29. A Thank You Gift #3
His lips twitch in satisfaction. “Good. Want another?”
I want it all. He sounds like he wants to give it all to me. “Yes,” I say, swallowing roughly past all this heat and longing, laying my desires bare.
His hand is still inside my panties, but he pulls his fingers back, pausing, making me wait for it before he slaps my clit again.
I cry out. My toes curl. My knees weaken. I reach for his collar, holding on. “Again,” I beg.
“Anything for you,” he rasps out, and it sounds like he means it in every single way.
Right now, though, I can only focus on this way. The physical. My gaze slides down our bodies, to his hand fucking me inside my panties, then to the way his arm looks in that crisp dress shirt.
Strong and so fucking sexy.
An idea takes hold of me, and as he strokes my wetness, I quickly undo the button on his right sleeve, fold the cuffs back and push up the sleeve, giving me a view of his arrow tattoo. “I like your arms,” I say quickly, like my action requires an explanation when it’s obvious I like them.
But his smile is pleased. “Then enjoy them, Leighton. Enjoy everything. I want to make you feel so damn good,” he says, his deep, sexy voice tinged with the desperation I feel too.
I arch into his touch, urging him to go faster. He reads my cues, picking up the pace as he kisses my jawline, saying, rather than whispering, “I can’t believe it’s been a year since I got to touch you like this.”
My heart flips a little harder from how he speaks so clearly as he finger-fucks me. “More than a year,” I say, just to tease him.
He pulls back, meets my eyes, and shoots me the most serious look. “It’s been a year, one month, and five days.”
My knees go weak, and I ache from the bare admission. From the awareness that he’s been counting down the days. I grab his stubbly jaw and kiss him messily as he strokes and smacks, strokes and pinches, then slides two thick fingers inside me, filling me up and making me want his cock again.
“Fuck my hand. Do it now. Clock’s ticking,” he demands.
I grip his strong forearm and ride his hand, using him till I’m shaking, shuddering, and falling apart. An orgasm seizes my body, rocketing through me in hot neon waves, stars bursting behind my eyes, Miles’s sexy scent filling my head.
And his lips brush mine with tender, possessive kisses as he coaxes the last of my climax from me.
When I come down and we inch apart, he slowly eases out his fingers, then brings them to his mouth and reverently, carnally, licks each one. “Even better than I imagined when I fucked my fist to you,” he says.
That image sears into my brain, and even though I know we shouldn’t do this again I grip the hard outline of his cock through his dress pants and say, “I want to taste you coming.”
He groans, grabbing my palm, pressing it tighter against him. Letting me feel what I’ve done to him through his clothes. “You make me so fucking hard,” he says.
I squeeze his pulsing cock again as I glance at his watch. That took a little more than seven minutes. I sigh, frustrated we don’t have enough time. But I can’t risk him missing his flight, and knowing this man, he’d take the chance for me.
So I squeeze his cock one more time, then say, “You should go.”
He sighs heavily but nods. “I know.”
As he heads to the kitchen to wash his hands, I straighten up, zipping my jeans. On his return, he checks out the pack of pups, still silently staring at us.
“Weirdos,” he says, but it’s spoken with such affection as he strides over to them, petting each one on their little heads. The image is social gold.
Impulsively, I grab my phone. “Can I take a picture? For the team feed if they want it?”
He turns his gaze to me. “Sure.”
I tell him to sit on the couch, and he obeys. The dogs pile onto his lap, and the shot of him in his suit, covered in pups makes me swoon.
And I know I won’t be the only one. He rises and says, “I definitely should go now.”
“You should,” I say.
But once more he gives the middle finger to the ticking clock, coming right up to me in the living room, stroking my cheek and saying, “I know that broke the rules. I know we shouldn’t do that again, but right now I have something to tell you.”
“Okay,” I say, urging him to keep going. This must be what he wanted to tell me earlier.
“I want you to sleep in my bed when I’m gone,” he says, and he already told me that when he showed me around.
He clearly really wants me to.
“I will,” I say.
“I want you to send me a picture of you in my bed. Can you do that?”
“Yes.”
“And I want you to fuck yourself on my bed while I’m not there.”
I tremble from his filthy request. “I will.”
“Did you bring your toys?”
“No. That seemed presumptuous.”
His lips twitch in the hint of a grin. “Call me presumptuous then. Because I left one in the nightstand drawer for you. As a thank you gift.”
This man. This fucking man.
Then he hauls me in for a hot, passionate kiss that ends far too soon. When he breaks it, he says, “We shouldn’t do that again.”
But he doesn’t sound convinced one bit.
I’m not sure I am either.