Page 39 of Almost Rotten

The soft taps of his keyboard give him away. So do the subtle notes of aquamarine and citrus of his cologne.

He’s in there and I don’t know what to do or say.

Holding my breath, I knock softly and wait for him to call me in.

Rather than call out, he storms across the office, his footsteps heavy, and flings the door open. He pulls me into the room with enough force to make my head snap back, then wraps me in his arms before I even have a chance to say hello.

“Thank fuck you’re here.” He presses me against the door and cradles my head. Then, with the fervor of a starving man, he kisses me.

His lips are insistent and demanding, stealing my breath.

Though just as I begin to feel lightheaded from lack of oxygen, he slows his movements.

We settle in, find our rhythm. He slides his tongue into my mouth, caressing with a sensual, sacred reverence. All my nerves transform into butterflies, the worry and self-loathing I carried moments ago dispersing into dust.

I’m here. Mercer’s kissing me.

He still wants me.

But that’s because he doesn’t know the truth, a voice taunts in the back of my mind.

My knees are wobbly from the drugging effect of his kisses by the time he pulls back, cups my face in his hands, and says, “God, I’ve missed you.”

Eyes fluttering closed, I inhale, catching my breath and steadying myself. I can’t look at him this closely. Not when his gaze is boring into my soul and searching for my truth.

Because the truth is horrific.

What I’ve done… the confliction eating me up inside …

A cold, sinking sensation settles as shame washes over me, dousing the false sense of safety I allowed myself to cling to while he kissed me.

“Little Nuisance.” He bows his head, planting kisses down my neck. “Jesus H. I hardly slept last night, too overwhelmed with the need to see you again, to touch you again. Too out of my mind with worry.”

He skims his hands over my shoulders and down my sides until he reaches my hips. Gripping tightly, he yanks me closer and bites my neck, then sucks the skin there until the shrapnel of pleasure sparks low in my core.

When he grinds his hips forward, my knees buckle. He’s so solid and sure, his cock hard and perfectly positioned between my thighs.

“I have to have you,” he murmurs into my neck as he releases me.

At the clank of his belt buckle, tears prick the backs of my eyes. Clutching his wrists, I lift my chin. “Not here. Not like this.”

He pulls back and searches my face, his eyes so dark it’s nearly impossible to tell where the pupils end and the irises begin.

“You’re saying no?” He shifts, aligning our bodies once more, ensuring I feel his heat and hardness and undeniable desire.

I want him.

I want to give myself to him so badly I ache.

But it wouldn’t be right or fair to take this any further without having a conversation that I’m not sure I’m ready to have.

Swallowing past the guilt, I nod. “I’m saying no. And I’ll use my safe word if you push. Please,” I say, voice cracking, “don’t make me use my safe word.”

He steps back, holding me by the upper arms, his brow furrowed. “Sweetheart.”

He cups my face, using his thumbs to brush away the tears that have fallen without my permission, studying me, searching for answers.

His concern only makes me cry harder.