The conversation should have ended there. It was so much easier during the rehearsal I’d given myself in front of my mirror this morning. “I’m leaving, goodbye,” I’d said to my reflection. But Zachary Quinn hadn’t been in my bathroom. He was here, his big, broad form relaxing in his chair, looking up at me through the thickest lashes I’d ever seen on a grown man, a half smirk on his lips, as though telling me he didn’t believe a word I was saying. I swallowed, wishing that he were less attractive, less distracting, less menacing.
“Two weeks, Zack, then I’m out of here.”
With cat like quickness he sprang from that reclined position. I’d never seen the man move so fast in my life. Every meeting I’d had with him he had been at ease, unwound, relaxed. He’d watched proceedings as if bored, sleepy, watching a rerun of a television show. Though it was obvious he worked out, and regularly, I’d never expected him to be able to get on his feet and breach a distance so quickly.
“I don’t think you know what you’re talking about, Michelle,” he said into my ear. His voice was almost a whisper, almost a threat. His breath was hot against my flesh, his body pinning mine, making me feel small. Startled, I felt myself shrinking away from him, as though I was something tiny afraid of being crushed.
“Seriously, Zack.”
His hand moved up my arm, his fingers locking around the small bicep. Leaning in again, he breathed heavily into my ear, his lips parting, and with a hot movement he touched my lobe with his tongue.
“No passion in the job, Michelle?” His tongue traced the shape of my sensitive organ, the snake-like tip slithering its way up to the cartilage. “No passion in the office?” His big body began to push against mine, his pelvic area coming alive and grinding into my hips. “Not even a little bit?”
A strange feeling was flooding my body, blood pumping faster than ever before. My chest heaved against his as he pushed himself closer to me, threatening to consume me with his larger form. His hands gripped my arms tightly, almost hurting me, but not quite. With one muscular leg he shifted my long, more slender limbs apart, moving his trouser clad thigh between mine, grinding his leg into my crotch. I whimpered, moaned, and melted.
