Chapter 17 #2
I break the kiss just enough to speak, but he moves, his mouth dropping to my jaw, my neck, his lips and teeth and tongue hitting every damn sensitive spot like he already knows where they are.
“You don’t get to kiss me like this and then act like it didn’t happen again,” I rasp, letting my head fall back against the wall, my throat bared to him.
His hand tightens at my waist. “I know,” he murmurs against my neck.
It’s the first straightforward thing he’s said to me all night.
It lands harder than it should.
“You don’t get to have the professionalism talk with me after,” I add, hammering my point.
“Fuck being professional.” His teeth nip at my skin, and I make a frankly embarrassing little noise as his fingers slowly pull at the bottom hem of my shirt. “Fuck it all.”
His words alone make my head spin. He’s not taking it back. He’s not stopping.
My hands fist at his shirt, pushing it up his chest a little too frantically, a steady little tremor betraying my nerves.
“This is a terrible idea,” I breathe. My fingers find his bare chest anyway.
“The worst,” he agrees, his mouth trailing back up as the hand cupping my cheek shifts, moving to the back of my neck to adjust the tilt of my head. His lips brush the corner of my mouth. “We should stop.”
“We should.”
“But we won’t,” he murmurs. “Will we?”
I manage the smallest little shake of my head before his lips descend on mine again, the hand around my waist moving, dragging down to my hips, fingers hooking in the waistband of my shorts. He pulls, tugging them halfway down my thighs, and heat rises so fast in my cheeks that my head feels dizzy.
They drop to the floor.
He lifts me like I weigh nothing, parting my legs with his hips and one hand on the back of my thigh, my back sliding up against the wall. “Legs around me, sweetheart,” he says against my lips, his voice like gravel.
I obey in an instant, wrapping my thighs and calves around him.
His hips press me back harder into the wall, and god, I can feel him, can feel the rigid length of him between my legs, pushing against his joggers like it’s desperate to break free.
I’m not proud of the noise that leaks out of me because of it.
“Fuck,” he mutters, pulling from my lips just to drop his forehead against mine.
“Don’t you dare slow this down,” I snap at him, pushing his shirt toward his head more insistently this time.
He pulls back just long enough to hook his thumb in the neck hole and pull it off in one smooth motion, tossing it onto the ground.
But then his hands are back on me, under my shirt, skating up my ribs, urging my arms up.
“Off,” he grunts, his jaw locked. “Take this off.”
My elbow pokes him square in the ribs as I shuffle to try to get it off, and he huffs, grabbing the bundle of fabric and tugging it over my head and arms. His gaze meets my eyes before it drops, down to my collarbone, my breasts, my stomach, to the white bit of cotton around my hips I still have on.
His eyelids lower halfway, his mouth parting, a slow exhale leaving him.
I don’t let it linger.
My hand ducks beneath my thighs, grabbing a fistful of his joggers, pushing down as much as my reach will allow. The waistband disappears from between us, dragging down over his thighs, and god, I can feel the heat of him pressing against me, rock hard, forced down from how he’s sandwiched us.
“Fuck,” he seethes. He hoists me up just enough to relieve the pressure, and it curves up against my rear, the length I can only feel, not see, staggering. “You on birth control?”
It’s so hard to think straight like this, but I find my words. “Yeah, implant.”
“Thank god for that.” His hands move, positioning me, one cradling the back of my thigh to join in the wall’s effort of keeping me elevated. The other, though, moves between us, fingers hooking on the hem of one of the leg holes of my underwear and sliding down.
The moment they drift across slick, sensitive flesh, I whimper.
“You’re soaked,” he rasps, the words almost choked as he pushes the gusset to one side. “All this from an argument and a little touching?”
I glare up at him. “Don’t get cocky.”
He pauses, staring down at me, brows furrowing and forming those two little lines he gets when something utterly perplexing lands on his desk.
But then he laughs. Genuinely, fully, his teeth biting down on his lower lip to try to contain it, and for fucks sake, why does that turn me on?
“I’m not,” he huffs, the smile morphing into a smirk as he draws another gasp from me, his knuckle brushing up and down over my clit. “I’m fucking flattered.”
He shifts me again, his arm slipping down to hook under my knee, and I feel him — not his fingers anymore, but the hot, thick head of his cock, notching against my entrance. I can’t breathe, can’t think, but my gaze drops, and holy shit.
He is not built like a man. He is built like something made to destroy me.
Not only was I entirely correct about the length of him, but his girth is enough to make me sweat. The red tip pushes up along my slit, over my clit, damp and glistening as he coats himself in my arousal. One large vein branches out over the curve, so rock solid that it looks almost painful.
“Oh my god,” I mutter, my face hot enough to feel like it’s on fire. He presses in just an inch, not even the whole head of him disappearing inside of me, and I have to cover my mouth to stifle a whine.
“Listen to me,” he says, his voice dropping into that flat, serious tone that sets me on edge, his nose brushing against my cheek. “We do this quietly, or not at all. Pen sleeps hard, but if you’re a screamer, this cannot happen.”
