“I have so much homework to do. And I need to check your schedule. We have a press release planned for your upcoming game.”

“All very important things,” he agreed.

“I should really…” I was running out of excuses.

“You should really let me taste you,” Oakley insisted before diving in for a kiss.

His hot mouth against mine was devouring and harsh. His hands roamed my body without caution or restraint. I gasped against him, and the slight part of my lips allowed him access to deepen the kiss.

He tasted like Diet Coke and mint gum, an odd combination but still seductive all the same. Usually when I kissed someone, my mind wandered to all the insecure thoughts that plagued me when I was with someone. Did my breath stink? Was I bad at this? Did I shave my furburger?

But with Oakley, it was like the roaring perfectionist within me was quieted. I felt carefree and wanton, pawing at his muscular body with my fingers as he moaned into my mouth. We were loud. Frantic. Sloppy and passionate. He cupped my breast as I spread my legs wider to grind against his thigh.

My lady button was preening like a motherfucking peacock. She was used to attention of the vibrating variety, and it was nice to feel something alive and warm—and not battery operated.

“Wow, uh, you’re really good at this,” I sighed lamely as he moved to pepper kisses along my jaw and nip at my neck. “Like, so good.” He pressed harder against my pussy.

“Stop talking, Solver," he said, chuckling. "Get out of your head for five minutes.”

Get out of my head? I could get out of my head. I was cool as a cat.

A cat in heat.

A starving cat in heat that wouldn’t stop meowing.

I trailed my fingers lower and rested them on the edge of his waistband. Oakley stiffened. He was stiff everywhere. Oh my God, was that a hammer in his pants? It felt lethal against my stomach. A weapon of mass destruction. One-eyed concrete member of fucking doom.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he moaned before devouring my lips once more. His warning was meant to taunt me, but it served as a stark reminder that this would never...finish.

Oh fuck, I was two seconds away from cupping my client’s junk.

I pulled away breathlessly. “We should stop.”

Oakley didn’t pressure me. He pulled away after a lingering look and nodded. Just like that. I set a boundary, and he didn’t argue, didn’t protest or try to make me feel bad for ending our steamy make out session. It was something I’d never experienced.