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My head falls to which my eyes close.
Fuck it. You only live once.
“Enter me,” I beg of him.
He doesn’t wait for me to change my mind, sliding in with desire driving him to pump me hard. I keep my voice down, aware someone can hear us at any time.
“Come for me, Addison,” he demands.
I reach behind and pull him into me. At the same time, my body falls into a euphoric state. Every inch of me is sensitive to movement and touch, but then I realize he hasn’t finished. A few more thrusts, and he pulls out with a grunt.
Catching my breath, I turn around to see him with his chest rising and falling at a manic pace.
But my eyes fall elsewhere, to his hand beside his cock, all covered in his cum.
I reach for his hand as he watches me with curiosity. Bringing it up to my lips, I run my tongue along his skin and lick the cum from his hand.
“Fuck,” he groans.
When I’m finished, I hold his stare and fall to my knees, cleaning up the rest of him.
“You’re still hard,” I murmur, circling my tongue around his piercing.
“Because I’m not finished with you yet.”
“Oh…”
“But not here,” he says in a strained voice while watching me lick him clean.
“Where?”
“My place. I need every inch of you naked, Addison.”
I pull back, unable to hide my grin. “You lead, I’ll follow, Mr. Cooper.”
Masen quickly buttons his pants, but then, in a sudden move, he cups my face and plants a soft kiss on my lips.
“You sure you can handle it?”
I kiss him back, burying my smile. “We’ll soon see.”
Twelve
Addison
Masen lives in a penthouse apartment only a few blocks down from the office.
Although the drive only took less than five minutes, several minutes were getting out of the underground parking lot. I’m relieved at the short drive since making small talk after you’ve fucked a man inside his office is awkward next level.
What can I possibly talk about? The weather or rising gas prices? Thankfully, a call came through on Masen’s phone, forcing him to answer it. The client, I assume, stirs Masen’s anger as he clenches his teeth while trying to respond calmly. When we arrive at the garage, the call ends too.
“Is everything okay?” I ask to be polite.
“Just incompetency.”
I don’t say another word, observing him clutch at the steering wheel with white knuckles. The stress is getting to him, or perhaps impatience since his jaw is tight.Why does he look so hot when he’s angry?
Just as I’m about to give him an out so he can focus on work, he removes his grip from the wheel and places his hand on my thigh.
