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“Christ,” he mutters. I open my lips, closing them around his head, and then I swirl my tongue like he had done to me in the car.
The sweet expletives are gone, now. His hand finds my loose curls and he grips. “Fucking hell, Myers.”
This is what I want. Him, unbound, and completely at my mercy. Victor St. Clair begging me for more.
Victor St. Clair needing me for a change.
I wrap my lips tight around his shaft and start to move, careful to swirl my tongue at the end with every bob. I look up at him the entire time, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything hotter than Victor like this, leaning against a wall and his face tight as if with pain.
He’s so hard he’s throbbing in my mouth, and it’s all because of me.
I grip the base of him tightly and use my free hand to cup his twin weights. He tastes musky and delicious, and as I speed up, he groans above me. The sound sends a bolt of heat between my legs.
I can’t wait until he’s inside of me.
His hands tighten in my hair. “Myers, you need to stop.”
I speed up.
“Myers,” he says again. It’s the voice he used in the office, calling me in from my desk, and I react to it on instinct. His hard length makes a sharppopas I release it from my mouth and look up at him.
“Yes?”
“You’ve proven your point.” His chest rises and falls rapidly, and the eyes that stare down at me are wild. “But I’ll be inside you when I come tonight.”
Oh Lord.
I nod, mute, and accept the hand he offers me.
We don’t get further than the kitchen. He grips my hips and lifts me up onto the counter, the same one I’ve prepared breakfast on a dozen times or seen Bonnie bake bread on.
“Here,” he says. “Now.”
I reach for the buttons on his shirt and undo them, my fingers fumbling. “I need this off.”
He helps me with an impatient growl, the shirt hanging off his frame. God, he’s gorgeous, sculpted from a daily exercise regimen that prioritizes health and well-being. A wide, strong chest and the hint of a six-pack across a flat stomach, marred only by the long, jagged scar that sweeps across his torso. I run my hand over it, desire and curiosity at war within me.
The scar clearly doesn’t bother him anymore, not as he tugs my dress down over my strapless bra. He undoes the clasp and my breasts spill out into his hands, nipples taut.
“Fuck, Myers. Fuck.” He ducks his head to suck a nipple into his mouth, and my smile turns into a gasp. Sensitive, so sensitive, and I’m stimulated too far already.
I grip the hard length of him and tug him closer. He hisses out a breath, hands pushing the hem of my dress up. Fingers dig into my skin. “Condom?”
“I’m on birth control.”
With that, he fits the blunt head against me and gives a single, deep thrust. Sensuous stretching and a fullness that reaches impossibly deep. My hands find purchase on his shoulders, my breath coming fast. He’s big, and he’s buried completely, and my entire body feels like a live wire.
“Finally,” Victor murmurs as he starts to move.
It’s all I can do to hold on, but I do that to the best of my ability, locking my legs around his hips and bracing a hand behind me on the kitchen counter. The sound of us fills the kitchen, amplified against the marble.
Concentration and pleasure-pain are stark on his face. “Look down,” he tells me.
I do, and think I might orgasm from the sight alone, of him filling me with deep, measured strokes. I didn’t know it could feel like this. That I could want like this.
“You feel unreal,” he says, his voice like a benediction. “I’m not going to last for shit.”
“Then don’t.”
