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I stood behind him, trying to be supportive even though I was entirely in the dark, then his computer screen changed and a file folder popped up.
My brows lifted at the number of files on there, absentmindedly taking note of how they were arranged in an odd manner.
“This is your storage system?” I asked.
He hummed. “I tried to stop thinking in binary and channeled quantum mechanics instead. I turned files into layers and—” He turned to me. “I can explain another day. My mind isn’t on this problem, but the one we’re trying to fix right now.”
I hummed back, not wanting to disrupt his train of thought, but at least that made sense as to why the file folder was arranged so unusually. It went deeper than files being layers…
As I watched him work, actually watched him, not from a distance, not through a webcam, in the flesh and within touching distance, I could feel my heart start to race.
It was in direct response to his intelligence.
Damn, I was in over my head here.
It wasn’t in me to make shit. I destroyed it. I waded in and rammed through it. Conor was the opposite. It was probably why he felt he’d improved since coming to know me—what he built, I tried to destroy, and he had to get better at building or faster at repairing around me.
But that his mind veered down these channels, that he’d created something so clever and with such little fanfare, impressed me like nothing else could.
And my whole being responded to it.
I could feel my pulse start to throb in different areas of my body that shouldn’t be reacting right now, not when we had other things to do. But I just knew—I needed him in me.
I needed all that genius inside me.
Filling me.
With no ado, I unfastened my pants and started shoving them down my legs. Toeing out of my boots, I gently nudged them aside then dragged my skinny jeans off so I was standing there in a jacket and tank.
When I dragged his chair away from the desk mid-keystroke, he groused, “Hey! I’m bus—”
I knew his mind was not on topic when his eyes flared at the sight of me. I moved around him, put one knee on either side of his on the seat, then straddled him. His gaze dropped down to my pussy, then he reached forward and grabbed the hem of my tank once I’d shrugged out of my jacket.
Within seconds, I was bare and he was not.
Within seconds, I faced a brutal truth—I’d often been naked around dressed men. But this was Conor. And I refused to bring those bastards into this.
So, like I’d classified myself as being earlier, I rammed through those thoughts and instead, I urged myself to find pleasure in his expression, in his eyes, in the curve of his lips, in the feel of his hands.
He was a kid in a candy store.
His fingers dipped here and there, gaze tripping from my breasts and down to my spread pussy lips. Hunger made his jaw clench, and when he ran his fingertips through my slit and I groaned, his feral expression had me arching back and shoving my tits in his face.
His lips found my nipple, and they tugged on it, sucking and licking and nipping it, all while his fingers continued to stroke my clit.
When the digits slipped down to circle my entrance, I focused on how the butt of his wrist put pressure on the nub. I concentrated on the soft groans he made, on the scent of oranges that permeated the space between us. I focused on him rather than on me because I was broken in some parts and Conor was my glue.
I shuddered when his slick fingers retreated and the slippery tips danced around my clit.
My hips started rocking of their own volition and I didn’t even care that the chair was starting to creak—shit like that normally took me out of my headspace. No, instead, I could feel the welter of pleasure beginning to form in my core.
It was there, making me wetter, starting to burn, turning my veins molten hot.
When I knew I was wet enough, I jerked away from him and stood in front of his chair. He blinked at me, scowling at my retreat, but the scowl soon disappeared as I reached down and grabbed his zipper. He angled his hips up to facilitate me, and within moments, his dick was in my hand and the mess he made was on my palm, the pre-cum lubing him up as I turned around, presenting him with my ass. He seemed to know what I was doing because he helped me as I leaned back, settling on his lap in reverse.
When his dick was sandwiched between my thighs, I pressed the head against my clit and started working myself on it.
“Go back to what you were doing,” I told him around a gasp.
