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He cups my ass with his palms, lifts me to sit on the edge of his desk, steps between my legs and pulls me roughly against him. But his touch is soft when he drags a single finger down the center of my chest before flattening his hand on my stomach and urging me to my back.
His grip on my hips is rough. Fingers kneading then releasing. Eyes wild and hungry. Bottom lip trapped between his teeth. But when he slides the length of his shaft up and down my slit, he does it with a sense of tenderness. As if the need to feel me against him is greater than the desire to just bury himself inside me. It’s confusing. And that voice in the back of my mind—the one telling me this isn’t what I truly want—is back.
He fists his cock and teases me with the head. His eyes travel over my naked torso, worshipping every inch of my skin before meeting my hooded gaze. “I need a condom. But fuck, you feel so good like this.”
The intensity in which he looks at me, as if he’s trying to read my thoughts on the matter, takes me out of the moment and makes me question if beneath all his hotness, he’s actually an idiot.
He’s super rich.
I’m super poor.
Why would he take a chance on getting me pregnant? The only reasonable explanation is that he’s fallen in love and wants to trap me for the rest of my life.
I’m good with that.
But it’s another thought that has me forgetting that I’m naked, spread eagle on his desk with the head of his unprotected penis pressed against the opening of my vagina.
Why would he risk catching a disease from someone he barely knows?
Did you know, people can have a STD even if there are no visual signs of one? And that an unseen STD can still be transmitted without a current breakout? Not that I have any STDs, but he doesn’t know that. Which makes him really stupid.
Does it make me stupid to sleep with him without protection? Considering he could have an STD and I could be on the receiving end of it?
Hell no.
Why?
Because he’s rich. And if he gives me something that won’t wash off in the shower, then I’m going to sue the shit out of him. He’s smart, aside from this rare moment of stupidity, so he’ll settle out of court. And guess what.
I’ll be rich.
As.
Fuck.
A few million dollars makes having herpes totally worth it. Plus, there’s all this advanced medicine these days. It’s a win-win for me. For him? Not so much.
I mean, he didn’t even ask me if I had a clean bill of health or confirm that he had one like all the heroes do. Which, by the way, blows my fucking mind. Like who does that? Just gets randomly checked for diseases, though they swear they’ve never fucked bareback in their life.
Romance novels, am I right?
“I’m almost positive that whatever crazy shit you’re thinking this time, actually has the power to turn me off.” His gaze might be stoic, but I can see the plea deep in his eyes that begs me to not say what I’m thinking.
“You’re probably right. And just in case, we should use protection. I’m not on the pill.” I add that last part because I don’t want him to think he needs to use protection for any other reason than an unplanned pregnancy. Which is also why I don’t tell him I’m on the shot.
He holds up a condom between his fingers. “Yeah. I decided that the moment you said, ‘Rich as fuck.’”
My eyes widen. “It’s not what you think. I swear.”
I shut up when he places a finger over his lips and shakes his head. He flicks the condom and it lands next to my head. When I look over at it, I see it’s just the empty wrapper. My eyes drift to his cock that is now sheathed in latex.
A—How did he manage to fit that thirty-three-gallon lawn and leaf bag covering his penis in that little bitty foil wrapper?
B—Just where in the hell did he get that condom?
C—When did he put it on without me knowing?
I look up at him and he smiles. “Abracadabra.”
“Smooth, Swagger. Real smooth.”
“I know.”
“Well, if you’re finished now, maybe we can move on to the next act in your magic show.”
Without warning, he thrust inside me. Shit he’s deep. I’m taken back to last night. Us on the couch. That fear of paralysis. Cock overload. Coke Can. Narrow channel. Yeah, I’m done.
“Breathe, sweet girl.” Jake’s body over mine keeps me from jumping off the desk. His words remind me that I probably do need to breathe. And his sweet kisses on the side of my neck liquefy me.
I adjust to him quickly. The initial punch to the cervix that nearly rendered me unconscious has softened to a dull ache. Not a painful ache. A desperate ache. When I hear that voice in my head again, a little louder this time, I drown it out with begging. “Oh, please. Fuck me, please.”
