“Sit up straight, please,” he said, his fingers cool and dry against the back of her neck. “I’m almost done, and I don’t want to make any mistakes.”
Delilah scooted up further against the seat back, pushing her breasts out as she moved. She could feel him breathing behind her, and she heard the catch in his breath when arched her back just enough to make sure he noticed her nipples beneath the thin jersey fabric of her t-shirt. She wore a bra, but a flimsy one – designed more to titillate than to support.
One last tug of his hand, and her neck stretched backward. He held her hair, twisting it into a coil at her crown. He leaned over, pressing the hair still with his thumb while the fingers of his other hand snipped beneath. She felt a feathery dusting of hair fall across her shoulders. He didn’t move for a moment, just stood there and she could feel the heat of his skin barely an inch from her back. His hand still kept her hair in place, and she had an urge to reach up and grab that hand, slip her fingers between his and pull herself to standing.
Then he sighed and released her hair, letting it fall down around her shoulders.
Disappointed, she sighed, too. What was she thinking? That he would swing her around, wrap her thighs around his waist and tear the t-shirt from her body, tossing it to the floor?
Yes. That’s exactly what she was thinking. And he knew it.
The faintly citrusy scent of his cologne drifted by as he stood behind Delilah. The smell, the light, teasing touch of his hands in her hair — she was growing damper by the minute as she debated her options. She could pretend the sexual tension between them was a figment of her imagination, leave with dignity and go home and replay the entire scene with a vibrator. That was option A.
Or … she could take a different approach.
She waited while he sighed one more time and took a step away from her chair, walking around to his desk with the prize; the long, brown and silky strands of her hair in his hand. He carefully placed them inside a plastic bag, smoothed out the bag to remove any air bubbles and then marked something on the plastic surface with a thick black Sharpie.
Then he raised his eyes to look at Delilah. Those impossibly blue eyes of his, the pupils large and black and bottomless. His face a perfectly chiseled square of white skin, light stubble and lips she wanted to nibble.
She stared back at him, and his eyes flickered. With a decisive moment, he picked up the plastic package and moved it to a shelf above the desk.
Delilah’s eyes locked on his and beneath those inkly black brows she saw the pupils begin to dilate and she licked her lips. That was all it took.
In one quick movement, he lunged across the desk and reached for her, at the same time she leapt toward him. He ripped away her t-shirt and his mouth dropped at the sight of her full breasts, barely contained in their lace.
“See something you like,” she murmured and jerked his shirt from his body, popping buttons in the process. His chest, a perfect, pale sculpture of lean, flat muscles, practically begged her to rake her nails down those pecs, those abs.
He tossed her atop the desk in response, yanking at her skirt, plowing through the filmy fabric of her panties, which flew in tiny scraps across the room.