With the way his head is spinning, he’s not sure how he’s still standing. And while he wants nothing more in this moment than to bring her to the edge and then tip her over, he’s not sure if he deserves it. Because surely, he’s notthisgood.
Then slowly, something changes. He can sense her body tightening, and when she looks up at him through heavy-lidded eyes, she gives him a slight nudge away from her chest as she stretches a hand toward his jeans.
“Do you want me on my knees?” she asks in this breathy register he’s never heard from her.
“Do I—what?”
“Do you want me on my knees,” she repeats, without a question in her voice this time. “If you’re going to come, you can do it on my tits or my ass, but just not on my face, please.”
Nick just looks at her. Takes a moment to readjust his glasses. He can barely process the words, let alone understand them. The sultry way she asked him sounded like she was playing acharacter. There was something mechanical there, almost like—like she’s said this before. Like someone didn’t respect it.
When he doesn’t respond, her expression morphs to horror.
“Oh god,” she says, hand covering her face. “I completely ruined the moment, didn’t I? I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have just assumed, I’m sorry. I—I can go.”
What kind of lowlifes has she been with? Does she just assume whatever this is centers on his pleasure only? That hers is an afterthought?
“No, no,” he says, and he wants to hold her. He reaches forward to lift her hand from her face, wanting desperately to show her she has nothing to be ashamed of. Kisses her palm, and then the red apple of her cheek. And then abruptly worries that might be too intimate, contrasted with how frenzied they just were. “It’s not that—that I don’t want that.” He swallows hard, choosing his words carefully. “I just…I’d like to touch you first. If that’s okay.”
“Oh,” she says in a small voice. “Sure. Yeah.” But she doesn’t exactly sound eager. She continues, as though trying to talk herself into it: “But I should warn you…I’m not very easy.”
A smirk. “I didn’t think you were.”
The next time she kisses him, tugging his chin closer, it feels heavier, somehow.
“You’re sure?” he says against her mouth, and she nods.
“I’m sorry—let’s just ignore all that weird stuff I said.”
And he can do that, even if it makes him ache a little, the fact that her first impulse was to focus solely on him. He wants to tell her that he’d sooner be the one on his knees—that it’s precisely what he pictured when he fell apart last night. She melts back into him as he trails his hand up her leg again and gives her thigha squeeze. Drags her closer to the edge of the desk. He’ll go slow with her. Tease her.
“Is this okay?” he asks as he traces the seam of her panties. He can feel her, damp and needy. But he won’t keep going unless she gives her most enthusiastic—
“Yes,”she says against his neck.
With one finger, he pushes aside the fabric that seems just as barely-there as her bra.Fuck, she’s already so wet—he has to swallow back a thousand desperate sounds. She feels incredible like this, warm and slick and opening up for him.Unreal.
He gives her long, focused strokes along her lips as she clenches her fists in his shirt. Bites out her exhales. She said she isn’t easy? Then he’s going to work his absolute hardest.
“How’s that?” he asks when he brushes her clit, the feathering of his fingertip drawing out a sigh.
“A little faster.” When he adjusts his speed, she throws her head back, exposing the curve of her neck. He puts his mouth right there. “That’s—that’s perfect.”
God, he’s pretty sure he could come just like this, with his hand inside her panties. He’s never felt more out of control, more overwhelmed—by the scent of her, the feel of her, the stunning, filthy sounds she makes. He slips a finger inside her, savoring her moan before he goes a little deeper. And then deeper still. Her hands, clutching the fabric of his shirt like she could rip it apart at any moment. They find a rhythm, this slight roll of her hips while he keeps his thumb pulsing on her clit.
“I—I’m close,” she says, seeming to surprise herself.
He quickens his pace. His cock strains against his jeans, heart slamming his rib cage. Never has he been more set on achieving a goal in his entire goddamn life. “Christ. You feel…” Even whilehe’s fumbling for a word, she lets out a faint whine, as though anticipating the praise. “…so good.”
She deserves a better adjective, and he’s almost embarrassed by how elementary this one is, but he loves what it does to her all the same. Lashes lowered, hair a mess, shirt open while she rides his hand, her bra doing absolutely nothing to contain her breasts. If they get another chance at this, he’ll read her a whole thesaurus.
When he gives her a second finger, she shudders around him. Then she’s tightening her grip on his collar, pressing her face to his chest. He’s harder than steel, but he can’t focus on anything but Ramona. His free hand on the back of her neck, twisted in her hair.
“Please,” she says, and he cannot believe Ramona Wilder is spread for him on his desk and begging.
“Ah. So you can be polite sometimes.”
That’s what does it. A gasp tears from her throat as she hides her face in his shirt—and fuckinghell, that has to be the prettiest sound he’s ever heard. She’s trembling against him. Working to catch her breath. He might as well be cresting that wave with her, his hand on the back of her head, keeping her steady with soft strokes of her hair.
