27. Katherine
27
KATHERINE
Nothing has ever felt as good as being in Gabe Rothburn’s arms. This man is forbidden fruit, and I can’t wait to take a bite.
For the better part of a decade, I’ve heard his name whispered around the office and shouted around the dinner table. Enemy number one, as far as my grandfather was concerned.
But that has nothing to do with the wildfire scorching over my skin as he holds my hips against his. The elastic tension sizzling between us snaps and crackles, lighting me up inside. His touch is needy and just a little possessive, and his lips. . .
His lips. . .
I snag another kiss and roll my hips against the hard steel of his cock. Holy smokes. The way he tears his mouth from mine to throw his head back and groan is like a slow drip of the best drug right into my bloodstream. Then he drops his chin and pegs me with the world’s hottest electric blue stare.
I’m toast.
Butter me.
Drizzle me in honey.
Eat me up because I’m toast.
“You’re going to ruin me, aren’t you, Princess?”
As if I could. But he stares down at me, surrounded by lush evergreens with nothing to gain and everything to lose. His question is a bald admission. One I honestly never expected to hear from my once nemesis.
I have power over him.
Emotional power. That totally does it for me because I’ve been trying to tell myself all day that what I’m feeling isn’t some deep connection. It’s simple lust. Gratitude, not affection.
Need coils hot beneath my belly button, and I want more. More touching. More kissing. More. . . everything with him.
I trail my nails through the hair at the nape of his neck, and he shudders in my arms.
Something about sharing the same air makes the truth easier to confess. Makes the kernel of boldness in my chest expand and bloom. Do I want to ruin him?
“Only in the best way,” I say.
His lips curve up at the edges, and my heart stumbles. “Good. Now. . . up. ”
His hands hook beneath my ass and haul me up his torso. I’m not prepared and we’re a little graceless at first, but soon, I’m clinging to him like a koala bear. Gabe takes the half-dozen steps needed to circle the wide wooden bench and lowers himself to the seat.
I adjust my legs so that I’m straddling him, and his hands immediately slide up my waist, then north to my breasts. He stops just beneath the curve, and I whimper.
“Need something?”
The happy half-smile is gone, and in its place, a sexy smirk. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and knowing Gabriel from the boardroom, he probably wants me to beg.
The way my clit is currently lined up against the bulge in his slacks, a trace amount of pressure and friction, well, I’m more than ready to plead my case. It’s been way too long since my last orgasm, and I’m wound tighter than a spring.
“Your hands, everywhere.”
He rests a forearm against the armrest and extends the other along the back to the bench. “Like this?”
His blue eyes sparkle with mischief, and I growl. By taking his hands away, my neediness multiplies.
“Gabriel. . .” His name is a demand on my tongue.
“Princess. . .” He matches my tone, and my insides clench .
“On me. I want your hands on me.”
He cocks his head, that keen gaze so thorough in his assessment I swear I almost come. Just a small orgasm because he’s making a study of me. Knowing me and understanding me, and holy hell, Gabriel’s undivided attention is transformative. No wonder he’s been so wildly successful.
“Want. . . or need?” he asks, his voice low, contemplative. He seems perfectly content to have me sitting in his lap, my fingers tangled in his hair.
But his cock tells a different story. He needs this. He needs me.
I lean forward and brush my mouth against his. “Need.”
He inhales sharply, and his hands return, this time sliding beneath the baggy sweatshirt to my skin. I purr, leaning in for another kiss, every cell in my body chanting the same word. Finally. Finally. Finally.
Who knew I had a secret crush on Gabriel? Or maybe it’s a not-so-secret lust.
His lips part, and his tongue darts out, spearing between my own. Pleasure shoots down my spine to take up residence between my legs. I tighten my hold, lifting ever so slightly, gliding my needy clit along his length. He groans, strong hands pressing me down against his cock like he’s using me to get off, not the other way around.
Then, it’s a duel. Hot, open-mouthed kisses that make me tingle all over.
My new panties are a damp mess, but we don’t let up. He doesn’t let me go. Doesn’t even let me come up for air. And I love it.
I love the feel of his fingertips gliding up my spine over and over, like a reverse waterfall. He’s learning me, inch by inch. And when those talented hands clasp around my waist, thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts, I rotate my hips against him, needing friction more than I need air.
A cool breeze buffets my back, lifting my hair, and I shiver. He pulls back. It takes three full seconds for me to open my eyes and meet his gaze.
“Cold?”
I nod.
He wraps his arms around me and tugs me flush against him. I duck my face against his neck, and he rubs my skin until the friction creates a delightful warmth.
Gabriel Rothburn is taking care of me. And not in a ‘sexual satisfaction’ kind of way. My heart pounds and my libido groans. Why does this closeness feel more intimate than having his tongue in my mouth?
I press a kiss against his neck, his stubble rough against my lips. I like that he’s not as polished as he normally is in his geek chic. But I love how he shudders .
“Do that again,” he whispers.
The quiet order has two immediate effects. My heart gives a happy squeeze, and my pussy clenches. He wants more, and he’s not afraid to ask for it. I file that lesson away.
I kiss the same spot. He makes a satisfied sound, and it reverberates through my nipples and zings straight to my core. Another kiss. Another groan.
