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Fucking heaven.
She moaned, squeezing her inner muscles tight around his cock every time he seated himself deep. Each pulse of his dick stretched her greedy flesh even further.
She gasped when he reached around to rub her still-sensitive clit, sure she couldn't come again so soon. But after several powerful strokes, the familiar tingles started low in her belly.
God. So much for dry spells. Her mystery man had just blown hers to hell.
Once again, she gripped the desk, biting down hard on her lower lip to stifle her scream. She squeezed her eyes shut, only vaguely aware that the speed of his plunges had increased to prolong her orgasm.
And prolong it he did. By the time the climax trailed off into aftershocks, she was shaking and panting and on the verge of crying out for mercy.
She tried to breathe. To remember she was fucking a stranger in her office. But the decadence of being naked with a man she'd thought belonged to her fantasies won out over her reservations and she milked his cock for everything he was worth.
On and on he went, changing the angle and depth of his strokes, driving her for more until her knee ached like a bitch and she was a heartbeat from slumping onto the desk in a boneless heap.
“Yes. Oh Bella, yes,” he murmured, his breath hot on her neck. “I want to lick every drop from you.”
He sounded…overcome. Completely and utterly aroused, which made the sweet friction of his fullness even more intense.
And his stamina…dear God, how could it be possible he still hadn’t come?
Soon, his thrusts quickened, and he returned to speaking in Italian, his voice lifting as he went faster and faster.
Finally, he buried himself to the hilt as he shouted out his release.
She waited until he'd pulled out, then she shifted her stance to drape her upper body over the desk and bury her face in her arms.
Which left her displayed, ass up, but that couldn’t be helped at the moment since she’d basically collapsed.
Death by extremely good sex? If that was a thing, she was okay with it.
Breathe. Just breathe.
After a moment, he touched her arm. “Are you okay?”
Elena bit her lip and lifted her head to stare at her reflection inthe glass wall. Now that she’d experienced what he could give her, she felt shy again.
What was she doing? With someone she worked with, sort of, no less? Had she gone well and truly crazy?
He gave her assa playful pinch. “You can’t imagine how you look, so wet and pink and hungry for my touch. Still.” Proving it, he rubbed her slit until a tremor stole through her. She couldn't come again. Not for a year or two. “Dark red curls down here too,” he said, and the wonder in his tone made her force out a laugh.
“Yeah, I’m not a bottle redhead.”
“But you do have other secrets. Fantasies you do not share with others.”
She swallowed, not letting herself get swept away by the sexy cadence of his accented voice as he ditched the condom in her garbage can—herofficegarbage can—and circled the desk to stand beside her shoulders. “They’re not fantasies.”
“Reality then?” One dark brow arched even as he lifted her chin. “You’ve fucked in a closet? You’ve let a man strum your body with a violinist’s bow?”
“Well, no.” That she didn’t flush made her immensely proud. “But I get paid for those words. I write. I’m a writer.”
There, she’d said it, and the world hadn’t tipped off its axis. Besides, she was still draped over her desk with her backside in the air. How could words on a page be that shocking?
“So you admit your friend didn’t write those words.”
She managed to stand and winced from the desk burn on her knees. Ouch, that would hurt tomorrow. She felt his gaze on her as she reached up to unbind her hair, though the symbolism of the act wasn’t lost on her.
Let down your hair and come out to play, Bella.
