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But his orgasm is approaching. He can feel it, almost on the horizon, and he's not ready to cum yet. He pulls out almost reluctantly, Morgan's face still wearing a hazy, well-fucked expression. He hasn't even begun yet.
"You ready?"
She nods, a dim smile plastered on her face. She's awash, now, he knows. She's away somewhere else, in a sea of need and arousal and nothing else exists for her but pleasure. Pleasure that he's going to give her. He leans down for a kiss, lining himself up with her entrance.
Her arms wrap around his neck, her legs wrapping around his waist as he moves in close. He lines himself up with her entrance, and when he slowly pushes himself inside, she grasps at him immediately with the thick walls of her pussy.
She lets out a happy sigh. She's been waiting for this, wanting it. She's been thinking about it, no doubt, since she climaxed under his earlier ministrations.
He pulls away from the kiss, pushes himself upright and pulls her back, away from the back of the chair without pulling out of her.
She's laying down, now, and he puts a hand down on her throat. As he pushes back inside, he drops some weight on his hand, and for an instant her hands move to grab his wrist.
Then, as if she's unsure herself of what she wants him to do, she pulls her hands back, presses her elbows into the chair, and presses her throat up into his hand, only closing it further.
He pulls out again and hits home, his cock driving hilt-deep in a single powerful thrust.
"You like that?"
She can't answer him. From the vacant expression on her face, the way that she just blinks and moans through the choking, Philip isn't sure that she's capable of much of anything except feeling pleasure. Certainly not speech.
He drives himself home again, his hips moving hard and fast—taking what he wants, taking his pleasure. What she wants is tangential to his own need.
His movements, as fast as he can make them, make it easy to feel his orgasm coming on quickly. His fingers tighten around her throat, her breasts bouncing with every thrust.
He pushes himself harder, faster. His hips can't keep rhythm any more, but still he needs more. Still he needs to push himself to move more, to take more, to get more, with every thrust.
And then he can feel her tightening down as her orgasm rips through her. Her body stiffens, her pussy clamps down on him, and he pushes inside her once, twice, three times more, and gives himself what he wanted since the first time he's laid eyes on her.
He pushes in and explodes inside her, strand after ropy strand of cum shooting deep inside, fulfilling a primal need that neither one of them is truly prepared to deny themselves. He lets out a hoarse cry, and then—
His grip on her throat loosens and she takes a breath, her eyes shooting wide before going half-lidded again. He leans down and claims a kiss from her lips, her hands moving up behind to run through his short hair.
Her body is slick with sweat, pressed against his, and her kiss tastes delicious. Like she always does. Callahan smiles into it and moves inside her, an implicit suggestion for a second round. He'll need a few minutes, at the very least. He's not a teenager any more.
But she seems generally receptive. Her teeth bite at his lip and her arms move lower, wrapping around his chest, pressing the full length of their bodies against one another.
His exhaustion, now forgotten.
By morning, it won't be.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The check was sitting in a desk drawer, and it was going to stay in her desk until he showed up. Whether or not Phil Callahan knew that he was supposed to come and get it wasn't entirely clear. She certainly hadn't bothered to tell him, but she wasn't about to.
Morgan could feel it sitting there; it was burning a hole in her pocket. She'd rather have cut the thing in half. But if he wanted to sell, then… she took a breath. She was going in circles. Over and over in circles.
First she'd be comfortable with it, and then it would be inappropriate to buy. And then she'd decide that it was his decision to make—she wasn't going to tell him what he was or wasn't allowed to do with his own damn property. Then she'd feel good about it again until the reservations would kick back in.
Well, there was plenty to be concerned about. No doubt about that. She was taking away a man's life, with the promise of land somewhere else. She hadn't even seen the place. They'd offered to buy, and the owner had come forward. A surveying team sent out, and they'd gotten information back.
Was it going to be good enough? Should she have kept it to herself?
Morgan takes a breath. She's acting like every bit the weak woman that she's never wanted to be. Every bit the woman that Brad Lang thought he could control. Every bit the one that Andrea had warned her against becoming.
Why was she so worried about pleasing Phil Callahan? At worst, he was an obstacle to her business. At best, he was a man capable of taking care of himself. He didn't need her babying him. He didn't need her trying to figure out how to solve his problems for him.
After all, if he did, he'd have told her what had him so concerned. He'd have talked to her, even a little bit, about what had him so worried. Why he needed the money so bad.
