I wasn’t a virgin. I wasn’t a prude either. After the auction last night, my vibrator had been put to good use as I thought about Thatcher. Now, I was just… surprised.

A guy like him could have any woman he wanted. Gorgeous ones who left him their numbers on cocktail napkins on a nightly basis. He’d probably collected several tonight alone. And yet he was in his office with the door locked with me.

I’d barely pulled myself together to come here. I’d worked later than I’d wanted and it was either show up… again, without makeup or any kind of cute outfit on my part, or I’d have been too tired to stop by. And I’d had to stop by, to ask if he’d join me for more than Amy’s wedding.

A date was one thing, but a boyfriend?

I swallowed. Wait. He’d said this plan between us was fake.

That meant he was going to kiss me because a guy like Thatcher had needs a girlfriend would take care of. If I was his real girlfriend I’d be more than happy to see to them. Every. Single. One. Especially if it meant he’d taste me.

God, I was stuck on that.

But this was pretend, and I had to stop being flustered and shy around him. He was right. No one at the wedding would buy it. And if they didn’t and learned it was all fake, I’d be even more of a loser to them than I already was.

“Well?” he murmured.

“Hmm?”

“Taste sweet.”

“I—”

He cut me off with a kiss. Holy hell, a kiss.

His lips were firm and warm. Gentle but insistent. When his hand cupped my cheek… I—what?

There were no thoughts. Nothing was going through my head because all I could focus on was Thatcher’s mouth. His fingers sliding into my hair, then wrapping around my braid. The press of his body into mine. The thick prod of his dick in my belly.

I whimpered. Gasped. Made some kind of breathy sound and melted into the door. Thatcher nudged his thigh between mine to hold me up.

I tipped my head back and outright moaned because he bumped my clit.

I’d think about being a wanton hussy later because now I was rolling my hips and riding his thigh, my hands gripping the sides of his shirt and holding him close. A tug on my hair had my mouth opening and his tongue found mine. He didn’t taste sweet. Instead, he was minty and dark and wild and… who cared?

We came up for air eventually, Thatcher tipping his forehead against mine as we caught our breath.

When his hand, which was cupping my left boob, gave a little squeeze, I whimpered. Then his thumb slid back and forth once over my hard nipple.