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Breath catches in my throat as I comply. The wood of his desk is hard and unyielding against my spine.
The callouses on his hands rasp against my skin as they shove my dress higher and tug my soaked thong down.
I know what’s coming, when his palm presses against my inner thigh until I feel the burn of my muscles stretching fully spread. But I’m in no way prepared for the slick heat of his tongue exploring tracing circles around my clit, sparking electricity everywhere.
His touch is teasing, a kiss on the inside of my knee or just above my hipbone before he’s back between my legs. There’s a dull roar in my ears as my body arches, my instinct to push closer to the pressure no matter how desperate it makes me look.
I’m lost to lust, desire eradicating every logical, nuanced instinct.
“More,” I moan, lifting my hips.
Oliver chuckles, and I feel it reverberate against the sensitive flesh. “I’m never going to be able to work at this fucking desk again without picturing you like this.”
Good, I think.
Because he’s infiltrated my life in LA. I think of him in the passenger seat of my car. Playing croquet in my parents’ backyard. Making me come in the bed I sleep in every night.
The pleasure grows, stoked like a fire finding fresh wood. I’m closer and closer, my breath coming faster and my heart racing as Oliver matches my urgency, his tongue swirling and his teeth nipping.
And then I’m flying, propelled by an invisible force that flings me into nothingness and then pieces me back together until I’m back on Oliver’s desk, panting and relaxed as the aftershocks of my orgasm tremble through me. If we werereallymarried, I’d beg him to do that to me every morning. Scream until I was hoarse.
A satisfied smile spreads across his face as he takes in my heaving chest and heavy eyelids.
I force myself to sit up, grabbing the cock that’s turned an angry shade of purply red. Engorged and leaking, pulsing in my hand. I pump the tip, and he hisses.
“You have a condom?”
He’s already pulling out his wallet. A piece of paper falls out when he grabs the foil packet. I don’t realize what it is until I catch a glimpse of the writing on it before he carefully tucks it away.
“Seemed silly to actually burn it,” Oliver mutters, grabbing the foil packet and ripping it open with his teeth.
I watch as he grips his dick and rolls the rubber on. Suck on my bottom lip, as the tip teases my entrance, sliding through the evidence of my arousal.
Oliver grunts as he starts to press inside of me, his fingers digging into my hips. My thighs tremble from the effort of holding open and the burn of him stretching me.
My breath comes in gasps and lurches, trying to acquaint myself with the sensation of him inside of me and also recognizing it’s an impossible task.
Oliver’s breathing is just as erratic, his abs clenching as he pushes in deeper. I can see each inch, watch as it disappears. Feel my inner muscles pulse around his thick length and notice the tendons in his arms tense, holding himself back.
I’m not sure if anything has felt better than the wet heat of his mouth tugging on one nipple, sucking it to a raised point as a fresh shock of electricity races through me.
Jagged pants spill out of my mouth as I rock against him, trying to erase all the distance between us and force more friction.
My breathing is loud and needy. All I can hear in the quiet space. I hiss his name, scrabbling at his back as I grip his shirt. It’s too good—too much.
And then I’m flying, staring out at a dazzling view of the city.
Wondering how I’ll be able to return to LA, after experiencing this.
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
OLIVER
My steps are sure as I approach his office, but the back of my neck is hot and itchy. It feels like every eye in this hallway is on me, wondering why I’m knocking on Crew’s door.
“Come in,” Crew calls out.
When I walk in, he’s rubbing a temple and staring at a sheet of paper.
