Читать книгу It Started With... Collection - Miranda Lee - Страница 19

JUSTIN glanced up at the office wall clock for the umpteenth time that afternoon. Almost five. His pulse quickened at the thought that soon he could abandon any pretence of working and do what he’d been desperately wanting to do all day: have sex with Rachel.

Just the thought of it sent his blood racing through his body.

But then another less happy thought intruded. It was Friday again. For the next two days he would not see Rachel at all; could not thrill to the exquisite anticipation of knowing that at the end of the day she would let him remove all her clothes to draw her naked and trembling into his arms.

Last weekend had been almost unendurable without her. This weekend would probably be worse. Justin resolved to keep her with him later than usual tonight. She wouldn’t mind. She enjoyed what they were doing just as much as he did, a fact that soothed his conscience somewhat. If he ever thought that what they were doing together was hurting her in any sense he would have to stop.

But could he stop, even if his conscience demanded it? That was the question. He had difficulty at the moment doing without her for two days. The prospect of never having sex with Rachel again was an idea he didn’t want to address.

Another glance at the clock showed it was finally five o’clock.

His heartbeat took off.

It was time.

Rachel’s head snapped up from her computer with a gasp when Justin wrenched open his office door right on the dot of five. She’d been pretending to herself that she hadn’t noticed the time, pretending to be working.

But that was all it was. Pretence. She lived for this moment every day. It was what she dressed for. And undressed for. It was why each afternoon at four-thirty she rose to lock the outside door, then go to the ladies’ room to make preparations for just this moment. For the last half-hour she’d been sitting there with her panties stuffed in her top drawer and no underwear of any kind covering her bare buttocks and upper thighs. Stay-up stockings had long replaced her pantyhose. She also rarely wore a bra these days, having quickly grown addicted to the feel of silk linings against her bare skin, plus the aphrodisiacal effect of knowing she was naked underneath her clothes.

Their eyes locked across the room and her surroundings slowly began to recede. Suddenly there was only him, and the way he was looking at her.

‘Get yourself in here, Rachel,’ he ordered, his impatience echoed in the tightness of his neck muscles.

Her legs felt like lead as she levered herself up from her desk and walked, like some programmed robot, into his office. Yet inside she was anything but a cold-blooded machine. She was all heat and hyped-up nerve-endings. Her head was spinning like a top and her heart was pounding behind her chest wall.

The speed with which he yanked up her skirt then hoisted her up onto his desk punched all the breath from Rachel’s body. He was between her legs in a flash, unzipping his trousers and freeing his rather angry-looking erection. Her body was ripe and ready for him, needing no foreplay. His hands grasped her hips, his fingertips digging into her skin as he scooped her bottom to the very edge of the desk and drove into her to the hilt. With a grunt of satisfaction he set up a powerful pumping action, his eyes grimacing shut, his lips drawing back over gritted teeth. Rachel leant back and braced herself by gripping the back edge of the desk, but even so her bottom slid back and forth across the smoothly polished desk-top.

Something—possibly the fact he hadn’t even kissed her first—got to Rachel, and suddenly she wanted him to stop.

The trouble was…her body didn’t want him to stop. It had a mind of its own. Frantic for release, it was. And ruthlessly determined in its quest, pushing aside any gathering qualms and ignoring the danger warnings. Her libido remained recklessly separated from her heart as pre-climactic sensations began to build and the need to come became all-consuming.

Her belly tightened. As did her thighs. Her bottom. Her insides. He groaned in response to her involuntary squeezing and then they were both splintering apart, their cries of erotic ecstasy echoing in the stillness of the room. His back arched back as he shuddered into her whilst she gripped the edge of the desk so hard her fingers went white.

But the spasms of pleasure passed, as they always did, and this time Rachel came back down to earth with a terrible thud.

The reality of what they were doing together could no longer be denied. It was beneath her, carrying on like this. So why was she settling for such an arrangement? Why?

The reason was obvious, she accepted with considerable anguish. The reason had always been obvious, if she’d looked for it. The reason was at this moment still inside her body, his arms wound tightly around her waist, his head resting between her sweat-slicked breasts.

It was then that she started to cry.