The Build Up (48)

Porter looked at me, puzzled. “Is that what you want? Ari, I don’t want you to feel like I’d be sexing you, and only sexing you, in secret. Didn’t you say Maurice...”

I cut him off. “You’re not like Maurice.”

“Right, but...”

“We can’t be together.”

We sat in silence. I pulled the sheets off my body and stepped onto the floor. Before I could get out the bed, Porter grabbed my arm.

“Ari?”

“Yeah?”

“I care about you. Last night wasn’t a mistake. It wasn’t us just being horny and blowing off steam. You know this, right?”

“I know that, Porter.” I more than knew that. Last night differed from anything I’d experienced. But for the sake of everything, we couldn’t be anything more.

“So, is this what you want?” Porter asked, his voice heavy with dejection. “What you truly want?”

I nodded. “It’s what we have to do, Porter.” I sat on the edge of the bed, my feet dangling as I thought about it.

Porter turned my chin toward his face, a small smirk forming at the corners of his lips. “Fine, but I was in the middle of starting something. And I’d hate to leave a job half-finished.”

I looked over my shoulder at Porter and smiled. “Well, if you insist, you have five minutes.”

Porter pulled me into the bed, pillows tumbling to the floor. I laughed as he whispered into my ear, his teeth tugging at my earlobe.

“Make that twenty.”



Chapter Eighteen


Porter


Twenty minutes turned into an hour. Every morning and a few afternoons. For a month straight.

We hustled upstairs to make the last of the morning briefing. Given that everyone knew Ari drove a clunker of a car, they seemed to buy our excuse that Ari’s car had clunked out on her again and she needed a ride. Again. And ride she did...

After settling into my office, I searched for my tortoiseshell reading glasses. I’d tossed my dry contacts in the trash at Ari’s and was operating blind. Just as I was reviewing new drafts of a cross section of the stadium, there was a knock at the door. Ari stood at the door wearing the hell out of the form-fitting dark green dress and heels she picked out this morning. It took everything in me this morning not to unzip that dress and have my way with her again. The fact that I knew this woman intimately felt like my perfect little secret. A secret that now, was starting to make my dick hard as concrete. Porter, have you no shame?

I got up from my desk and strolled over to Ari, whose thighs rested on the arm of my couch. Thighs that, less than an hour ago, I was wearing like earmuffs. Thighs that I wanted to touch under her dress at the spot that I knew made her whimper and moan. Just sex with her wasn’t going to be enough. I knew it and she knew it. Not when I’d had a taste of her. It was like trying to put toothpaste back in the container. Impossible.

“I feel like I should give you a proper good morning kiss,” I said, standing next to her. I could feel the heat of her body next to me. She smelled like the soap from her bath, perfume, and the lotion I’d helped apply all over her body, taking extra time with her gorgeous calves. It was the right mix of everything. I wished I could bottle that smell up and sell it.

“But you gave me a proper kiss, well, more than a few kisses, this morning.” Ari grinned. “And those were good morning kisses, right? As in, no more kisses until we’re out of the office?”

“Do they have to be?” I put my hands around her waist and pulled Ari in closer. I nuzzled my nose into her neck, inhaling her. She eased my hand from around my waist, out of my grasp and turned to face me. I looked into her eyes, searching for the look she’d given me last night and this morning. The look that said “I want you. I want this.”

“I think we should get to work,” she whispered as she maneuvered around me. “I’d actually like to look at a few of the cross sections of the left embankment of the stadium.”

Fuck.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” I cleared my throat, letting out a sigh. The feel of her hand brushing past me sent electric ripples against the exposed skin of my forearm. It reminded me of the feeling of her breath against my naked body as she said my name. Over and over and over. I shook my head, trying not to think about us in any more compromising positions.

I met Ari at my desk and watched as she looked at the drawings and frowned. “I don’t know, Porter. Don’t you think this seems a bit...”

“Yeah. Wack,” I said flatly. “It’s not what I had in mind. It’s definitely not building off the idea we had last week. I feel like I got lost somewhere.”

Ari nodded in agreement. “I didn’t want to say that, but the Serranos are all about sustainability and functionality. I’m loving the front facade we designed last week. But this doesn’t seem...”

“Harmonious,” we said at the same time. I smiled. We had gotten to where we were finishing each other’s sentences. Working together had created our own rhythm. Bumping uglies probably also helped to create an even better rhythm, but I digress.

“We need to think.” When we got stuck on a design issue, this was always my cue for putting on what I called “thinking music.” I thumbed through my office collection of vinyl and put on some Lionel Hampton. The familiar first notes made me sway.