I slip my fingers into his hair. “Don’t you want this?”

He lowers his head, and I go up on my toes and raise myself to meet his kiss. His lips capture mine, our tongues moving slowly to meet. It’s like two lightning bolts crashing. His tongue flicks inside, and the touch sends shivers of desire through me.

We start to kiss more deeply, more wildly.

God. I’m being kissed from the inside out. His hunger only feeds mine.

His mouth, his hands, the heat of him, the scent of him, the feel of him, the taste of him. Sensation stimulation overload, and the slow buzz of the wine turns into a full-on high from a drug called Hot Smoker Guy.

No guy has ever kissed me like this, or made me feel this way.

He tears his mouth free and a gasp of protest leaves me.

His breathing is heavy, his pupils deliciously dilated.

“If I had any decency at all, I’d leave right now.”

I shake my head. “Because we work together? We’re not even in the same department.” I rub my hands over his chest and his whole body tightens. “I want to be a woman. I want to be the woman that the man I want wants back. Don’t you want me?”

“You know the answer to that,” he says in a gravelly voice.

He’s hard as steel against his slacks and my mouth waters. Emboldened by the feel of his erection against my stomach, I go up and start raining kisses on his jaw. “Then please. Look, I don’t know the first thing about you, but I feel like I know you. Are you married?”

“God, no, I thought we cleared that up.”

“I’m not either. You’re not gay, judging by . . .”

“What department are you in?”

“What does it matter? Are you pulling a Mike Harris on me? Please don’t pull a Mike Harris on me.”

His eyes shine tenderly on my face, and he slides his fingers around my nape and holds my hair.

My throat closes as I look into his eyes. “I’ve always believed you regret the things you don’t do more than the things you do.”

“I’m actually a member of that same club.” But he still seems hesitant, a battle in his eyes.

“Well, see! And we’re both single, we’re both consenting adults . . .”

He presses his thumb to my lips to quiet me.

My breath catches when the look in his eyes registers.

He places his fingers on my cheek and rubs them sinuously down my face. My breathing becomes erratic as he slides lower. I hear the rustle of fabric as he caresses his hand down the side of my clothes.

My hand steals into his hair and I set my lips on his ultra-sexy mouth, softly, and the second my lips touch his, I realize that he was waiting for my lips, for my kiss again. The moment our lips touch, he immediately turns what was my kiss into his kiss. Again.

He pulls my leg up by the knee and nestles his erection against me.

I press closer. “Oh god.”

He holds my face in one hand. He opens my lips wide and his tongue flashes, irreverent and unapologetic and tasting of wine, into my mouth. “You taste so sweet.” He tastes me deeper, as if he wants more, and holds me even closer. “You’re so sweet,” he says in an even huskier voice, his every thrust stoking the fire burning between my legs, every flick of his tongue hardening my nipples.

His kiss is warm, wet. He pops open the top button of my shirt and turns his head, lowers it and kisses the upper swell of one of my breasts, squished against him. He licks it and groans and squeezes me tight.

We embrace as we kiss, his hands on my back now, his fingers spread. I feel everything, front to front, his frame swallowing mine in a cocoon of muscles, strength and warmth.

He edges back in the darkness, and pulls me down on the couch and draws me over his lap to straddle him.

It’s dark. The only sounds that of wet kissing and whispers. Raw and hoarse. I’m straddling him, his hands jammed beneath my skirt and under my panties. One hand cupping my butt, his thumb caressing the fissure.

Breathing and panting as we keep kissing.

“This okay …” he asks me. “How drunk are you?”

“I’m not drunk. Just buzzed.” I cup his jaw and rock against him. “You?”

“I’m wasted.” He runs his hand over my butt. “I’m so wasted.” He licks my lips.

We’re kissing again.

I stop, gasping. Our eyes meet and there’s a question in his. His pupils are dilated, his eyelids heavy. “I don’t remember if I shaved my legs this morning. I’ve been so focused on work—” I begin.

“I don’t care.” He runs his hands over my curves.

“Can I . . . can I just go get my razor very quick?”

He nods.

“Do you want me to shave down there?”

“Excuse me?”

“My friends say some guys prefer . . .”

“No. I want you as you are.”

“Every cluster of freckles too?”

“I want those most of all.”

He’s pacing when I come out.

Our eyes meet and hold. He starts crossing the distance between us and I start walking and we meet halfway. He lifts me up by the ass and takes my mouth with his. His fingers bite into my ass cheeks and grind me to his erection.

“Do you have condoms?” I ask. “I’ve got—”

“I got it.” He crushes my mouth again and three seconds later, I’m on my bed and he’s on top of me, his lips tasting the skin on my neck.

He strokes his hand down the center of my chest. “Close your eyes and let me in.”

I close my eyes and arch up.