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“Shh,” he murmurs, soothing me, running his hands over my body. Maybe he sensed my sudden panic. “My sweet girl. Let me take care of you. I’ll make you feel good.”
I pluck at the thin fabric of his dress shirt. “Finn.”
He yanks his shirt off, not bothering with the rest of the buttons. I hear them hit the desk and the wooden floor in small pings. An undershirt goes over his head.
Then he’s bared to me.
I always knew that he was broad shouldered and tightly built. Part of me knew, in an abstract way, that he would look as beautiful without clothes as he does with them. But I had no idea. None. Muscles lay over each other in a masculine symphony. Springy hair covers a broad, strong chest.
God, I don’t want to compare them. But I can’t help it.
Lane Constantine was much older than me when we had our affair. I was only nineteen years old. He was forty-six at the time. He kept in shape, but his body was mature. Finn looks like a statue of a Greek god come to life.
I’m greedy for more. My hands run up his abs to his chest.
“I’m not going to tell anyone,” I say, stroking muscles that are rock hard.
He grits his teeth. His nostrils flare. It’s like stroking a bull, one who’s holding completely still. “Good. Why are we talking about that right now?”
“Because I’m going to sign your NDA.” I don’t do it with a pen and paper. And I sure as hell don’t accept hush money. No, I draw my name in large, languid swoops across his abs and chest. I use my full name, the way I usually sign. Eva Honorata Morelli.
“Fuck,” he says.
Then I lean forward and lick one flat nipple.
He mutters his appreciation in a way I find too charming for words. “Lock you up and throw away the key. That’s the only thing for you. You’re going to start a riot.”
Despite the heavy desire drenching my body, I find enough self-possession to give him a haughty look. There’s power in making a man want you. “You’re the only man here.”
“You think I’m not going to walk all over this?” he says, the backs of his fingers brushing the insides of my thighs. Then he reaches my sex. He rubs the thin gusset of my panties, and I hiss out a breath. “You think I’m not going to wreck this?”
“I think you could try,” I manage in a pert voice.
Challenge lights those hazel eyes. And pleasure. “Mouthy.”
“You like it.”
“I’m fucking dying for it,” he says, dropping to kneel by the desk. My breath catches. Everything that happened years ago felt shocking to me. Illicit. Now I know that it was relatively tame. We never did this, for example. I’m nervous, suddenly. I don’t know how I’ll taste. I don’t know if he’ll like it. I don’t know—
He pushes aside the silk of my panties. His mouth presses my pussy. His tongue does something slick and hot, and then my eyes are rolling to the back of my head. A keening sound escapes me. He finds my clit with unerring precision, and I jerk my knees together. It’s too much. Too intimate. Too real. Strong hands hold my thighs apart, helpless for his invasion.
Then he slides his tongue in a circular motion. Suction makes my hips lift off the desk. I reach down to grasp his hair in my hands. I need something to ground me, to connect me to this man. I tighten my grip so he knows the sweet agony he’s causing me.
He chuckles against my sensitive flesh. “Patience, sweetheart.”
“Go to hell,” I gasp out as he slides his tongue from bottom to top.
“Working on it,” he murmured against my clit.
The vibration sends pleasure spiraling through my body.
There are papers beneath my head. They rasp against my hair, so thin and yet unmistakable. More documents, probably. Contracts. Obligations.
None of that matters right now.
He works my clit until I’m just about to come. And then he slows down at the crucial point. The first time I think he doesn’t know. The second time, too. The third time I realize he’s doing it on purpose.
“Bastard,” I say on a low moan.
