We chat a little bit more about his parents and the stress of having a family who isn’t supportive, and we talk about other things. The kind of music we love and hate, our favorite places in the city. But now that Chance has alerted me to it, I can feel that I’m being watched. I look over my shoulder a couple more times and manage to locate the source: a man with large, dark sunglasses in the corner who does seem to be staring with a certain amount of intensity. Even trying to ignore it is hard, because I can feel the gaze like it’s a laser on my back.
I’m focusing more and more on it until I can’t take it. “Okay,” I say. “I know that I said to take it as a compliment, but that guy is making me uncomfortable.”
Chance doesn’t hesitate, gesturing to our waiter for the check immediately. He stands and holds out a hand. “Let’s go. I’ll tell the Maître D’ to put it on my account.”
He guides me out of the restaurant and back onto the street, and it takes me a second to realize that we’re holding hands. Chance seems to realize it at the same time I do, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he weaves our fingers together as we walk back toward the office.
“Is this okay?” I ask. “I mean, are you okay with people knowing?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
I shrug. “Because some people might be unhappy about you suddenly dating someone at the company?”
He pulls me to a stop just outside the door to our building, and wraps his arms around me so I have no choice but to look up at him. “I don’t think keeping secrets ever ends well,” he says. “Especially in business. I’m not dating you because I want to make other people happy. I’m dating you because I want to, and that makes me happy. Everyone else can mind their own damn business. Okay?”
Soft, warm butterflies take flight in my stomach. “Okay.”
And then he kisses me and I forget where I am entirely.
Eight
“How you choose to end your date is entirely up to you. For some it’s easy to go home and try to have a different kind of happy ending. For others it takes time, and there’s nothing wrong with taking the time you need, no matter what anyone says to you. It’s just a first date. Keep it light, keep it simple, keep it fun.”
—Tips for a good first date, Heartmakers.com
Chance and I spend more time than we should making out in front of the building. I never thought I’d be one of those people who make out on the street, but now that I’m doing it, I’m wondering why the hell I’ve never done it before because it’s fantastic.
And as soon as the elevator doors close, his hands are on me again. This time the kisses are deeper, more insistent, and his hands are roaming to parts of my body that he probably shouldn’t be touching in public. “Chance,” I say, managing to speak against his lips. “Not being a secret is one thing. Getting caught having sex with you in the elevator is another.”
He chuckles softly, and his hand strokes up my leg and under my skirt, teasing the line of my underwear. “I’m the CEO. I can do what I like. Besides, there’s not nearly enough time for us to have sex.” Slipping his fingers into my panties, he makes contact with my clit, and then he’s pressing one finger into my pussy, and then two. My gasp is silenced by his kiss and that hunger that rose at lunch is back in full force. There may not be enough time for us to have sex in here, but we’re going to if he doesn’t stop.
His fingers curl, and they brush against my G-spot. My body jerks with the force of the sensation, and I’m soaking his hand because he’s making me so fucking wet. I reach out, and I can feel that he’s hard through his pants. God, he’s so huge. I’m not sure how it’s not going to show. I grip him through the material and he growls against my lips, biting softly. It makes me laugh and I’m pulling him closer to me when we stop.
The elevator dings, and the doors start to open, and by the time they do, Chance isn’t touching me anymore. He smiles at me, nods, and walks out of the elevator as if we were doing nothing more than having a pleasant conversation.