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takes him a few seconds to catch his breath. “Okay, okay,” he concedes, looking to the floor, his breathing still heavy. “I realize that our professional relationship is still ongoing until the final report is issued. And so to accommodate your vehement request, I’ll refrain from touching you again. But…” he gently lifts me up off the floor to carry me over to my desk, seating me on the edge and standing between my legs, “I’m going to make sure that you know what I’ve been wanting to do to you since the morning that we met.” He peels off the scarf around my neck and throws it on the floor. Slowly, he unbuttons my blouse expertly with one hand, taking his time, watching for my reaction.
    I look away and hold my breath, afraid to move a muscle. I feel the cool air of the room on my skin as he snakes his hand underneath me to unclasp my bra. I close my eyes as he lifts it up to expose me.
    “Every part of you is perfect,” he croons as he slides my blouse off my shoulders. “The other day. In the rain—”
    He pushes me further back with agonizing caution until I’m supporting myself with both arms and my legs are dangling off the desk. With one quick swoop of his arm, the desk is cleared of everything that has made up my life for the past two years. Piles of papers are now scattered on the floor around his feet.
    “What’s this?” he asks as his thumbs lift up my chin and caresses a purple line around my neck, right above my collarbone.
    “Thyroid surgery,” I volunteer willingly.
    “Hmm. It doesn’t look like stitches,” he murmurs to himself as he plants tiny kisses along its jagged line. “My God, you smell like heaven.”
    A mixture of emotions runs through me, excitement and panic at odds with each other. Past and present are going to collide. How will this end up?
    He diverts his attention to the only item that’s left on the table, a combination pen/ highlighter, oval in shape and thick in width. He begins to trace the blunt end of the pen down my neck, outlining my breasts and circling towards my stomach, until he reaches my waistband. He undoes my pants and pulls them down swiftly, letting out a gasp as he sees what I’m wearing.
    “Oh, God, Jade.” He guides my hand and slips it into the fine lace that leaves little to the imagination. “Touch yourself, Jade. Imagine that it’s me touching you. It excites me to imagine myself inside you. Watching you will be enough for me for now. I’ve been watching you, delighting in you for two weeks.” He moves my hand up and down, back and forth, for a few seconds. “Make yourself come. Come to my voice, to my words. I want to have you. And I will. Mark my words. This,” he says, pushing two fingers inside me, his dusky eyes turning up in a hint of pleasure when I gasp in surprise.
    “Is.” He does it over and over again, increasing in intensity with every touch.
    “Not.” As he utters this last word, he moves it faster and faster until I arch my back and place my other hand over his.
    “Over.”
    “Lucas!” I gasp, shaking from the force of my climax.
    “Come, baby, come,” he heaves in my ear before muffling my cries with his mouth. He holds me until our breathing slows down somewhat. I hear the loud sound of ruffling paper as he mindlessly steps on the sheets that are creased and crumpled all over the ground.
    I feel exposed and embarrassed, lying limp in his arms like I’ve just run a marathon. I haven’t felt this helpless in so long. He’s got me under his spell that I don’t even remember where we are or how we got here. I am swept up in so much emotion that I don’t want it to end this way. I don’t want him to leave without being able to touch him, without being able to please him like he did me. While the consequences of our actions flash in my mind, all my concerns quickly dissipate as soon as I look up into his face.
    I jump off the desk and kneel down on the floor to pick up the debris that is the aftermath of