Page 21 of Working for the Heiress

Something moved behind his eyes — the last wall, the last excuse — and I watched it fall.

The sound he made when my body pressed against his was low and rough and not entirely human. I felt the length of him hard against my stomach and heat flooded low and immediate between my legs. His hands clamped into my hair, tilting my head, his tongue sliding against mine. I grabbed fistfuls of his henley and pulled him closer and he groaned into my mouth and his hips pressed forward and I gasped at the thickness of his cock against me through our clothes.

His mouth went to my neck. My jaw. The place behind my ear where I stopped thinking. His rough palms slid under my shirt onto the bare skin of my stomach and I arched into him.

He pulled back. Reached behind his neck. Pulled the henley over his head in one motion. His chest was broad and hard, dark hair across his pectorals, a scar along his ribs I'd ask about later. His body was the most beautiful thing I had ever imagined. I realized every fantasy I’d ever had, every night alone in the dark with my hand wandering down my own body…it was all for him.

I put my mouth on his collarbone. He made a sound like I'd wounded him.

His hands found the button of my jeans. He looked at me — checking — and I lifted my hips and he pulled them down and off, work boots with them. He dropped to his knees.

Conrad Holt on his knees in front of me with the storm shaking the building. I would remember this image for the rest of my life.

He pressed his mouth to the inside of one thigh. Then the other. His hands slid up my legs, thumbs tracing the stretch marks on my skin. I flinched — an old reflex, the instinct to close up and cover the places where my body had dared to be soft and wide and too much.

He stopped. He pulled back far enough to look up at me, his rough hands still bracketing my thighs, and said, "You were made for me. Every inch. Don't hide from me."

My throat closed. I nodded.

He hooked his fingers in the waistband of my underwear and pulled them down until I was bare on the desk in front of him and his eyes moved over me with a focus I recognized from the hangar — the way he looked at a machine he was about to take apart and put back together better.

His mouth found me.

His tongue slid through my folds, slow, deliberate, and my hand shot to his hair and gripped. This was new and foreign, yet with Conrad it felt natural, inevitable. He groaned against me and the vibration made my hips buck and he pressed one hand into the soft rise of my stomach to hold me still. He worked me steadily, attentive, reading every response, adjusting pressure and speed and angle with the same concentration he gave a torque wrench.

His tongue circled my clit and I bit my own hand to keep from screaming.

He pulled my hand away from my mouth, expression dark and powerful. Wanting and commanding all at once. "Let me hear you."

I stopped trying to be quiet.

He licked into me deeper, his tongue pushing inside, and then back to my clit, two fingers sliding into me while his mouth stayed where it was, and I could feel the calluses on those fingers, the roughness of a working man's hands inside the softest part of me, and I shook.

He pulled back just far enough to speak against my skin. "You taste like freedom. Like forever."

I couldn't answer. His mouth was back on me and his fingers curled and found a spot that whited out my vision at the edges and I came with his name in my mouth, my back arching off the desk, my thighs clamping around his head, my hand pulling his hair hard enough that it had to hurt. He held me through it — his free hand at the small of my back, steadying me — and when the aftershocks released their grip and I opened my eyes he was still on his knees, looking up at me like I was the first sunrise he'd seen in five years.

I was panting. The lights had gone out at some point — who could keep track — and the emergency light in the hall threw a thin red line through the gap under the door. Enough to see his face. Enough to see everything.

"I've been waiting my whole life to feel that," I said.

He purred—not like a cat. Like a panther.

I looked into his face and moaned. “I need you, Conrad.”

Conrad

I knelt before her as her plush thighs bracketed my face, the sweet taste of her on my tongue as she looked down at me. “Lili.” I stood, knees shouting, and I kissed her. She tasted herself on me and made a sound that jumped straight to my cock, which had been aching since she pushed me against that wall.

“I haven’t been with anyone since I moved here,” I whispered, kissing her as I told her the necessary information. “Passed my physical to get the job in Forge Creek.”

She sighed, a smile tipping the corners of her pouty lips I couldn’t wait to plump with fevered kisses. "Good." Her hands were at my belt. "I want you. Just you. No barriers. I've had enough of those."

I helped her with the buckle because her hands were shaking. She freed me and wrapped her hand around my cock and I had to brace one arm on the desk to keep standing. Her grip was firm and curious and she pumped once, twice, and I caught her wrist.

"If you keep doing that this is going to be over before it starts."

"Then don't make me wait."