He’s all mine. The unbidden thought strikes deep into an animal part of me I never realized I had.

On fire, I cup his bulge through his pants, wanting to assert control and show off my sexual power. But that was a big mistake . . . emphasis on big. Feeling just how impressive and steely hard he is only makes me even more desperate. I groan and squeeze him in my palm.

“If you don’t stop, we’re going to have a problem,” he growls out.

I giggle, feeling almost tipsy with lust. “You sure it’s our problem and not just yours?”

He abruptly draws back, pulling an involuntary noise of disappointment from my throat. But my fervor spikes again when he takes my hand and hurries me toward the nearby restroom. He pulls me inside and locks the door. I drop my purse in the corner just as he shoves me up against the wall.

Our mouths crash together again, lips and tongue moving like they were made for this. Our making out intensifies as his fingers fumble at the back of my dress. He finds the zipper, tugs it halfway down, then abandons it to push my sleeves down past my shoulders, trapping my upper arms.

I squeal in shock—then quickly clap my hand over my mouth—when he kneels to swirl his tongue around one nipple and pinch the other . . . hard.

“No bra tonight?” he murmurs between licks and suckles and gentle bites. “Naughty girl.”

I want to explain that this dress doesn’t work with a bra. I want to tell him to shut up and fuck me. But all I can do is tremble at the sparks of sensation shooting from my breasts straight to my clit.

“God, these are beautiful,” he says on a groan, taking my nipple in his mouth.

I can only watch, desperate, as he kisses my breasts, and let out helpless moans.

“And so sensitive.” He moves to the other, giving it a wet kiss that ends with an audible sucking sound. He hikes up my skirt and runs his fingers along the center of my panties. “Just as I thought,” he murmurs. “Nice and wet for me.”

I open my mouth to argue, but Noah chooses that moment to kiss me again.

Then he lifts the side of my panties and his fingers slide in. No fumbling at all now, no fooling around, no teasing—he knows exactly what I’m dying for. One long finger parts me, petting me, putting just the right amount of pressure on that swollen bud. I mumble some unintelligible groan. Noah’s tongue continues working against mine. Then two deft fingers crook deep inside me and the heel of his hand rubs my aching, swollen clit. Heat surges through my core and I choke out a cry of relief. Yes . . .

Noah growls with possessive satisfaction. “That’s what I like to hear, baby. This pussy is mine now, and we both know it. I’m going to take damn good care of my wife . . .”

His dirty talk pisses me off and sets my body on fire all at the same time. I don’t know what to feel. I can’t think at all. I just hang on to Noah, struggling to keep standing while the white-hot pleasure coils tighter and tighter. I bite my lip hard to muffle my moans.

“Fuck . . . Noah . . .” I moan, rolling my hips hard against his hand. I’m so agonizingly close. Just a few more seconds . . .

Someone knocks at the door.

We both freeze in place, me topless and clutching Noah’s shoulders, Noah with his hand up my skirt. The absurdity of the picture suddenly strikes me. I might have laughed if I weren’t so terror-stricken—and teetering on the edge of a mind-blowing climax. Even with the fear of getting caught washing ice through my veins, I’m still burning up.

“If you move your fingers, I’ll kill you,” I whisper frantically to Noah. No way would I be able to keep this orgasm quiet. It’s been six long months in the making. And I want it more than I want my next breath.

“Hello? Is anyone in there?”

Oh my God. That’s Estelle’s voice. Our client is standing less than three feet away, and my stupid sexy boyfriend’s hand is still down my panties.

“It’s Noah and Olivia,” Noah calls, pulling off a perfect casual voice. “We just had a few things to talk about.”

“In the bathroom?” she asks with obvious skepticism.

Is she suspicious or just confused? Damn it, I should just throw myself out the window right now.

“Private family matters, you understand. We’ll just be another minute.”

After a heart-stopping pause, I finally hear her footsteps move away.

“Stop touching me,” I hiss under my breath.

Noah gives me a hey, not fair look. “You told me not to move my—”

“You know what I meant, smartass! Now get out of my panties!”

Chuckling, he withdraws. “I think that’s the first time a woman’s ever said that to me.”

“If you want to hear worse, that can be arranged. Now, zip me up.”

After Noah helps me yank my clothes back into place, I check the mirror over the sink. Jesus, I look like a train wreck. Lipstick smeared everywhere, hair rumpled. My appearance practically screams I just humped a guy in the bathroom! What a great bargain . . . all the public embarrassment of sex with none of the “actually getting to have an orgasm” part.

I retrieve my purse from the corner, pull my travel brush through my hair a few times, then start scrubbing at my lips. As I apply a fresh coat of lipstick, I notice that Noah hasn’t moved from his spot. He’s straightened his tie and rebuttoned his jacket, but other than that, he’s just been waiting patiently for me.

He could at least have the decency to look ashamed about tempting me into this mess . . .