I still haven’t caught my breath by the time Daniel returns from the bathroom and slides into bed next to me. He lies on his side, propped up on one elbow, and runs his broad palm down the center of my chest, between my breasts, and comes to a stop on my stomach. My belly swells and shrinks with each inhale and exhale, and his hand moves with it.
“Did I hurt you?” he asks, dragging his hand back up to cup my neck.
I shake my head, not sure if I can form words yet. “No,” I finally manage to say after a few more seconds of steady breathing. “But isn’t that the point of a hate-fuck? That it’s rough? Isn’t that why you were so determined to piss me off?”
“Maybe,” he concedes. “No regrets, right?”
I tilt my chin up so I can take him in. His dark eyes are guarded as he scrutinizes me, like he’s waiting for me to shove him away and tell him to get out. Not surprising, considering how badly he messed up earlier. He’s being cautious.
I don’t know how to navigate this post-sex moment. Right now, this man isn’t the Daniel who makes my life hell, and I’m not the Selene who wants nothing more than to sucker punch him. We’re just two people in bed together with no other history and no baggage. We might as well be strangers in the dark.
“No,” I say, not an ounce of doubt in my voice. “No regrets.” I cover the hand he has on my throat with my own and pull it to my breast. I don’t care if he can feel my heart racing under it. “But I’ll still hate you in the morning. Don’t worry.”
A hint of a smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth, then he dips down and presses his lips to mine. His kiss is languid and unhurried, and he swirls his thumb around my nipple, letting it harden under his touch.
I whine in disappointment when he pulls back, dragging his lips across my jaw.
“So, for now, you don’t hate me?” he asks, running his knuckles down my ribs and back up again, making me shiver. “Surprising.”
“I might start to if you keep teasing me like that.”
His fingers drift down to my hip, bringing goose bumps to the surface as he does, then over my thigh—though he doesn’t dip down to where I’m still sensitive. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He pulls his hand away and sits up. “I should go before that changes.”
I drape an arm over my chest to cover myself, suddenly too aware of what we’ve done and who exactly is in my bed. We’re strangers no longer. The spell has officially lifted, and reality settles in like a heavy storm cloud.
You fucked your evil coworker. Again. Round of applause for your supposed brilliance, Selene.
Despite the discomfort creeping in, I study the tattoo on his shoulder. In the low light, a few elements are identifiable: a rose with more thorns than petals; a cross embedded in it all; cursive Spanish script that I can’t quite make out. It’s like a peek into what lies beneath the charming exterior of the man I work with. Though it’s not enough to make me feel any less awkward about this shift between us.
I know I shouldn’t say it, but that doesn’t stop me. “Didn’t you say you wished you hadn’t left me alone in bed last time?”
His brow lifts, but he gives nothing else away. “Are you saying you don’t want me to go?”
I shrug, pulling my knees up and pressing my tender thighs together. “Just reminding you of your own feelings.”
Daniel shifts so he’s propped up beside me again, leaving the tautness of his muscles on full display. “I meant to ask,” he says. “How many days are you in the city for?”
“I leave tomorrow after work,” I answer, relaxing a little at the change in subject and the way he’s settled back in.
“Short trip.”
I nod. “I typically only come up when I have meetings with the bosses, or if something special is going on. It’s not exactly a quick commute.”
“So why not stay longer?”
“Because I prefer working from home,” I admit, “rather than being forced to sit at a desk surrounded by a bunch of people.”
His grin is sharp, like he’s in on a secret I’m not. “You mean you don’t want everyone witnessing the strange faces you make while writing?”
Heat creeps up my neck and settles in my cheeks so quickly I have to turn away. There’s a reason writing is a solitary endeavor. I don’t mean to make the expressions I’m describing on the page, but sometimes it just happens when I’m trying to confirm that I’ve described it correctly. “You noticed that?”
Daniel laughs as he returns to tracing patterns on the skin over my ribs. “I’ve seen all of you in production do that. My favorite is when you stop typing all of a sudden and stare into space for a few seconds before furiously starting up again.”
That clarification brings with it a wave of relief, enough that I find the courage to turn back to him again. Because I’m not weird. Or special, for that matter.
“We’re writers,” I say, as if that explains all the silly things we do. “We have our quirks.”
“You certainly do.”
Figuring we’re back to being Selene and Daniel of Naiad Novels, I ask him, “Are you coming into the office tomorrow?”
“I haven’t decided yet. Depends on when you let me leave.”
My cheeks grow warmer. “You’re not my hostage. You can go.”
The truth is, though, I wouldn’t mind if he stayed. Not the whole night—he doesn’t need to see what I look like first thing in the morning—but I wouldn’t say no to another round before the soreness really sets in.
God, I’ve already had two orgasms and I’m greedy for more. Is this what happens when a dry spell is broken? If so, maybe I should have let it continue, because I’ve never felt so sexually needy in my life.
Or maybe it’s sex with Daniel in particular that turns me into a fiend, always ready for my next score, loath as I am to even consider that. But there’s no denying that the man knows how to coax my body to beautiful heights.
Whatever it is, I know once I’m home, my vibrator is going to get the workout of its life.
As if he can read my thoughts, a knowing half smile lifts one side of his mouth.
“No,” he says, bringing his lips to mine and slipping his fingers between my thighs. “I think I’ll stay a little longer…”
