Page 48 of Sterling Clay

He hums while I moan a sigh of relief. Like I’ve been buttoned up tight and now I can breathe.

His hands come to my belly and travel upward, digging into my skin before he reaches my breasts. He cups the heavy swells and squeezes.

“Oh God,” I whimper, my nipples instantly erect. My breasts ache for more from him. Clay doesn’t disappoint. He tugs down my bra, trussing up my cleavage. His gaze fixes on my breasts, exposed for his pleasure. For my pleasure.

“So pretty,” he murmurs before massaging them once more. “Tell me more of what you want.”

My gaze travels to the desk once more before dropping to him, on his knees in front of me, working my breasts in his large, strong hands.

“Suck one,” I quietly order, surprising myself at how easily I give the command.

Clay stills, glancing up at me. Then holding my gaze with his, he leans forward, and takes one swell into the warmth of his mouth, sucking hard until his lips circle the taut peak. His teeth graze along my nipple, the sting causing me to flinch.

But I also like it.

I cup the back of his head, stroking his thick hair as he moves to the other breast repeating the sweet torture. With my nipples erect and breasts damp, he pulls back and admires them once more.

“Perfection.”

He lowers to kiss my belly and work his way down until my dress restricts him from lowering.

“Open the rest of my dress,” I demand.

Clay rips at the edges so fast the snaps pop with a collective gasp. Brushing the material to the side, Clay leans back on his haunches and stares at my skin. His hands move over my belly once more, coasting lower to cover my hips, but his eyes don’t leave the apex of my legs.

“Kiss me,” I say quietly.

Clay obliges like a starving man. Quickly, his face is between my thighs, spreading my legs wide and kissing me over my panties. Then he pushes the silky, damp material aside and kisses me like that first kiss. A brush of his lips like a whisper of air. I whimper with need for more, and he latches on, startling me once more. I grip his head for balance.

“Holy . . .” The invasion of his tongue has me seeing stars and I cling to him as his lips suck and his teeth nip before his tongue swirls once more. His hands clasp on the back of my thighs, inside my open dress. The warmth of his palms heats my skin, and he hangs onto me like I’m holding onto him. With his desperate mouth against me, in places that haven’t been devoured in so long, I rock against him and moan.

“That feels so good,” I encourage, needing more, reaching for that special edge. As he swipes his tongue forward, he hits my clit, and I jolt. Knowing he’s hit the spot, Clay concentrates on the sensitive nub until I’m out of control.

My hips move like I’m choreographing a new kind of two-step, one private between me and this man. I’ll never be the same again, and with a quick strum against tender folds, I crack.

“Clay.” I cry out his name, grip the back of his head, and curl forward as if I can draw him into me. The release washes out of me, coasting along with the call of his name, and rushing to one central place on my body.

My pulse thumps. I’m free. I’m free. I’m free. My mind floats with the mantra as I flutter against Clay’s mouth while he draws out every drop of my essence.

“Oh, my God,” I mutter, eventually pressing at the sides of his head, needing him to give me a moment.

Clay pulls back but tips his forehead against my lower belly and inhales again. “Your scent is intoxicating.”

He rights my underwear and leans back, looking up at me with innocent eyes, but also ones full of mischief. Like he knows what he’s just done to me, and he’s damn proud of himself.

“What else?” he demands, wanting more of me. More of me telling him what to do.

My gaze flits to the desk once more. I imagine Clay and me, joined as one on the surface. The two of us moving in unison together, connected together. I want to feel all of him. The weight of his body on mine. The feel of him inside me. Not his fingers. Not his tongue, but the clearly impressive-sized cock straining at the front of his jeans. I want to take pleasure from him, as well as give it in return. To relish in this newfound power of sexual expression. To explore this exciting strength within me. The freedom to ask for what I want and receive it.

“You want it there, don’t you? Say it and I’ll do it.” He’s almost taunting me, goading me into admission.

“I want to have sex with you on the desk.”

His brows lift, perhaps surprised I confessed so easily. Maybe too easily. I step back, fixing my bra, ready to concede that what he did was enough. I don’t want to appear selfish or desperate, eager for more of him.

Slowly, Clay rises, like a stalk unfurling toward the rising sun. He stands tall but not imposing before me.

“To be clear, you want me to bend you over my desk and fuck you.”