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My gaze meets hers in shock and she smiles, tilting her head to one side like she’s innocent.
“You don’t wear panties?” I ask.
She shakes her head, adjusting her deep plum blouse to artfully cover the mouthwatering juncture between her thighs. But I’m quick to unzip her top, too, and pull it free of her body only to find she’s also not wearing a bra, but instead some silicone disks that must be the reason she’s not making every man stop and stare at her during work hours.
But she’s beautiful. I move back to just study her, the curve of her body from shoulder to ribs, the rounded shape of her breasts, the way her flat belly gives way to her prominent hip bones. Carefully hidden behind her boxy attire is an hourglass shape that drives the primal side of me wild. I exhale, slowly, struggling to maintain control.
“Is something wrong?” she asks, her voice small.
“No,” I growl the words. “You are fucking perfect.” I meet her worried gaze and something in my eyes must assure her because she simply melts back onto her bed in a position of surrender, lifting her hands above her head and watching me with a trusting gaze I probably don’t deserve.
“Shoes off,” I say, well aware that they’re sexy, but also aware how much they hurt when dug into my back.
She slips out of them as I unbuckle my belt. The sound sends a shiver through her body, and I see goosebumps race across every inch of her flesh. Experimentally I rattle the metal of the belt and watch her whole body tremble. I love that a single - albeit visceral - noise has such a profound effect on her.
Pulling the belt free, I stand up, stepping out of my shoes as I undress. She rises up on her elbows to watch, then stares at the part of me I’ve just exposed, swallows hard, and meets my gaze.
“Protection?” I ask.
She nods and rolls over, opening her nightstand drawer and grabbing a foil-wrapped square and ripping it open. A moment later she’s kneeling before me, unrolling the thin material down the length of me with one delicate, smooth hand.
I pull her to her feet and lower her back onto her bed, but she’s not having any of that. Instead, she moves to a niche in her wall, a space that holds a beautiful floral bouquet.
I stare at her sexy, rounded ass as she moves the flowers. I’m not sure what she’s up to, but I’m enjoying watching her do it. I offer to take the vase, but she refuses, pulling the flowers out of my reach and placing them on her dresser.
She turns to face me, then hops up on the ledge and I move in close to help her keep her balance. “I don’t know what this space is for, but this is how I’ve always wanted to use it,” she whispers.
“Where have you been all my life?” I ask, loving her thinking.
She lifts both shoulders as I move between her legs. Gripping my hips with her thighs, she shifts her weight and perfects the angle as I press to the heart of her. But I’m not ready to start just yet. Instead, I peel the silicone disks from her breasts and take a moment to worship her body. She tastes sweet and sinful, like my last meal as a dying man, the most delicious thing to ever cross my tongue.
Her fingers tangle in my hair and she whimpers, sliding them all the way down my back before gently digging her nails into my skin. “Do you know why I keep my desk so neat?” she whispers, and I growl, having an idea where this is going as my fingertips find her button and gently work circles around the bundle of nerves.
“Why?” I ask, kissing up her chest, across her collar bone, up the side of her neck, then scraping my teeth along her jaw.
She trembles, but her voice is unwavering. “To make it easier for you to take me on it.”
Damn it, this woman wasn’t going to give me any breaks. I shift and she pulls me in with her leg, pressing me to the heart of her without hesitation. As I push into her warmth, I watch her throw her head back and lift her hips. Planting her hands on either side of her bottom, she braces, moving against me as I push home. Her movement seems jerky and uncoordinated, as if she’s just hungry and desperate for contact.
I’m happy to oblige.
But I’m not a fan of the limited range of motion, so I grab her ass in both hands and move her toward the bed. She lets out a squeal, still squirming, before I lower her onto the bed. But she pulls away, rolling onto her belly.
I don’t mind, I’m happy with this position. But she moves her knees under her, face down with her heart-shaped ass waving back and forth like a victory flag. Grabbing her hips with both hands, I press into her again, loving how she shivers.
She slips a hand under her belly, and I feel her fingers brushing me as she adds to her pleasure and experience. Knowing she’s enjoying herself only heightens my desire.
“I’ve wanted you in this position for longer than I’d like to admit,” I say.
She whimpers.
From the start, actually. She’s a beautiful woman, and an infuriating one. I might not have liked her as a person from the jump, but I’ve always admired how attractive she is. Tracing my fingers up her thigh, I plant one hand flat on her lower back and enjoy the way her flesh ripples when I thrust in.
The sounds of sex fill the air and all I can smell is her sweetness, the flowers, and her inviting home. I forget why I’m here, I forget the worries of the world, I forget everything but her and this moment. Then she pulls forward, free of me and I stay still, throbbing, dripping with her juices, wondering why she’s gone.
She turns to face me, planting one hand on my chest and pushing me onto her bed. With that, she climbs on top of me, her chest pressed to mine, her warm breath in my ear.
“You’re mine,” she whispers, lowering onto me with a sigh that sends my blood pressure skyrocketing. Why do I like the sound of those words on her lips? And why do I want to hear her say them again?
