My mouth pops open and a sigh releases.
A sound vibrates in his chest and he closes the gap between us. His body is flush against mine, eyes roaming my face.
It’s a chore on the back of my neck to keep my gaze up on him, but I can’t look away.
He circles a hand around my back allowing me to relax, just a bit. Then his head dips.
My heart flutters in my chest, my lips tingling with anticipation.
He drifts down slowly, as if debating with his actions, but finally, his lips touch mine.
I’m not sure what he was going for, but once he touches me, I know need like I’ve never felt before.
I take his lips, feeling the soft, gentle press. It’s both assuring and arousing, making me hot for him.
I run my hands over his shoulders and up into his hair. His hands splay on my back, pressing me closer into him.
It’s not enough.
I lick his lips, moaning as his tongue touches mine. More. His tongue darts past my lips and finds my tongue.
It’s a wild, savage dance how he kisses me. Our breaths are harsh, our bodies pressing together like we would sear off our clothes if we could.
“I need you, Chance,” I gasp into his mouth.
He answers by trailing his hands down my body and fisting my skirt. He drags it up, then pushes his hands underneath.
My skin burns where his hands grab and knead. It’s almost painful how his fingers dig into my ass. But I want more.
I tear my lips from his and lick his earlobe, then his neck.
He hisses, craning, giving me room. I bite.
“Fucking hell,” he growls.
I reach for his collar to pull off the shirt but he catches my hands in a tight grip. He pushes my hands apart, then spins me around to face the desk.
“No,” I start to turn. “I want—”
“Stay.” He presses into me from behind.
I inhale sharply. His rock-hard cock notches between my ass cheeks. My body trembles as I realize only my lace underwear and the fly of his pants separate us.
I forget I want to feast on his skin and instead, roll my hips against his hard length.
He groans roughly, then his hand lands on my shoulder and pushes me down.
My cheek hits the cool desk, my waist curved, ass in the air for him. I’m unable to move. But I want to.
I try to brace my hands and rise, but he growls and takes my hands, trapping them at my lower back. His left hand holds both of my wrists in a tight, constraining grip.
“Chance,” I whine. “I want to participate.”
I can’t believe it’s something I have to ask for, but he doesn’t answer.
The sound of a descending zipper fills the air and my body shudders with anticipation.
I want to see him, touch him, and know he’s not mad at me. But he doesn’t let go despite my struggles.
