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Two warm palms press against my hips. I’m so turned on it isn’t funny. All he’d have to do is push his finger between my legs to find out. But he doesn’t. Instead, he pushes himself against me, the thick ridge of him digging into my ass.
“You made me search for you,” he whispers.
“I know.”
“You like playing games?” His breath is warm against my ear. “Is that what it is?”
“Yes.”
“I bet you fucking do.” He slaps my behind, once. It’s unexpectedly hard. I let out a yelp.
And then I get wetter still.
My breath is ragged as he traces the curve of my hips, the outside of my thigh, the inner part of my knee where the skin is sensitive.
Another slap. Just as hard. I get even wetter.
“You like that?” he asks after I let out a soft groan.
“Yes.” I’m not sure I can form any other words right now.
“So do I.” He kisses my neck. It’s such a sweet contrast to the surprising sting of his palm.
There’s another shuffle, then I feel something different. His mouth, kissing the skin where it’s still sensitive from his slap. His lips trail down the curve of my behind, to the fold of skin where my ass meets my thighs,
And then his tongue darts out and licks me.
I have to muffle my mouth with my hands not to scream.
“Are you going to be good?” he asks me.
“I’m trying.”
“If you make any noise I won’t let you come.” He slides his palms up my thighs and pulls them apart, placing my feet wider apart.
And then he feasts on me.
I’ve never met a man who enjoys a woman the way Eli Salinger does. It’s like I’m his favorite meal and he hasn’t eaten in a month. I press my mouth against the back of my hand, trying not to cry out as my body goes into overdrive. My legs shake hard enough for him to have to steady me with his strong palms.
And then he goes in for the kill.
His tongue is incessant and talented, coaxing the pleasure out of me with teasing licks. He pushes a finger inside of me, then two, curling them until I’m on a cliff edge of desire.
Another lick and I careen down into oblivion.
My body convulses around his fingers, my legs shiver, and those stupidly high heels I’m wearing give way. He reaches for my hips again, holding me against him, before turning me around and sliding me back onto the desk until I’m sitting on the surface, my legs spread, the glow of my orgasm still suffusing me.
The smile on his face is so big I can’t help but smile, too. He leans forward to kiss me and I curl my hands around his neck, so happy that this man is here.
That he’s mine.
I press my cheek to his, and whisper in his ear. “Fuck me, Salinger.”
And he does.
Twice.
The second time with me bent over the desk again, so he can come inside of me while he sees his name written across my back. And when he does, letting out a long, low groan that’s so sweet it makes me ache, it feels perfect.
