Chapter 24
Grayson
Iwatch her as she rides me with abandon, eyes wide open, drinking in every moment, every movement, every sound.
I think I might be losing my mind.
She's a succubus—sent to Earth to ravish me, to devastate me—and she's so caught up in her own passion she probably barely knows I'm even here. Her words make it clear that, right now, my pleasure is secondary to hers. I'm just an instrument for her satisfaction.
I won't lie. I like being used.
Her eyes roll back, her body flushes and trembles. The sound of her wet heat taking me in is music to my ears. She shudders and moans, rides me harder—then harder still.
God, she's going to kill me.
Her total ownership of me is obvious. It's in her hand wrapped tight around my throat, in the grip of her thighs at my waist, in the way she rides me—aggressive, relentless—her insides clutching and pulling at my cock, taking me, claiming me, hungry for my seed.
I want to give myself to her. I want to give her everything.
I pull her head down so I can look into her eyes while she comes. She's close; I can see it. Her lips are bitten raw, her movements frantic, her thighs locked around me.
I match her rhythm, lifting and driving in perfect time, wanting to help her get there.
I am hers.
I tear open her shirt and push up her bra cup, groaning at the sight of her beautiful, firm breasts rising and falling against her chest. Her areolas are pink and flushed, her nipples stiff as diamonds. I lean in, kiss them, take one into my mouth, nip until she lets out a desperate little sound.
"Grayson."
Hearing her cry my name gives me a rush like nothing else. It surges through me, makes me grip her waist and slam her down harder on my cock.
"Oh my God." Her body tightens, her head falls back. "Oh my God."
"Come for me," I rasp, reaching between us to circle her clit.
She tenses—and then she explodes. Her body bucks and arches, thighs crushing me in a vise I couldn't escape even if I wanted to.
I watch her through it, murmuring against her neck, inhaling the scent of her climax, tasting her in the air and in the salty sheen that beads across her breasts.
I'm still inside her, still hard, needing that release that only she can give me.
She's breathing hard, but she helps me as I lift her and flip her over onto the table, bending her forward.
She moans as I line up against her opening and start to push in slowly.
"Yes, Grayson!" she hisses, clawing at the table, sending papers, pens—everything—flying, not caring in the slightest.
Her single-mindedness only makes me hotter. I pump faster, harder, each thrust deeper than the last, chasing the heat and tightness of her body squeezing back around me.
The slap of skin on skin, her muffled gasps against the desk, the way she starts pushing back into me—it's too much.
I throw my head back.
I want this to last forever, but the sounds she makes, the feel of her body clenching around me, the softness of her ass each time I slam into her—all of it drives me toward the edge.
"It's too good," I rasp. "It's too fucking good, Jenna."
Fucking her is heaven and hell all at once. It's like having my mind, my soul, my purpose ripped away.
It's the purest drug, the sweetest high. It's like dying… or being born. Unbearable, yet irresistible. There's no stopping it now.
She moans in response, murmuring words I can't even make out.
"I'm gonna come—I can't last—I need to come," I groan, though I still want her to finish first.
I grab her small hands and pin them behind her back with one of mine. I've learned that restraint drives her wild, and it works again—she grows impossibly slick around me.
I pull out almost completely, then slam into her, right to the hilt.
She screams, gasps, and I do it again and again, hitting that spot that makes her jolt and spasm like a live wire.
I laugh darkly, watching her, giving it to her deep and hard.
"Don't stop!" she cries out.
"I won't." I bend over her, kiss her shoulder, and bite lightly. "I'll never stop. Not until you've come for me."
Her breath catches—and then she does. She comes hard around me, her body twisting, clenching, trembling in waves of pure pleasure.
"Shit," I growl. "Oh my God, I'm coming, Jenna," as my own climax slams through me. I jerk and buck, pumping my release deep inside her.
I stay inside her, sated but still wanting—needing—to prolong our connection for as long as possible. To remain as one with her.
I never want to let her go.
That thought should probably worry me, I think distantly. But for some reason, it doesn't.
I'll deal with it later.
Right now, I collapse back into the chair and pull her into my lap just to hold her.
Simply because I want to.
I capture her lips and kiss her wildly—because if I'm going to break one rule, I might as well break them all.
When I pull back, I study her flushed face and smirk.
"You ripped my shirt," she complains.
"It's okay. I've got plenty of extras in my office."
"You really think your shirt is going to fit me? I might as well walk around with a sign on my forehead that says I just got fucked by the CEO in his office."
I raise an eyebrow, move her aside, and get up. Walking to the corner closet, I reach in and pull out a brand-new shirt in her size and style.
"Ta-da."
I hand it to her with a grin, but she eyes it suspiciously.
"It's new," I tell her. "I got it for you a few days ago, actually."
Her suspicion turns to surprise. "Well-prepared, aren't you? Been planning to rip my shirt off or something? Or is this just normal behavior for you?"
"I like to be prepared," I admit. "Besides, yeah, truth be told, I thought something like this might happen again."
I help her into it, enjoying the slow, intimate act of dressing her. When she reaches for the buttons, I brush her hands away and finish fastening them myself.
"What did she want?" she asks finally, checking her reflection in the wall mirror—reminding me what started this whole thing in the first place.
"Ready to admit you were jealous? If so, I'll tell you."
"I wasn't jealous," she says quickly. "It's the principle of the thing. We both agreed there wouldn't be any other lovers, and then I walk in and see your ex here."
"And you thought what? That we were getting back together?"
She blushes, and I can't help laughing. Then I kiss her because she's too damn adorable not to.
"I don't know what she wanted," I say. "She'd literally just arrived when you came barging in like some kind of SWAT team. Then you told her to leave, and she did—as you know. If I had to guess, I'd say George sent her to butter me up, hoping I'd go easier on him."
"The audacity."
"You got that right." I'm glad someone else sees it. "I think she also wanted a little walk down memory lane, but I wasn't interested. I was about to kick her out right when you walked in."
"Really?"
"Really. What about you? You couldn't have known Marina was here, so what the hell are you doing here anyway?"
"Just bringing over some food," she says, gesturing toward the takeout bag on the floor, which now has soup leaking out of it. "But I guess that's a bust. I should clean that up."
"No need—I'll call the cleaner."
Instead, I tug her back into my lap. "So, you wore the pumps just to deliver food to me? Trying to tempt me?"
"Don't flatter yourself." She rolls her eyes. "I was already wearing them and forgot to take them off before I came. I didn't do that for you."
"Right. The same way you weren't jealous. They just happened to be on your feet at the time, huh? And you didn't even notice? Do you think I was born yesterday?"
She blushes a gorgeous shade of pink and opens her mouth to fire back—but before she can, my door bursts open again without warning. Poor Carissa isn't having an easy day out front, it seems.
I glance up, ready to tell whoever it is to get lost.
But this time it's my father, standing there with a thunderous expression that tells me he knows—or at least guesses—exactly what's been going on in here, and he's highly disapproving.
I sigh.
Good thing I'm not busy, because with one interruption after another, it's pretty clear not much work is getting done today.