Page 72 of Sinful Reality

I put on a show for the entire ninth floor, slipping my tongue pasther lips and grinning when her arms automatically circle my neck. Her nose is still blocked from her cold, which means she gets no air. No respite. No fucking mercy. But she kisses me back, humming her pleasure and ignoring the fact we’re at her workplace.

Later, when her brain is braining again, she’ll punish me for being a Neanderthal. But she nibbles on my lips for now, her heart pounding against mine.

Then she gasps, loud and dramatic, when I pull back and allow her space to breathe.

She heaves to fill her lungs and burns a furious pink her colleagues—heremployees—would so rarely get to see. But her eyes, a molten chocolate I’ll love until my dying day, flicker between mine.

There’s no anger.

No impatience or humiliation or intolerance.

There’s just love. And when I smile, there’s pleasure.

“He asked you to marry him, huh?”

“What?” Giggling—perhaps a little of her stolen innocence is back now that the New York case is closed—she shakes her head. “No, he didn’t ask me to marry him.”

“Asked to fuck, then?”

Panting, she shakes her head and snickers. “Not exactly.”

“Then what?” Dread sits heavily in the base of my stomach, and curiosity marches through my blood. “What did he say?”

She chews on her bottom lip, considering. Weighing her options.Brainingwhile she still has a chance, before finally, she murmurs, “Something about you, me, and him.” She swallows. “At the same time.”

“What?” Stunned, I tear my gaze to the elevator, the smarmy cop long gone. Then back to her. “The three of us?”

“But I don’t share.”

“Possessive.” Pleasure ripples through my veins. “I love that about you.”

“Penguins mate for life, and I have no interest in changing that.” She brings her hand up and swipes her thumb across my top lip. “Sorry. Got a little dried booger on you.”

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