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I release it when she appears, and every tiny piece of her calls for me.
Goodbye conscience.
Our eyes glued, she steps in and closes the door. I don’t have to tell her to lock it. I push the chair away from the desk, and she visibly gathers the strength she clearly thinks she needs by inhaling, slow and long.
I do the same, again calling upon the sense I need to stop what I know is happening. But all I can tell myself in this moment is that I need to get this out of my system. Fuck her. Scratch the itch. Damn the consequences. A woman has never grinded me down before, and Pearl has done it with little effort. I want her. Fuck, I want her so bad.
“Come to me,” I say, my voice hoarse and dry, slowly patting my lap. She drops her purse to the floor and wanders over, slow but sure, rounding the desk.
And her eyes never leave mine.
The moment she’s close enough, I reach for her, hooking an arm around her waist and tugging her to between my legs. I slide my palms onto her hips and search her eyes as I fill my lungs. Wait for her to stop this.
She doesn’t.
Instead, she slips a hand into my hair and clenches a fistful. A suppressed groan rumbles in my throat. My dick throbs in my pants. My hearing distorts, the music sounding louder than it actually is. I take the bottom of her dress, pulling it up her legs, standing as I do, and once it’s past her ass, I encourage her to sit on the desk. Her arms raise into the air, her eyes never wavering from mine, watching me as I pull the material over her head. Her hair catches in the neck and swishes around her face. She pushes one side over her ear. Bites her lip.
Fuck.
Tossing her dress aside, I pull her shoes off, drop them to the floor, and then focus on her full, lace-covered tits, her nipples visible through the soft pastel blue material. I reach forward and pull the cups down, breathing in. No bruises. My eyes drift up to her collarbone where her hair skims, and I push it back, stroking the flesh over the bone. Watching her chest expand. Hearing her sharp intakes of breath. Seeing her constantly nipping at the ring in her lip.
My eyes stick to that one sweet spot, and I dip slowly, bracing myself, and kiss the corner of her lips, moving gently across, feeling her open up to me, tasting the relief. The pleasure.
“Jesus,” I whisper, letting my tongue enter her mouth, meeting hers, and they swirl languidly, blood pumping in all the right places, charged, ready. One palm slips onto her nape, the other down her thigh between her legs. I feel her stiffen, losing the rhythm of her kiss. “Okay?” I ask quietly, withdrawing, my hand stilling where it is. I look at her. Really look at her. It’s not the first time, but it’s the first time I’ve allowed her to see me studying her. She doesn’t answer, so I push. “Do you want this?” Want me?
She holds my gaze, nodding mildly, but she doesn’t move beyond that. If she’s anything like me right now, she’ll be close to being paralyzed by anticipation. So I gently stroke her thigh, hoping to loosen her up, silently marveling at the smoothness of her skin. Young, soft skin, under my older, rough hands. Hands that kill.
Not today.
Today, they caress. Today, they’re gentle. Today, they take something they shouldn’t have.
I massage her nape, move in closer, tilt her head back, and drop my mouth onto hers again as I push past the seam of her panties and get my first feel of her condition. A low growl vibrates in my throat, a small whimper in hers. But despite my want, hers too, my kiss remains tender. My touch gentle.
Experiencing this.
Savoring this.
I encourage her down to the desk, kissing her until she’s lying down, and trail my mouth across her chest, taking a nipple deep, sucking gently, brushing my tongue over the peak until it’s stiff. Jesus. I feel delirious with pleasure, repeating on the other as I stroke between the wet lips of her pussy, looking up constantly to see her watching me work her. Pleasure her. I’ve got to taste her. Kiss her everywhere.
I drop to my knees, drag her panties down, and breathe in deeply, eyes on that special place, my mouth watering. This. This is what I’ve wanted. This. Her. I move in slowly, kiss the inside of her thigh, feel her writhe, her hands grabbing the edge of the desk. She says my name. Over and over, each time sounding more desperate.
She’s throbbing before my eyes as I let my tongue slowly glide up her thigh onto her heat. She jacks off the desk and cries out, and I moan, my eyes closing in bliss, my tongue plunging inside her, licking her, kissing her, biting her. She yells at the ceiling—eager, desperate—and I retreat before she gets carried away and comes too soon.
The moment she settles, I start again, kissing her thigh, slowly moving toward her sweet pussy, gorging on her flesh, relishing her quiet sounds of pleasure.
And pull away once again when her back arches.
“Brad,” she says, breathless. “Brad, please.”
One more delicate kiss on her clit, and I rise, my eyes now feasting on her naked body laid out on the desk as I unbutton my shirt before tackling my pants. I let them fall to the ground, but I don’t step out of them—my shoes won’t allow it—and I am in no position to take a break and kick them off.
I slip my hand past the waistband of my boxers and take hold of my raging erection. Her eyes are fixed there, waiting, and when I pull it out, she sucks back air. I put on a condom under her watchful eye, rolling it down my dick to the root as I move in and positioning myself at her opening. Taking her thighs, I watch as she reaches over her head and clings to the side of the desk. My heart’s pumping. Blood’s burning. Muscles aching.
I push in slowly, a million curses loaded ready to be spat out. Fuck. My knees tremble, my fingertips dig into her flesh as my cock sinks deeper.
Fuck . . . ing . . . hell.
I can’t describe the feeling. Incredible. Extraordinary. Beautiful. What makes this pussy different to the hundreds of others? I close my eyes for a moment, remaining still, holding tight.
