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Did he want her to walk away? No. If he didn’t want her there, he’d get one of his guys to toss her out. He wasn’t trying to scare her off, he was giving her a chance to retreat.
Rather than take the safe, sensible path, she slid down the zipper beneath her arm and shimmied out of her dress.
For too long, she’d craved him. The opportunity to be with him again was too tempting to ignore.
His jaw grew tight, his scowl darkened. The shadow of the lower hall enhanced his menace. But she wasn’t afraid. Not when she’d seen behind the tough veneer.
Reaching behind to unhook her bra, she wasn’t shy about letting it fall. He could look, admire, recall when her body was his playground. If he needed the visual reminder, she’d provide it.
Without a word of question or permission, she turned around to stroll up the stairs. At the top, she pushed her panties from her hips, freeing herself from all fabric constraints as she headed for the bed.
He could stay away, avoid her and refuse the obvious invitation. No one had a gun to his head.
Being in the office had been unsettling, but that was nothing to being in his bedroom again. Standing at the foot of the bed, the spirit of each of their previous unions enveloped her.
As her eyes closed, his lips touched the side of her neck. He hadn’t walked away, he was there, behind her, his hands sliding onto her hips. They kept on going, up, over her breasts, squeezing her, fondling, his lips tracing old paths.
“Conn…” his name seeped out on her next breath.
She wanted to be on the bed with him inside her but couldn’t break contact.
Her weight eased back, finding support in his strength. The comfort of him was home, the heat of his skin on hers, the tenderness in his demanding touch. Somehow, he managed to be everything she needed, to balance desire with consideration. He’d shown her so much, given her so much. The liberty he entrusted to her freed her to explore in ways she never had.
Easing a hand around her back between them, she curled her fingers around his desire and tightened them, squeezing him hard. His lips paused just at the pressure point above her collarbone. A growl escaped him and he pushed deeper into her hand’s embrace.
That reaction, any reaction, inspired her confidence again. Before she could tease anymore, he thrust her onto the bed, pushing her hips forward as his knees parted hers. She hadn’t even planted her hands on the bed and he was in her, pushing hard, forcing her pussy to take him. A spear of pleasure pulsed through her, tightening her muscles around him so hard her body created a barrier. He spanked her ass, hard, and she yelped, but it turned into a glorious laugh.
“Fuck, McDade,” she said on a moan, pushing back as he thrust deep. “I need this.”
He spanked her again, then tightened his grip on her hips, fucking her deep as his fingers emblazoned his prints on her skin, bruising her with their strength.
He drove in, hitting her deep every time and bent over her, locking one forearm around her as his other hand sought her clit. It wasn’t fair that he could torment her from within and with that tantalizing touch. Her next sound was more of a whine, a mew, a desperate pleading for more of his promise.
“Conn,” she whimpered, writhing against his stimulation.
“Everything you need…” he growled, his lips touching her spine, “everything you want… right here.”
“Yes,” she panted, struggling to remember how she’d lived anywhere but in his bed. “Baby…”
“Aye,” he grumbled, drawing out the word. “You ready to beg?”
“Yes,” she snapped fast. “Oh, God, yes…” The pressure of his digits, the satisfaction of fullness provided by his engorged cock throbbing inside her, it was gluttony. Sin at its peak. Pleasure was ready to burst, building behind the dam he teased her with breaking. “Connel… Fuck, Conn! Please, baby! Please!”
The gruff heat of his laugh clouded her spine as he kissed it again. His fingertips moved in slow circles and sped, slowed and sped, as he bobbed his cock back and forth an inch within her. The tip of his tongue trailed up and down, adding nimble sprites of buoyant arousal in tiny spirals that darted beneath her skin.
“You enjoy torturing me,” she wailed. “Oh, fuck, I forgot how—”
“And this is your reminder,” he said, pressing, hurling her through the dam in a torrent so wild, she drowned in the mire of pleasure.
She screamed, loud, his name, for more, for mercy, for forever. Her body was still pulsing, quaking, trying to recover when he returned to thrusting hard and fast, yanking her hips back to meet his pelvis with every advance, forcing her away with every retreat.
Her body didn’t want to lose his. Orgasm came again and she clamped tight, her whole body locked in a spasm that he forced his way through, driving himself over the edge into his own completion.
He let her go and she fell forward onto her face, her arms curled beneath her. Her heart was pounding so hard, she could feel it in her skull, all over her body in a constant, frantic pulse.
“Fuck,” she gasped, her eyes closed. “Why did we stop seeing each other again?”
His voice came from somewhere near the bathroom. “It wasn’t ‘cause the sex blew.”
