My mouth parts with the brush of a thumb across my lips. He runs it across over and over, making my knees weak in anticipation of kissing him. “Violet,” he rasps, eyes focused on his thumb.
“Why do you call me that? It isn’t my name.”
He pulls at my bottom lip. “It is to me.”
“Why?” I grab at his sweater, attempting to pull him closer so he’ll just kiss me already.
His penetrating indigo gaze finally moves from my lips. He makes eye contact with me briefly before he’s grabbing a lock of my hair.
“Your hair,” he explains, holding it between us. “You had purple streaks in it that summer. They were the perfect shade of violet. It’s the first thing I ever thought when my brother brought you home.”
“What was the second?”
“That I fucking hated the way my brother knew how you tasted when I didn’t.”
“Maybe it’s time you find out.” My breath comes in spurts, my heart threatening to beat right out of my chest.
“About fucking time.”
Whatever answer I could give is taken away by the press of his lips against mine. I’d much rather this response anyway. Beck cups my face in his palms, his thumbs pressing into my cheeks as he kisses me with expertise.
First kisses are usually awkward and without rhythm. That isn’t the case with Beck. There’s the excitement of kissing for the first time but also familiarity with the pace. Our bodies knowing exactly how to kiss without ever having done it with each other before.
His tongue fights against the seam of my lips, determined to get inside. I open willingly, savoring every last second of the kiss. It’s wild to witness Beck come unhinged like this, to feel him lose himself in kissing me. It’s much more than a kiss, it’s as if he’s marking me. His body is hard against mine, forcing me even deeper against the mirror. The glass is cold, his body warm. The soft curves of my body press into the hard slopes and planes of his. If I didn’t grip his sweater so tightly, I’d melt into a puddle at his feet. Even if I didn’t hold onto the fabric like my life depended on it, the tight hold as he cups my face might be enough to keep me on my feet.
“Margo” he mutters, his voice strained as he bites my bottom lip between his teeth. “Fuck,” he groans out, searing his lips to mine, tongue swiping against them. “If your lips taste this delectable, I can only imagine how phenomenal other parts of you taste.”
My thighs clench together at his words. I’d do anything to have him taste me anywhere and everywhere he desired. “If your tongue is that good in my mouth, I can only imagine how good it is at other things.”
I feel his growl against my lips as he traps my mouth with his again. His palms drop from my face, inching up the bare skin of my thighs instead. I hate that I wasted time ever kissing anyone else. None of them knew how to kiss the way he does. He does it with haste, but such expertise, that I could get lost in doing it forever.
His fingers play with the hem of the dangerously small minidress. He slides them underneath the fabric, reaching up to palm my ass. The fabric now bunches against my waist. If the zipper wasn’t still stuck, we’d easily be able to get it off and I could feel his mouth press against other parts of me.
“Violet,” he says, breaking the kiss, his fingers still kneading my ass.
“Hm?” I answer, my body in a trance from kissing him. Later on, I’ll dwell on the nickname, obsessing over the fact he gave me one in the first place. I’ve never loved a nickname as much as the one he’s penned for me. Furthermore, the meaning behind it will be stuck in my mind for weeks to come.
“There’s not a chance in hell you’re ever wearing this in public.” Goosebumps appear all over my skin from the heat of his gaze as they travel over my body.
I open my mouth to respond when a knock from outside the door has both of us jumping.
“I’m back with a few items for you to test. I’ll need to go to another floor to find some more casual options,” Quincy says, completely unaware of the state she’s found Beck and I in.
Beck smirks, leaning into place kisses against my neck. He licks and then bites softly as I do everything in my power not to moan.
“Okay,” I answer, my tone unusually breathy.
“Where did Mr. Sinclair go?” The sound of hangers scraping against the rod fills the silence.
I have to bite my lip when Beck teases me by running his fingertips over the inside of my thigh. I give him a look, begging him to stop before Quincy catches us like this.
My panic only seems to fuel him further. I didn’t expect to see this commanding yet playful side of him as he shakes his head, not hiding his sly smirk.
“He uh,” I moan when his lips kiss the top of my breast. The silk corset top of the mini dress pushes my boobs almost all the way to my chin, the delicate flesh almost billowing over the top of the fabric. “Had to step out and take a call,” I lie. The scrape of his teeth against the tender skin has heat pooling between my legs. The thong Quincy left in here must be soaked from the unexpected encounter with him.
Quincy clicks her tongue. “Odd. I didn’t see him out there.”
A blond eyebrow quirks as Beck calls me out for lying. I don’t know what else he expects from me. Quincy doesn’t need to know that he has me all hot and bothered in the expensive dress she picked out for me.
“Yeah, odd,” I respond. Beck mocks me by mouthing my words back, leaning in to kiss me once again.
“I’ll be back in a few,” Quincy answers, as she must finally get all the new items she’s brought in hung up.
“Sounds good,” I chirp, letting out a sigh of relief a few moments later when it’s silent on the side of the door.
Beck takes a step back, heat still in his blue eyes. “Maybe it’s time we figure out how to get that dress off you.”
All I can do is turn around, moving my hair to give him access once again.
When I meet his eyes in the mirror all over again, it feels so much more different, and complicated.
I haven’t even started as his assistant and we’ve already broken the terms I’ve laid out.
Ezra gives me an unreadable look as he finishes loading the last of Margo’s things into the trunk of our city car. All of the bags almost didn’t fit, they wouldn’t have if some of the items purchased today were actually in stock instead of being delivered at a later date.
Margo and I drifted from one store to the next, establishing an entirely new wardrobe for her. She stands next to me, anxiously messing with the sleeve of her sweatshirt she insisted on wearing out of the store despite the tens of thousands of dollars of new clothes I just bought her.
“I’ll never be able to repay you for this,” she says softly, looking at the pile of bags and boxes in the back with regret.
I angle my body toward hers, my fingers twitching at my sides to reach out and touch her. In fact, ever since I got to taste and touch her in that dressing room, I haven’t been able to think of anything else. Which is unfortunate, because I can’t be intimate with her in public. Not yet. Ezra no doubt has questions about Margo’s sudden appearance in my life, but it wouldn’t be preferable even if he were to see us pretend to be anything but boss and assistant for a little longer. For us to keep up the charade, people must first believe us to have had some sort of professional relationship before announcing to everyone that things turned serious.