Carlos. Oh, fuck. “We shouldn’t—”

“Too late,” he responds without missing a beat. He kisses me again, even deeper than before, successfully making me forget whatever argument I was about to present to him.

He plays my body. My mouth with his tongue and my pussy with his hand. I’m like clay and he’s the master sculpture, each movement calculated for a perfect result—only this result is my orgasm.

And so it goes on. His fingers pumping inside me while his thumb circles my clit over and over, until my body goes taut and he forces my quiet cry into his mouth.

His fingers are still inside me as I drop my own to his hips and cup his rock hard cock with one hand. It’s straining against his pants, and I’m dying to slide inside them and work his pleasure from him as easily as he just stole mine from me.

Three knocks at my door cut through the room, effectively killing any plan for continuation either of us had.

They also bring me to my senses.

“Jesus fuck!” I hiss, pushing him away from me. My pussy immediately mourns the loss of his fingers, greedy little whore, and I jump up off my desk. I have to reach under my desk to put my panties back in place. “Two seconds. I’m just with a client,” I tell whoever is behind the door.

“Carlos told me it’s Carter Hughes. I only need a moment,” my mom’s voice responds.

Oh. Fuck. No. Fuck a doodle fucking doo, hell no!

Carter does his belt up as I turn and grab a fabric swatch book from my windowsill and put it on the desk, opening it to the drapes fabric section. I jab a finger at the chair for him to sit in.

He has the biggest shit eating grin on his face, far more appropriate for a teenage boy than for a thirty-two year old man. I want to rip off my panties and hit him across the face with them in the hope it’ll wipe that smile off of it.

I drop into my chair, and Carter scratches the corner of his mouth, looking at mine. I snatch up my phone and look at the screen. Shit. Lipstick smudged!

Damn it all! I knew I should have put the twelve-hour stuff on this morning.

I lick my thumb and scrub at the mark until it’s disappeared. He smirks, leaning forward and grabbing a page of the book.

“Bee!” Mom knocks again.

“Jesus, this is a meeting!” I call back, snatching a pencil. “Come in if you really have to.”

She does, apparently. With the same old look on her face as she always has… That disdainful downturn of her lips as she realizes my office hasn’t been tidied overnight. “What took so long?”

“Comparing curtain fabric swatches.” I tap my pencil against a page of the book. “Carlos said you were with Louis.”

“He double-booked,” she responds, disinterested.

Read: they got done early. I wonder if she knows that I know her meetings with Louis are less of the interior design kind and more of the interior exploration kind.

“Oh, okay. What do you need? We’re busy.”

“Can you find these vases? Stacy Vince wants six of them for her dining room but they seem to be absolutely nowhere. I think they’re commissioned pieces. I’ve tried to look but I can’t, and she’s left Carlos with three messages in as many days.”

“No problem.” I take the photos from her. They’re held together by a paper clip. “That all?”

“Yes.”

“And that had to be done right now because…”

“I’m hungry.” She smiles at me and then turns to Carter, her smile becoming even more dazzling. “Carter! How are you?” She holds her hand out to him.

Inwardly, I wince. Please don’t shake hands.

My mother does not need to clasp the fingers that, five minutes ago, were inside of me.

He stands and touches his left hand to her waist, then kisses her cheek. “I’m fine, Mrs. Donnelly, thank you. How are you?”

“Oh, I’m wonderful.” Mom fans herself as she steps back.

Crisis averted.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt, I’m sorry. I have a busy afternoon and wanted to get a bite to eat while I can. I’ll leave you to it.” She takes a few steps back, but Carter shakes his head.

“Please, Mrs. Donnelly. It’s fine. I was just about to leave. I think we found what we were looking for, right, Bee?” He pins me with his gaze.

“Yes,” I answer slowly. “If you’re certain that’s the one you want. It’s hard to find sometimes.”

“Oh, absolutely.” The inflection in his word makes my heart clench with its implication. “Let me know if we get lucky.” He winks, then with one final smile at my mom, he turns and walks out of the door.

I don’t think he was talking about the pretend fabric.

Mom’s eyebrows shoot up, and Carter’s penetrating gaze is replaced by hers. “Now who are you trying to convince, you, that young man, or me?”

“Convince of what?” I look away from the door and focus on her.

“That you’re ridiculously attracted to him.”

“Please.” I shut the fabric book and get up to put it back where it belongs. “He’s very handsome, Mom, but he’s also a bit of an arrogant pig.”

“I see you’re trying to convince me.”

“I would have a response if I had any idea what in the hell you’re talking about.”

Mom walks up to me and pats my cheek. “I know you two met before, dear. Remember when he was here a few days ago?”

I have chills. I nod anyway.

“It was to inform me that your prior… relationship… Had no impact on his decision about the designer for the restaurant. He picked you for your credentials and not… otherwise.” For the first time ever, she looks slightly uncomfortable. “I’m a little put out you didn’t tell me, but I understand why.”

I frown. “Why aren’t you kicking my ass right now?”

She shrugs one shoulder and leaves that as her response.

“Mom. I fucked a client. Before he was a client. But still. And you’re not even mad?”

She waves a hand and walks to the door. She pauses, her fingers wrapped around the handle. Her dark, curled hair bounces as she looks over her shoulder at me. “Bee, I’m not happy. I’d like to think you can remain professional and not cross the line while you’re working together, but you’re a grown woman and able to make your own choices.”

Hello, guilt trip. I’ll just go and pack my suitcase for you.

“That said…” Her ruby red lips quirk into a half smile, and one of her perfectly shaped brows arches up. “If you’re do it with a client, you damn well picked a good one to do it with.”

“Uh… Are you drunk, Mom?”

She shakes her head, and with that, she opens my door and disappears through it.

I swear she laughs.

She must be drunk.

***

My mother knows I had sex with Carter.

My life is officially over.

I’m twenty-six and I don’t mind saying that she terrifies me. Hell yeah she does. She’s usually like a viper waiting to strike, which is why, two days after our conversation, I’m shocked that she didn’t uncoil herself and bite me in the ass for my actions.

If I were her, I think that’s what I’d have done. I’d have gone crazy… I think. The thing about it though is that she is right. I am a grown woman and I should be able to make the right choices.

Note the usage of the word ‘should.’ Clearly I’m incapable of doing such a thing… as evidenced by the situation I was in right before she came back.

I just… God. The way he makes me feel is unlike anything I’ve ever known before. Every touch is the instant heat of a freshly lit match, and each pound of desire is the gentle burning of a candlewick. His touch makes me feel alive, but more than that, it makes me feel wanted.

And in the end, that’s all anyone wants, isn’t it? To be wanted. To feel wanted.

I’ve been wanted a lot. I’ve been lusted after and seduced and played with. I’ve allowed that to happen, but I’ve never really believed any of the guys I’ve been with, whether they were random one night stands or maybe casual fuck buddies. I’ve never sat back the next morning and thought to myself, ‘Gee, they really, really wanted me, didn’t they?’