb to press against her clit.
Nat's body shudders, and she releases my hair, bracing herself against the table instead.
“Sorry,” I murmur against her lips. “Too much?”
“No,” she gasps, “please, don't stop.”
The look on her face when I move my fingers again is nothing short of stunning. Long lashes flutter and her head tips back, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
Feeling confident, I pick up the pace, continuing the pattern that keeps Nat's breaths coming faster and faster with every thrust of my fingers. She's so consumed by my touch that she can't even kiss me anymore, her lips brushing chaotically against mine as she's lost to the sensation.
All at once, Natalie's eyes squeeze shut and her mouth falls open in a silent cry, her whole body rocking with the intensity of her orgasm. And I realize that I was wrong before—this is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Her expression, overcome and fully unguarded, is an image that I will forever remember.
