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Layla had closed up nearly an hour ago and left with her husband and sons, leaving the floor eerily quiet below them. Still, Dawg jerked the shades closed and locked the office door.
Crista licked her lips nervously, feeling the ever-ready heat that lingered beneath her flesh building then. As though every cell of her body was so attuned to him that it knew the moment he decided it was time to begin playing again.
“Fine, I feel like playing then. Take your clothes off. ”
Instantly the air was redolent with arousal and hard, male domination.
Crista had already decided that rather than fighting the sensuality and Dawg, she would instead allow herself to enjoy. To revel in the carnal intensity that was so much a part of him and to allow herself this one moment in time to enjoy his taste, his touch.
There was no other man like Dawg, and there never would be.
She couldn’t fight him today. Not right now. She needed his touch as much as he evidently wanted to give it.
She toed her sandals from her feet as her fingers went to the narrow leather belt that cinched her jeans. Her heart was racing in her chest as she flicked the metal button loose and rasped the zipper down. His gaze never left her hands, following each movement as she skimmed the material over her thighs and pushed it down her legs. Stepping out of the jeans, she tossed them to the leather visitor’s chair that sat in front of his desk.
She was left in the snug, narrow-strapped camisole top, lacy white bra, and matching thong she wore. Dawg’s eyes darkened, dilated, as he moved slowly back around the desk and lowered the shade behind the desk.
His expression was pure lust. Dark, overwhelming, tight with hunger, and blazing with arousal. It sent a shaft of fiery sensation streaking to her womb, clenching it violently before snapping to her vagina and spasming through the tender muscles there. Silky wet heat spilled from her as the outer folds became swollen and heavy, so sensitive she had to bite her lip against the whimper that would have escaped her throat.
Dawg disposed of his T-shirt before bending and pulling his boots from his masculine feet.
Stripping his white socks off next, his head lifted, his eyes spearing into her.
“You’re not naked,” he reminded her gutturally. “Take the clothes off, or I’ll rip them of you. ”
“This is your office. ” She was breathless, teasing him even though she knew better.
His lips tightened in a feral smile. “And you’re my sex toy. Office hours are over, and I’m ready to play, Crista. ”
Oh Lord, was he ready to play. The T-shirt was tossed in the corner of the room; the muscles of his chest and abs rippled with power and tensed with determination.
“Take the shirt off. ”
She gripped the hem of the shirt and pulled it off slowly, her thighs weakening at the sound of his harsh, indrawn breath. Tossing it to the chair with her jeans, she faced him with nothing but a few scraps of lace and a hunger she knew was as naked as his.
“Fucking beautiful,” he growled, his hands loosening his belt slowly. “Now the bra. I want to see those pretty tits. Your sweet, hard nipples. ”
Her hands were shaking as she gripped the clasp between her breasts and loosened it. Drawing it from her shoulders, she allowed it to drop, forgotten, to the floor at her feet.
Dawg’s jaw clenched. He pushed his fingers through his long black hair, pulling back the thick, silky strands from his face.
He looked like a savage. Tall, hard, intent on claiming what he believed was his, for now.
Her hands went to the band of her panties.
“Leave them,” he rasped. “Come over here. Right here. ” He patted the top of the desk in front of his chair.
Crista felt a shudder work over her body as she moved to him slowly. Wariness had her watching him closely. This wasn’t a hunger that burned hot and fast. She could see that. It was simmering just beneath the surface, a banked, furious blaze that he ruthlessly controlled now.
“Absolutely beautiful,” he crooned in that husky, dark voice as she moved around the corner of the desk.
Sliding in front of the chair, she began to lift herself to the walnut top when he stopped her.
“Not like that. ” He gripped her hip with one hand. “Turn around and lean over it. ”
She fought to breathe. Turning, she flattened her hands on the desktop and, with his hand on her back, let him guide her into position.
Her breasts flattened against the dark wood, her nipples tightening against the cool desktop as she felt him move behind her.
