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I already know the answer.

“No.”

“Neither can I.”

There is no relief in admitting it. If anything, the truth makes the distance between us feel more dangerous. I look at her across the narrow space that remains.

When I move toward her she does not step away, and I give her no time to rebuild the distance between us. Her hand lifts between us, but instead of stopping me, her fingers catch in the front of my shirt. I close my hand around her wrist, draw her sharply against me, and kiss her before either of us can retreat into another argument.

The force of it sends her back against the shelving. I follow immediately, using my body to hold her there while my hand slides from her wrist to the back of her neck. I angle her face where I want it and deepen the kiss, feeling the last week of restraint disappear the moment she grabs my shirt and pulls me harder against her.

Her response strips away whatever control I have left.

Chapter Seven

Ross

Icrowd her more firmly against the shelves, one hand buried in her hair while the other closes around her waist and drags her hips into mine. She rises toward me without hesitation, and I tighten my grip, holding her exactly where I want her while she works at my shirt and pulls the hem up and free from my trousers.

The contact between us is brutal after six days of avoidance. I can feel every curve of her body against mine, and when she shifts her hips forward, pressing deliberately into my hard, aching cock, my grip on her tightens.

I move one hand lower and catch the back of her thigh, lifting her leg against my hip. The position opens her body further to mine, and I use the leverage to pull her closer while I kiss down the side of her neck. Her fingers rake into my hair, and when she arches against me, I hold her there instead of letting her move away from the pressure.

I turn her around suddenly. Her palms meet the shelving, and I step in behind her before she can straighten, fitting my body against the length of hers. One hand closes firmly around her hip while the other slides up her stomach and underneath her blouse, holding her against me as I push her hair aside and lower my mouth to the back of her neck.

She tilts her face back toward me, searching for my mouth, and I catch it over her shoulder while keeping her pinned between my body and the shelves. My hand travels higher, as I cup her full breast through her bra, pulling it down enough to rub her nipples, before moving back down her waist with deliberate pressure.

The skirt is next. I gather the fabric upward with one hand and expose more of her thigh, then run my palm slowly along her skin.

I move higher until my fingertips meet lace. I rub my fingers against the fabric and can feel her wetness seeping through.

Blaire presses back into me, and the movement makes my cock ache with need. I tighten my arm around her waist and hold her still for a moment, as my fingers pull her panties to the side, and I rub my fingertips around the wet mess of her pussy. She moans as I slide two fingers inside of her, slow at first, then faster.

Her forehead drops against the shelf. A row of old spines shifts under her palms. I keep my fingers moving inside her and lower myself to my knees behind her.

The skirt is still bunched at her waist. I push it higher with my free hand and hold it there, and the lace I dragged aside leaves her bare to me. She's glistening, her thighs trembling on either side of my wrist. I hook her panties and strip them off her.

"Ross—" she mutters, as I lean in and taste her.

My tongue drags up from where my fingers are buried, slowly, all the way up, and she jerks forward against the shelves. I grip her hip and pull her back onto my mouth. I lick her again. Slower. Then I circle my tongue around my own fingers as they thrust into her, and she moans.

I crack my palm across her ass. She gasps. Her body clenches around my fingers. I soothe the sting with my hand, then strike the same spot again, harder, and she pushes back into my face instead of away from it.

"Spread your legs wider,” I tell her.

She does. I bury my face deeper in her hole, tongue-fucking her pussy while my fingers curl forward and stroke the spot that makes her knees buckle. Her wetness slides down my wrist. I spank her once more, and her hand leaves the shelf to reach back and grip my hair.

She is holding my mouth against her now. Her hips rock back against me, faster, her breath breaking into short, desperate pants. I feel her tighten, feel her thighs lock and shake, and I thrust my fingers deeper and don't let up.

She comes with a cry she tries to smother against her arm. Her body pulses around my fingers, and I stick my tongue back into her pussy as her release spills in my mouth.

I stay there and lap up every drop, slow and thorough, until her legs are shaking so hard I have to hold her up by the hips.

When I finally pull back, she is sagging against the shelves, her breath ragged, her cheek pressed to the leather spines.

I rise to my feet behind her and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Then I turn her back toward me. My hands go to her hips, and I lift her without warning. She catches herself around my shoulders while I carry her toward the broad worktable in the center of the room.

I clear the nearest folders aside with one sweep of my arm and set her on the edge, keeping one hand firm at her waist while I step between her knees. Blaire immediately hooks her legs closer around me and pulls me back into her.