The Desire Variable | Rewrite

⸻ EIGHTEEN ⸻

"Perhaps you're cold?"

Like I could ever be cold when he's around. My eyes are still trapped by his when I shake my head one last time. The satisfied half sneer that pulls the corner of his mouth isn't something I expected.

His hand slowly lifts between us, and my whole body becomes taut when it grazes the front of my T-shirt, his knuckles brushing the modest swell of my breast. In its path, it teases my nipple, which I can now feel is diamond-hard. Even though his touch is barely perceptible, it sends a shiver through my whole frame, my desire spiking up at once.

If I get like this with a simple graze, the actual fucking would put me in a coma.

"This is all me, then," he rasps. Firmer this time, he runs the back of his fingers against the taut peak, clearing any doubt there might have been.

I'm speechless, torn between arousal and indignation. His hand drops to my waist to rest on my side, affirming his power over me. I should complain, but it feels like his hand belongs there, on the curve of my hip.

Now, we both know our kiss wasn't just the alcohol. My rebellious nipples betrayed me.

Does it mean he knows everything?

That the thought of him consumes me? That I can barely think straight when he's in the room? That the idea of fucking him sometimes wakes me in the middle of the night, sweaty and horny, on the verge of orgasming? That I've been masturbating with him in my mind?

Or that I'd give my left kidney to kiss him again?

My eyes glide over his alluring mouth, and my lips instinctively part. The cat's out of the bag now. I can't see the point of keeping up with the lies he dismantled. Especially when, full of confidence, he slowly bends forward.

We're going to kiss, in the middle of his office, in broad daylight, with nothing that can justify why I'm allowing it. I'm not drunk this time or tired. I'm just ridiculously horny.

Fuck this. Fuck the fact that he's my boss and an asshole. Such chemistry between two people is rare, and I'm not dense enough to ignore it. For all the people who would never experience such attraction, I have to embrace it.

My head tilts to the side, and my eyes flutter closed, ready to welcome his lips over mine. He's slow, allowing me all the time in the world to deny him this, so the point he's about to make becomes impossible to counter. But it doesn't matter because tasting Lex again is all I want. He has to kiss me. I need it with everything I have.

When there's nothing but his warm and fresh breath fanning across my lips for several seconds, I open my eyes. Something in his gaze is cunning, and his cocky smile is back.

"That's what I thought," he says before pulling away.

The words feel like a punch in the guts, like a slap across the face. I'm not equipped to handle a man like him. I'll never be.

He walks to the desk as I stand there like an idiot, trying to gather my confused thoughts. I feel dirty, and cheated, and stupid. He played me like a master puppeteer, and I fell for it head first. Kiss or no kiss, he made his point. I want him, even sober and sane of mind.

Before I can utter the "Go fuck yourself" that's dying to come out, I bring my things against my chest tightly and walk out.

I need a break from Alexander fucking Coleman. One that's longer than the upcoming weekend.

It turns out God isn't done taunting me, so he comes up with a very creative way to add to the mess that is my life. I spend my weekend taking care of the damage caused by the water heater from our upstairs neighbor, which decided to empty its seventy gallons right above us.