Chapter 9
Dane
Lucy Sullivan is in my lap, bringing her gorgeous lips to mine.
I kiss her with an instinct that comes from somewhere deep in my bones, a reaction to a beautiful woman—this beautiful woman—so close, so wanting. It ignores logic and reason. It ignores the obvious problems with kissing her back.
Without thinking, I reach up and pull the clip from her hair, letting her blonde waves loose around the both of us. It cascades down and brushes over my arms, just like I’ve imagined a dozen times since she started working for me.
It creates a little space of our own, blocking out the rest of the cabin, and I breathe her in. There are still faint tears on her cheeks from when she talked about her best friend, about leaving home. I trail away from her mouth and up to her cheeks, kissing away the moisture.
With all my panic from earlier, I wouldn’t be surprised if my phone was ringing non-stop now—or trying to, if it was still charged. But at this point, I no longer care. I no longer feel the pressure of being trapped.
Because she’s been begging me to fuck her with her eyes since we boarded the plane.
I realize now that the move to the back of the plane was a carefully practiced maneuver on her part to help soothe away my claustrophobia.
The one weakness my father wasn’t able to force out of me, no matter how many times he locked me in my room or shoved me into a closet, yelling at me through the door just to calm myself, to flip the switch that would allow me to control my body, my reaction.
If that switch exists, I should use it now. Should take my hands off her hips, lift her off of me, and tell her that this is not happening between us. That it can’t—that she’s too young, and I’m too old, and she’s my assistant, and I’m the CEO of the company she works for.
And, besides that, I do not date. It’s never really been possible, with the life I lead. Even when I’ve tried to balance work and a relationship, something never quite felt right about it.
So it wouldn’t work. It shouldn’t be happening. Lucy Sullivan definitely doesn’t seem like the kind of woman who can handle a casual relationship.
Even as I think it, she lets out a gasp that I swallow, rocking her hips against mine, practically whimpering in my mouth.
Lucy Sullivan is in my lap.
“Fuck,” I growl, gripping her and grinding her down onto me, my length straining desperately against my pants. Straddling me like this, her skirt has ridden up around her hips, the fabric bunched. I grab it, using it to guide her, rock her.
Lucy nods against me, like she’s echoing the sentiment. Her eager hands are everywhere on me, looping around the back of my neck, cupping my cheek, skimming down to the collar of my shirt, then tugging gently at the buttons.
I can’t help it—I laugh against her mouth and reach for the buttons myself, undoing them one by one. She sucks in a breath and drives her hands under my shirt, letting her forehead fall against mine as she breathes deeply, exploring my chest.
Lucy touches me like nobody has before—like she needs to make contact with every inch of my skin.
Like a topographer mapping my elevation.
And so I return the favor, tugging her blouse out of her skirt and unbuttoning it slowly, starting at the bottom and working my way up, so a little patch of her midriff is exposed to me first, before I eventually get to her breasts.
“Lucy,” I hiss when her blouse falls open, and I realize she must have used my card to get more than just clothes—this bra is designer, I can tell just by looking at it that my money funded the lacy fabric around her breasts. That, more than anything, makes me hard as hell. “Lucy.”
“Dane,” she breathes, rocking against me again, her breath coming faster, her hands frantic to pull my shirt off completely.
When she first climbed into my lap, first kissed me, I’d told myself that I would only let it last a moment, then shut it down.
That I could allow myself a taste of her before pushing her away.
Now, I can see it was the wrong strategy.
I don’t normally lose control like this. In fact, I don’t normally lose control, period.
But Lucy Sullivan has done something to my brain. Her warmth in my hands, her weight pressing down on my lap, the scent of her perfume—something deep, sweet, and simple. I let out a low moan and pop open the clasp on her skirt.
She continues to kiss me, then drops her head back when I bring my lips to her collarbone, her chest, down to the sweet line of her bra, the lace flattening against perfectly smooth skin.
“Fuck,” I mutter again, because apparently, I’m without words when this woman is touching me like this. Like she wants to memorize the way I feel under her hands.
Those hands wander down, toying with the button on my suit pants, and my cock twitches in response. Lucy skims her hands over my lap, her fingers just following the ridge of my length and it has me holding her too tight, forcing myself to relax, before my hands grasp around her hips all over again.
I’m rocking her back and forth, mind filled with the possibility of slipping inside her. She’s all pink flush and milky white skin, hot breath, her body responding to mine instantly.
Lucy is not trying to be cool. She’s letting her desire show without restraint, without pretense, and it’s refreshing and maddening all at once.
“You feel so good,” she murmurs, and when I pull back to look at her, her eyes are lidded, her lips swollen from kissing, face flushed, chest rising and falling rapidly. “Dane—will you? I want you to—”
Lucy grinds down against my cock again, letting out a sound of raw, unbridled need, and my resolve fully breaks. Lifting both of us, I slide my pants down, then reach under her skirt and grab her panties, finding them damp.
“Lucy,” I grind out, desperately trying to think clearly through the lust and desire pounding through my veins. My cock is free now and standing at attention between us.
“Mhm?” she asks, her mouth working on my neck.
“I’m going to hold onto you,” I say, voice barely above a rumble. “Lean back and reach into the front pocket of my bag.”
Instantly, she does as I say, and I let out a low good girl that makes her shiver.
I hold tight to her hips as she leans back, then returns to me with a single, gold-wrapped condom.
Lucy is breathing hard, her attention shifting from the condom and to me, then down to my cock, pre-cum already leaking out.
Her pupils are blown out, her hair already wild over her shoulders, and she’s staring at my cock like she’s never seen one before in her life.
I should take that as a compliment, I suppose.
Pulling one hand away from her hip, I slide it between her legs again, flicking my thumb over her clit. She drops her forehead against my shoulder and lets out a shuddering breath.
“You’re going to put it on me,” I say, and she shivers again, before pulling back and opening it—not with her teeth, but just with her fingers. Nothing flashy.
With the condom between us, this should be a moment of reckoning, a chance for me to come to my senses. But, if anything, seeing the condom solidifies for me that it’s happening, and my cock pulses harder.
Lucy pulls back, considers me for a moment, then swallows and lowers the condom down, unrolling it slowly, almost painfully slow, over my aching cock. I watch her hand, biting my tongue, hips jerking once with impatience when she gets to the base.
When she’s finished, she looks up at me, swallows, and whispers, almost pleadingly, “Dane.”
I’m tired of waiting, tired of holding back, so I take her hips in my hands again, lean back against my chair slightly, and guide her down onto my shaft.
Only to discover she’s tighter than any other woman I’ve ever been with, squeezing down so firmly on my cock that I take my hands off her hips like they’ve burned me, eyes flying up to meet her heated gaze.
There’s a strange cocktail of emotions there—terror, excitement, pleasure, pain, desire—all plain on her face, washed out and wide open for me to see.
“Lucy,” I grunt, breathing hard, trying to talk as she sinks an inch deeper onto me, my eyes shutting against the urge to flip her over and drive all the way inside.
I have to think, have to let logical thought back in—especially now that I’m realizing her inexperience might be with a lot more than just sex toys. “Are you a virgin?”