Page 72 of Knocked Up By the Silver Foxes

She makes a sound and turns back toward the door.

I'm off the couch before she reaches it.

I step into her path and she walks into my chest, both hands coming up against it, and I put my arms around her before she can step back. Not to hold her in place. Just to be there.

She goes still.

I reach down and hook both hands under her thighs and lift her, turning, and settle her onto the edge of my desk. She grabs my shoulders. Steadies. Looks up at me.

I take her face in both hands.

“There is nothing,” I say, “any of us wouldn't do to keep you safe. Nothing. And I'm not apologizing for that.”

She opens her mouth.

“We know you're capable,” I say, before she can. “We know you've been handling everything alone since you were sixteen and you're extraordinary at it. That's not what this is.” I hold her gaze. “You don't have to do it alone anymore. That is what this is.”

Something gives in her expression. Not dramatically. Just quietly, the way a knot loosens when it finally finds the right angle. She drops her head forward and her forehead comes to rest against my chest and I feel her breathe out, long and slow, something carried too long finally put down.

I press my lips to her hair. Stay there.

Then I put two fingers under her chin and tilt her face up to mine.

She looks at me. Eyes dark. Something open in them she's stopped closing off.

I kiss her.

Her mouth is warm and yielding under mine, a soft gasp swallowed between us as I slant my lips over hers, deepening the kiss before she can catch her breath. She tastes like coffee and the lingering sweetness of the wine we sampled earlier, and I drag my tongue against hers, slow and deliberate, savoring the way her fingers fist in my shirt.

She pushes my suit jacket off my shoulders, her nails scraping down my arms before she grips my biceps, pulling me closer. I don’t let her rush me. I kiss her like I have all the time in the world, like this office and the vineyard beyond it don’t exist, like the only thing that matters is the way her body arches into mine.

My hands slide down her sides, over the curve of her waist, and I grip the hem of her skirt, pushing it up her thighs. She’s warm under my palms, her skin smooth, and when my fingers brush higher, I find nothing but bare skin.

I break the kiss just enough to smirk against her lips. “No panties.”

She exhales a laugh, breathless, her hips shifting under my touch. “You noticed.”

“I notice everything about you.”

My fingers slide through her slick heat, and she gasps, her nails biting into my shoulders through the fabric of my shirt. She’s already wet, already wanting, and I press two fingers into her without warning, curling them just right to make her back bow off the desk.

“Fuck—” Her head drops back, throat exposed, and I kiss the pulse there, feeling it jump under my lips as I fuck her with my fingers, slow then fast, dragging out every sound she makes.

Her hips rock against my hand, chasing her pleasure, and I watch her—the way her lips part, the way her lashes flutter, the way her breath hitches when I add a third finger, stretching her.

“Come for me,” I murmur against her ear, my voice rough.

She does. With a sharp cry, her body tightens around my fingers, her thighs trembling as she shudders through it. I don’t stop until she’s gasping, her hands pushing weakly at my wrist.

I pull my fingers free, bringing them to my mouth, never breaking eye contact as I lick them clean. Her pupils dilate, her lips parting on a shaky exhale.

“You’re fucking filthy,” she breathes.

I unbuckle my slacks with one hand, shoving them down just enough to free my cock. I’m already hard, aching, and when I grip her hips and drag her to the edge of the desk, she wraps her legs around me without hesitation.

I push into her in one smooth thrust, filling her completely, and her moan is loud, unfiltered, her nails digging into my arms.

“Look at you,” I growl, my hands sliding up her thighs, pushing her skirt higher. “Taking me so fucking well.”