I swallow, my heart jumping as he pushes another inch, stretching me, filling me. “If I were a screamer, you would have already heard me over the last two weeks.”
His nostrils flare as if he hadn’t considered that.
“Did you really not think—”
“Stop talking.” His mouth finds mine with an urgency that makes my muscles clench, and he grunts against my lips, pushing those last few inches in all at once.
My lips part on a broken little noise, and he delves in, claiming me on two fronts, eager and almost frantic as his free hand joins the other in holding me up by my thighs.
He feels so fucking right inside of me.
My breath catches when he pulls back, his hips leaving mine just enough for him to slam forward with force, my body pressing harder against the wall.
“Dear fucking god,” he groans against my mouth. He sets a brutal pace, nearly slipping out each time he pulls back, giving me the entire length of him each time he drives forward.
My nails dig into the back of his neck, holding on for dear life.
Every thrust makes the wall shudder, the picture frame hanging a few feet away rattling.
A quiet little whine slips from my lips, and I can’t focus on his mouth anymore, can only let my head fall back and try not to lose myself entirely in him.
“Quiet,” he growls, his teeth nipping at my chin. “I meant it.”
My head snaps back up to attention. “You’re the one—fuck—I—you’re the one making the most noise.”
He huffs a heavy breath against my cheek.
“Yeah, because you’re tight as hell and I can’t—god—I can’t think straight.
” He shifts me again, his arms releasing my thighs one by one to grab me by my ass instead, making me tilt forward.
Our chests come together as he leans slightly back, and my arms wrap around his neck for stability, my heels digging into the backs of his thighs.
And then he moves me.
He lifts me like I’m a set of weights, my front sliding up and down his, and oh my god, this man is strong.
“Jesus—”
“Get your arm between us,” he grunts.
I blink, half-dazed, my forehead against his cheek, that tell-tale knot forming in my lower abdomen. Every thrust hits that spot inside of me that makes my vision blur. “W-What?”
“My hands are… occupied,” he says, the last word coming out rough as he pushes me down on his cock a bit more aggressively, his fingers digging into the flesh of my rear. “Touch yourself.”
It’s not just my cheeks that flame. It’s my whole damn upper chest. “What?”
“You heard me,” he rasps, nudging my temple with his nose. “You’re getting close, yeah? So am I. And I’m not—shit—not gonna let myself until you do. So touch yourself, sweetheart.”
My mouth goes dry, my body wound tight from every shift between us. “You’re awfully demanding for someone who’s been pretending he didn’t want this.”
“Carly.”
“What? You could have—ah—could have had the balls to do something about it sooner.”
He slams me down harder on his cock, taking a half a step back to keep his balance, and I muffle my groan in the crook of his neck, his cologne more aggressive from the slight sheen of sweat. “I was being professional. I was being careful.”
“Well, you’re doing a shit job of it now.”
He laughs, rough and humorless, and quickens his pace. “Yeah. I am. Now fucking touch yourself.”
I grumble a string of curses, half in frustration and half because it just feels so good, and slip my arm between our chests, down, down, down. My fingers trace through the slickness where we meet, over my clit, quick little circles that make my head spin and my body tense.
“There you go,” he murmurs. “Just like that.”
“Shut up—” The words are breathy, half moaned, my nails digging into him for stability. Pleasure hums through my body like a live wire. “Don’t talk to me like you’re coaching me through some football play.”
“Would you prefer I talk to you like you’re a brat who won’t shut her fucking mouth?” He snaps, turning us just enough to lean his upper half on the dresser.
“I’d prefer you fuck me hard enough that I can’t talk at all.”
He groans out an amused little laugh, his grip turning bruising on my ass cheeks. “Challenge accepted.”
He slams me down on him with enough force that an unfortunately loud whine breaks free from my throat, and the smart little remark I desperately want to throw at him dissolves before it even has a chance to fully form.
I move my fingers quicker, more desperate, that spark turning into a blaze between my thighs.
“Fuck, yes, yes,” he chokes out.
“Close.” My free hand shifts to his hair, tangling in the strands, pulling just shy of aggressive. He hisses. “Don’t stop, please, don’t stop—”
He doesn’t. He keeps the same speed, same aggression, but his lips find my temple, pressing a kiss there, his little grunts and groans right next to my ear, and that’s all I need.
Legs shaking, my pleasure spikes, and I press my mouth to his neck to keep the sound at bay as my orgasm crashes over me. My body seizes, my muscles clenching around him, and he sputters something I can barely hear through the ringing in my ears before following after me a handful of thrusts later.
We slowly come to a still, his body relaxing back onto the dresser more fully, his hands still gripping my rear and our breathing still ragged.
Neither of us speaks. My smart-ass remarks are gone, nothing but a pleasant little buzz remaining in my head.
But I can feel it starting to creep back in, the overwhelm of knowing we just crossed a line we can’t uncross, and I close my eyes, hoping I can keep the inevitable regret quiet just a little longer.