Page 76 of The Temporary Bride

Her fists are clenched at her sides. She’s furious, I can see it in the set of her jaw and the way she’s looking at me, and even now, even in the middle of this argument, I’m aware of every inch of space between us. The flush climbing her neck. The way her chest moves with each fast breath. The fact that she’s jealous, actually jealous, even if she’d never call it that.

Some part of me, the part that isn’t frustrated beyond measure right now, finds that almost unbearably satisfying.

“I don’t want Iris,” I say, holding her gaze. “I haven’t wanted Iris in a very long time. Not before we got married, and certainly not now.”

“You told me that already.”

“Because it’s the truth.”

She glares at me, her gray eyes not giving an inch. “Then what do you want?”

The loaded question hangs in the air between us, and I stare at her for a long moment as dozens of emotions I don’t know how to articulate flash through my head.

Then I stop trying to find the right words and kiss her instead.

It’s hard and hungry and not particularly gentle, my mouth crashing against hers before either of us has fully processed it. She stiffens against me immediately, her hands coming up to my chest like she’s going to push me back, and for one horrible second I think she actually will. But then something in her gives, the tension draining out of her shoulders all at once, and she kisses me back.

Her fists twist into the front of my shirt, gripping the fabric, and she’s still angry, I can feel it in the way she holds on, in the way she kisses me back with an edge to it. But her mouth is communicating something entirely different than her words just were, and I focus on that.

She tries to maintain some distance but keeps closing it herself, leaning into me even as her hands push at my chest. When I pull back for air, she follows me forward, just slightly, just enough, and I feel that small involuntary movement land somewhere in my chest.

I press her back against the window properly, and before she can recalibrate, I drop to my knees in front of her, shoving her dress up over her hips. She makes a sharp sound above me, her hands flying to my hair the second she registers what I’m doing.

I hook my fingers into her panties and yank them down, and she sucks in a breath as the cool air of the room hits her. I press my mouth to the inside of her thigh for just a second, feeling the way her muscles jump at the contact, and then I bury my face between her legs.

The sound she makes goes straight through me.

Her fingers tighten in my hair immediately, her hips shifting forward despite herself, and I drag my tongue slowly through her folds, finding her already wet. The taste of her makes me groan against her, the vibration of it pulling another gasp out of her.

“This pussy is mine,” I say against her, pressing my lips to her clit before pulling back just far enough to speak. “Say whatever you want about Iris, doubt me all you like, it doesn’t change a thing. This is mine.”

She whimpers above me, her grip on my hair tightening, her hips rolling toward my mouth as if her body has decided to settle the argument on her behalf. I take that as all the answer I need.

I work her steadily, varying the pressure of my tongue against her clit, sliding a finger into her and curling it forward until I find the spot that makes her breath stutter and her thighs tremble on either side of my face. She’s still holding on to the anger somewhere, I can feel it in the way she’s fighting to keep quiet, but her body has completely abandoned that effort. She’s grinding against my mouth now, her fingers twisted in my hair, the sounds escaping her growing harder to suppress with every passing minute.

“Come for me,” I tell her, pressing my mouth more firmly against her, keeping the pressure steady. “Stop thinking about it. Just come for me.”

Her breath catches. Her thighs clamp against my head. Then she comes apart, harder than I was expecting, her hips jerking against my mouth, a moan tearing out of her that fills the empty office. I lick her through every wave of it, both hands gripping her hips to hold her steady when her legs start to shake. I don’t let up until the last tremor has passed and she’s slumped against the window, her head tipped back against the glass, her chest heaving.

I pull back slowly and rise to my feet, looking down at her. She looks wrecked, her dress still bunched at her hips, her lips parted, her eyes finding mine slowly as she comes back to herself. The flush on her face has spread all the way down her throat. For a moment neither of us says anything, the only sound in the room her own unsteady breathing and the distant noise of the city below.

“Next time you want to bring up my ex,” I say, my voice low, “I’m going to put you on your knees and fuck your face to shut you up.”

Her eyes go wide, the flush on her face deepening.

Then she slides off the windowsill and drops to her knees in front of me.

I go completely still.

She rests her hands on my thighs, looking up at me with dark eyes, and reaches for my zipper. She takes her time with it, dragging her palm deliberately along the length of my shaft through my pants on her way, making me grunt under my breath. She holds my gaze as she works my zipper down and frees my cock, wrapping her fingers around me slowly and giving me a few strokes that make my jaw lock tight.

She studies my cock, her lip caught between her teeth, her thumb dragging slowly over the tip, and her focused attention almost fucking kills me.

“Go on,” I manage. “Do what you want to.”

She leans in and takes my tip between her lips, letting it rest there, the wet heat of her mouth surrounding just the head of me, her warm breath making me pulse against her tongue. It takes everything I have not to thrust forward. When she finally closes her lips properly and starts to take me deeper, I slide my hand to the back of her head and wind my fingers into her hair.

“That’s it,” I say, my voice dropping. “That’s my good girl.”