Feeling playful and warmer, I tease his pulse point with the tip of my tongue. His body tenses beneath mine, and his hands tighten around my ribcage.
“Fuck.”
The soft curse gets carried away on the breeze.
I pepper delicate little kisses all over his neck. Every inch I can reach. He lifts his chin, giving me more room, more access. It’s not lost on me what a vulnerable position he’s in, with me on top of him, his throat exposed. And that trust winds my lust into a truly heady combination, making me feel powerful and desirable.
When I lift my head and he pegs me with molten eyes, I sit up straighter, pressing tighter to his lap.
“You have no idea how I’ve longed for this. All those sexy little pencil skirts you wear to the board meetings drive me mad, Princess.” It’s his turn to rain kisses across my neck. “Do you know how many times I’ve had to stay behind so I don’t walk out of that room with a tent in my pants? ”
“How many?” I breathe the words.
“Too many.” He nips my earlobe, and I shiver. “Too damn many.”
“Is that why you always act like someone peed in your coffee?”
His jaw flexes, and I get a tiny thrill. This explains so much. The brooding looks, clipped sentences. Not everything. There would likely be tension between us if I was wearing a garbage bag, but it’s pretty exciting to know that he’s sitting in those meetings as bothered by me as I am by him.
I slide my hands to his chest and lean in close until my lips are at his right ear. “Want to know a secret?”
He nods.
I bite my lower lip and then let boldness take hold. . . the real me I so often stamp down like a pesky ember trying to reignite a campfire.
“Those pencil skirts. . . I sit across from you at that table, clenching my thighs.”
“I say again—fuck.” He sounds exquisitely needy.
“Here?” My left brow quirks upward, and he laughs.
The sky is darker now, and the path lights at the corners of the outdoor room glow a soft, cozy yellow. All the times I wandered through this labyrinth of shrubs, high on hormones and romantic comedies, feeling all my typical teenage angsty feels, wishing for a boyfriend, for someone to chase me through the maze and, more importantly, to catch me. Find me. Follow me. Come for me.
If only that younger self could see me right now.
Straddling a man, utterly and happily losing myself in his arms. She wouldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t believe that a girl with horrid teenage acne could ever land the attention of a cocky tech tycoon.
His hips give a slow roll, driving his cock against my clit. My lashes flutter shut, and I moan, pressing myself against him shamelessly. The need to come is so strong that all other thoughts leave my head.
“That’s it.” One palm coasts down, closing over my hip, guiding me against him. Urging me to keep rolling my hips against his length. The other molds my breast, thumb flicking over my aching nipple.
My mind splinters, unable to concentrate on all the pleasure. I press myself into his hand, silently begging for more, and he immediately obliges. A finger joins the mix, tugging the cup of my bra down and then he pinches the hardened tip, gently at first. Then harder, until I moan. Harder still, and I convulse in his lap.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, his voice soft like it’s a secret for our ears only. His praise means everything, reaching down into the parts of me that have been neglected. Dormant.
He makes me feel like I’m more than my last name .
My connections.
My job and degree and bank account.
With a happy sigh, I lean forward and kiss him again. His hips lift, propelling his cock against me, and I chase him. Needing that connection. That sweet, sweet friction.
His hands sync, pinching my nipple, driving my hips down until I’m moving against him like a perfect wave, climbing the mountain to the peak of pleasure, chasing that high.
Need it. Need to come and free myself from the lust burning through my brain.
“That’s it. Come for me, Princess.”
Oh my god.
I’ve always hated that name, but now, on his lips, it makes me feel cherished, sexy.
This is so wild. Anyone could walk into the maze. Walk by and hear us. The thought of getting caught causes my pulse to pound harder. But it gives me pause, too, as I try to catch my breath.
When my rhythm falters, Gabe is right there to encourage me. Driving me down onto his lap, against his cock. The layers of clothing provide delicious friction, but I secretly wish we were skin-to-skin. He pinches my nipple again, holding the tension, and I climb. Soar. Spiral up the mountain.
Long, eager slides up and down until I’m aching, ready to explode. Building more and more pressure, trying to time everything just right .
Can’t lose the rhythm again. Don’t dare alter the angle.
So close. So. Close.
It’s like he knows. Somehow senses exactly what I need and tightens his thumb and finger a little more on my nipple. One breathless second. Then he lets go. Pleasure rockets through me.
My thighs clamp around his hips, burning as I hold my position, terrified to move lest I end my bliss. He swallows my moan and makes a delicious sound of his own.
Snatching my mouth away, I gulp for air. His hand is still on my breast, cupping me, while his other hand rocks me against his length in slow, fluid motions.
I come down off my high, melting against him, secure in his arms. Holy cow. That was incredible. Totally unexpected. Everything I ever dreamed of.
“I told you we communicate just fine,” he murmurs, his breath tickling my ear.
I huff a laugh and press a kiss against his neck before sitting up. His eyes are dark, blown with desire, and I’m eager to give him the same heart-jolting, mind-blowing orgasm.
“Your turn.”
“His turn will have to wait,” a deep voice cuts through the night, and I gasp, spotting Alex at the opening of the secret room, staring down at us with an unreadable expression on his face. “Dinner’s ready.”