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Lear wore a black shirt that fit over his sculpted chest and highlighted his shoulders.
“Yes.” I traced my fingers over the buttons, enjoying the way his smile faltered. “That’s how it’ll work.”
He studied my face, not making a move to touch me. He was silent for two beats longer than I could hold on to my cool, not that I let him see it. I wondered if he couldn’t handle this or would change his mind, but he stepped away. “Follow me.” He walked toward a closed door on the opposite wall and opened it up to reveal a supply closet, the shelves lined with boxes of tissue and cleaning supplies. “It’s not... romantic.”
Lear smelled good, and I ran a palm up his chest again, wanting to feel the firm muscle. “We don’t need romance,” I said, pulling him toward me in the cramped space.
“You’re right. Romance gets messy.” Lear’s mouth lowered close to my lips but dipped to my neck instead. His lips worked over my throat as his fingers teased the nape of my neck. “Complicated.”
I panted, dragging my nails across his back, turned on and interested in what in his past was so complicated, but I didn’t want to open doors to sharing stories. “Don’t mess up my hair.”
“I’ll be careful.” Lear’s hand moved lower over the fabric of my skirt. A promise and reminder of his powerful hands that slid to the zipper on the side. “Better take this off so it doesn’t wrinkle.”
I shimmied out of the fabric and draped it over a stack of chairs. “You’re so considerate.” I kissed him, enjoying the give of his lips and the soft heat of his tongue.
“I’m a nice guy,” he said, sliding a hand down my belly andbetween my legs. “If you give me a chance.” His fingers teased me through the fabric of my underwear, soft pressure over my needy flesh.
I palmed the bulge in his pants through the fabric, the rigid length tempting and hot. “I don’t care about nice, and you only have twelve minutes left.”
Without warning, he slid his fingers into my underwear, teasing and stroking, his movements quick but intentional. “You’re going to want more time.”
I already wanted more time. An image of spending all night under those touches flashed through my head, but I pushed it aside.
“But I’ll follow your rules,” he said, dipping a finger and then two into me, moving in and out of my slick heat, finding an angle that made me groan against his neck. “Are you getting lipstick on my collar?”
I slid his zipper down and reached into his pants, palming him skin to skin, loving the heat of him. “I’m not wearing any.”
“You came prepared.” His breath hitched as I stroked him, and he nudged me backward until my back hit the edge of a small table. “Did you plan this?”
“I plan everything. Do you want to talk or make the most of the next eleven minutes?”
He had me perched on the edge of the table in seconds, and I pushed my underwear down as he pulled a condom from his wallet. I had to give him credit for bending to my time limit. I wasn’t even sure why I’d pulled that number out. I had work to do, lots of it, but I’d never put a time limit on sex. I watched Lear roll the condom down his length, squeezing it in his broad fist and letting his pants fall down his thighs. The rush was kind of hot. “Nine minutes and thirty seconds,” he said, moving between my thighs. I thought he’d push in—I wanted him to, to take me to the edge, hard and fast, but he teased me instead, moving his length up and down my sensitiveflesh. “There’s so many other places I want to touch you,” he said into my neck, still teasing me. “I want more time in the future, time to find out how you like it.”
I stifled a whimper at the way his words skated over my skin. I would not whimper with him. Instead, I grazed my fingers over his shoulder. “Let’s see how you do with fifteen minutes and then I’ll decide if I’m open to negotiation.”
“Eight minutes more,” he said, ignoring my reaching for him.
“Stop making me wait.” I inched forward, trying to guide him to where I wanted.
“RJ.” He ghosted a hand over my breast, palm barely grazing the nipple though the thin fabric of my shirt. “You have a lot of rules.”
“And?” I wanted more of his hand there, even though it would wrinkle the top.
Finally, blessedly, he slid into me, filling me, slow at first, pushing in and then pulling back out, but picking up speed, developing a hurried rhythm. “I have a rule, too.”
My breath came in hitches as he pumped into me, finding the right angle, and I leaned back on the desk until he hit me just where I needed. “What’s your rule?”
He settled his fingers over mine and guided my hand to his shoulder, the weight of his hand an odd mix of comfort and anticipation. “You finish first. Six minutes left, RJ.”
I rolled my head back, and he nudged my fingers away and began making slow circles over my swollen, pulsing bundle of nerves. My body heated and my thighs shook. I wanted to pull his hair, to climb on top of him, to kiss his soft lips again, but I couldn’t do anything but roll my hips and force my noises to mute. Lear knew how to touch me, and me finishing first would not be a problem.
An orgasm coiled like a spring in my belly and I rolled against him harder. I expected a smirk, but his gaze was intent on me as the table made sharp noises against the wall behind it. He continuedthe steady, sliding pressure against me and I broke, thighs shaking and my groan strangled as I came, the rush of pleasure like blinding light and then being wrapped in a sweet-smelling blanket.
Lear’s expression changed, and he gripped my waist, thrusting into me harder before letting out his own groan, the sound muted against my neck and his eyes squeezed shut.
We stayed there, both catching our breaths, the closet silent around us.
He pulled out of me, taking care of the condom and swiping a box of tissues from the shelf. He looked at his wrist. “Four minutes left... can I bank those for next time?”
