Free More Than Physical (The Physical Series Book Book 2) by Sierra Hill

industrialization and building? Apparently everyone in the field, based on the packed auditorium of local and foreign business leaders, who were all there to celebrate the achievements of these two humble and brilliant men.
    Mitch and Jackson were the darlings of the industry – the Matt Damon and Ben Affleck at the 1997 Oscars. And everyone wanted to bask in their creative genius.
    Jackson had held Sasha’s hand when they entered the lobby, reluctantly dropping it when she motioned toward the ladies room. Sasha was so turned on by the brief, but toe-curling kiss she shared with Jackson in the parking ramp, she had to excuse herself to the restroom the moment they arrived in the reception hall, hoping that a few minutes alone would help her gain some semblance of control.
    “I’ll go check in and see if I can track down Mitch and Rylie,” Jax had said before she walked off. “I’ll meet you at the bar.”
    Unexpectedly, he leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on her nose. The action had her belly fluttering with excitement over his sweetness.
    “By the way, you look extraordinarily hot when you’re flushed from my kisses. It makes me wonder just how wet I’d find you right now.”
    Sweet Mother Mary .
    She loved it when he talked to her like that. Dirty. Raw. Wild. And anything but stuffy and boring. Maybe her nickname for him hit the mark far more accurately than she realized.
    Never before had Sasha been at a loss for words. She was in her freaking element with quick one-liner responses and a pro at snarky comebacks. And she was born to flirt. Yet her tongue was literally tied, unable to find anything pithy to say, because Jackson did something to her that no other man could do.
    He was domineering, but not overpowering. He was confident, but not overtly arrogant or cocky. And he said what he meant, and meant what he said. Which meant she was in a whole shitload of trouble if she couldn’t get her body and mind on the same page.
    Rushing down the hallway and into the lux powder room, Sasha used the time alone to get her nerves under control. For the first time in her life, she was actually nervous. What the hell? That was uncharacteristically unlike the normally bold, sassy Sasha Lee. The women who knew what she wanted from a man and never had to work too hard to get it.
    Sasha gazed at her reflection in the mirror, noticing the rosy hue of her cheeks that Jackson had pointed out. If someone didn’t know better, they might think she was glowing because she was happy. Maybe even a little smitten.
    Shit. Fuck. Damn. No way, not going there. Wrong street, wrong address, wrong zip code.
    Reapplying the lip gloss that had worn off from Jackson’s kiss, her fingertips grazed her bottom lip, still swollen from his mouth. Startled when the phone in her clutch vibrated, she dropped her hand and pulled out the phone. It was a text from Jackson.
    Jax: So are you?
    Sasha: Am I what?
    She waited a second after hitting send, watching the bubbles blink on her phone screen.
    Jax: Wet.
    Fuck . Just that one word from him had her thighs tightening and rubbing together to find friction for her pulsing sex. And without the panties she left behind at home, she felt the dampness between her legs, the exact thing he wanted to know about.
    Yes, she was wet. Turned on. Burning up for his touch. Ready to ditch the party and find a nice quiet alcove where she could have her way with him. Agreement be damned.
    The question clawing at her brain was how she wanted to see this thing play out? She could ignore his naughty question, and simply walk back out to him without the slightest indication that his text did anything to her.
    Or, she could be naughty, and ratchet the temp up to an even hotter degree. Play and flirt, and make sure to turn him on so much he’d have blue balls for a week.
    Or, she could just be honest with him and tell the plain, worrisome truth - that she indeed was wet and wanted him to do something about it.
    Another night