Western Spark

A Doozy - Part 3

In the realm of kisses, Peony—as her lips locked with his—decided that this one was a doozie. He tasted like coffee and sweet sugar from the cake, and as her body molded up against his, she realised how much she had ached to feel this with him.

More than she'd allowed herself to acknowledge, perhaps.

She settled into his strength, his arms flexing around her, as if he wanted to absorb her body into him. She hadn't been touched by a man like this in so long that everything felt familiar and new all at once. Heat pooled between her legs, setting her back against the edge of the desk, spreading them almost involuntarily to cradle his hips.

Sex. Her body wanted sex, and it wanted it now.

She gasped as Brett's lips left hers, and trailed down her neck, his hand tilting her head back as they leaned together. His cock was pressed against her centre, and it was rock hard and ready, twitching through the denim. She rolled her hips against it, and moaned, encouraging him.

His kiss was completely overwhelming. Should she be this forward and wanton this quickly? He had touched the corner of her mouth, and a moment later, his lips were on hers, devouring her. She'd barely had time to register that this was happening before she had responded and was kissing back, because it felt damned good.

They obviously had both been dancing around this attraction.

But dancing is all they should do. This was crossing a line between employer and employee, and as much as her body was remembering what to do with the man currently seducing her into unquenchable arousal, it was not lost on her that this was leading somewhere they shouldn't go.

"Brett," she murmured as he pushed down her collar, exposing her shoulder completely. He hummed as his lips moved over her skin, and she gasped involuntarily when his tongue swirled out and tasted her. That tightened her abdomen, the idea of that tongue touching other places all too real in the ache that bloomed outwards from her centre.

If he went much further, she wouldn't have the willpower to stop him from taking the damned blouse off. That rattled her brain back into some semblance of order and she flattened her palms against his chest and pushed gently.

"Brett!" she said again, this time with more force.

He stilled, his lips hovering over her, his breath feathering short and fast. She didn't move, her body screaming at her to let him continue, dammit.

"You want me to stop?" he murmured against her skin, both of them stock still, locked together. He lifted his head and swivelled his eyes to hers. They were piercing and full of hot, stark want, and she almost said no, but then nodded mutely. He let her go like she was burning him, and stepped back, a hand running over his mouth, then through his hair in either frustration or relief, she wasn't sure.

"I'm... I'm sorry, I—" Peony stuttered. Why was she apologising? This wasn't her fault, he had kissed her. For some reason, his authority in their dynamic reared up, and her compulsion with men to step back was still there, years after she thought she'd let it go, driving away from Ian.

"No," he guttered out and levelled his gaze at her again. It was enough to break her train of thought. He was back to his usual gruff, no-nonsense self, his shoulders squared, his jaw set.

"No?"

"Never apologise when a man does something you don't want," he said. "It was my fault, I got—"

He stopped and tilted his head as they looked at one another, the recognition between them finishing his thought. Carried away? Caught in a moment? Most certainly. But she'd responded the moment he touched her, it was almost impossible not to.

"I did want it," she decided to voice. "I—"

She hung her head when she said that, both ashamed and shy as she told him. The crook of his finger dug into the underside of her chin and lifted her face. He held her there a moment, his eyes roving hers.

"I'm not going to apologise then," he said, his voice husky. "I won't deny that I've wanted you."

A thrill ran through her body, leaning into him slightly as he said it. He dipped his head lower, nose less than an inch from hers, and his eyes flashed fire and need.

"If you decide you do want me to continue, come to me. I won't stop you."

It was like something out of one of her romance novels, the way he had expertly looked into her eyes, held her face and said words that would melt most women into a puddle. She took a sharp breath, then gently eased away from his fingers.

"I work for you, Brett," she said, and he quirked an eyebrow, his lips twitching slightly.

"I'm well aware that you do. We're both adults, capable of keeping work and pleasure separate, aren't we?"

"I can't afford to lose what I have here. And Liz, she—" Peony stuttered, unable to articulate exactly what she wanted to say, her insides quivering. "We have nowhere to go if—"

Brett flared his nostrils and backed away from her once more.

"Do you trust me, Peony?" he asked, stepping back behind his desk, moving some papers around on it with his fingers, looking down at them, as if it was an everyday question he'd just asked, when moments ago his tongue had been in her mouth.

Did she? In most things, yes, she did. But the fear of the fallout nagged her as she took a pause to think about what he'd just asked.

This place meant stability and solid male influence for Liz. A place she could grow up in where she was safe and nurtured. Peony had no doubts her daughter would work with horses once she was grown, and to have this place to cut her teeth overrode everything that Peony would want for herself. She knew she could survive anywhere, and make do. But more and more, she wanted this to be that place. It had become home, and if she went down this path with Brett, that was in jeopardy.

"I... of course I do," she replied.

"Let that help you decide," he said and sat in his chair. The conversation was over, and Peony adjusted her blouse back up over her shoulder, chastened in the cool air of the office. Their eyes met once more, and she steeled herself to not look away. He'd stated his case, quite bluntly. As she would expect him to.

"I'll see you later for dinner then," she blurted, mentally tucked her tail, and ran.