Chapter 6
Tess
I don’t remember making the decision.
One moment I’m standing in front of his desk, holding my ground like I have all week, pretending the pull between us is something I can ignore if I just focus hard enough on the job I came here to do.
The next, everything tilts, and the world narrows to him and the way he looks at me like he’s done pretending.
My pulse pounds in my ears. His chest rises and falls a little too fast. Mine isn't much better.
The air between us feels charged. Like we're both waiting for something. Like we're both tired of waiting.
I tell myself to step back. Instead, I step forward.
Dylan moves at the same time. The collision is almost clumsy.
His mouth finds mine halfway across the distance, the impact sharp enough to steal the breath from my lungs.
For a second, neither of us gets it right.
Our lips brush and teeth collide. I exhale sharply, and his tongue finds mine.
The kiss settles into something deeper, hungrier, and every coherent thought disappears.
I tug at his dress shirt. The fabric pulls loose from his waistband as I drag him closer.
A low sound vibrates through his chest when I snake my hands beneath the fabric and explore his body. His hands stroke up my sides and find my breasts.
Our mouths still fused, and our tongues tangling, he presses me backward. The desk catches my hip when I stumble sideways. Something falls, hitting the floor with a crash neither of us acknowledges. Dylan breaks the kiss long enough to catch me by the waist before I lose my balance completely.
My breath catches. Strong fingers grip around my waist and he lifts me.
A surprised sound escapes me, and I grip his shoulders and straddle his hips with my legs.
With me clinging to him, he turns and lowers me into his chair.
The leather is warm beneath me, unfamiliar in a way that makes everything feel sharper, more real.
My breath catches as he moves closer, as my knees part without me telling them to, as my dress shifts higher when I try to steady myself and fail.
I should stop this.
The thought comes clear and insistent, dragging Jeremy and Clara with it, their trust, their expectations, the professional boundaries both of us understood the moment I agreed to take this assignment.
It doesn’t hold.
Not when his hands settle on me with a certainty that makes my pulse jump.
Not when the tension I’ve been holding onto all week unravels in a way that feels less like losing control and more like giving in to something that was already there.
There’s a moment where I think about how disappointed Jeremy and Clara will be, but the thought breaks apart as his hot tongue licks at me, and I cling to the arms of the chair.
A moan slips out of me. I’m rewarded with a chuckle against my wet folds that almost tips me over the edge already. I tighten my grip on the chair and focus on relaxing my lower half.
“For days, I’ve thought about eating this pussy.”
The words are muffled as Dylan feasts like a man starving.
My hips jerk when the tip of his tongue flicks over my clit.
With his hands clamp around my upper legs, he holds me exactly where he wants me.
The teasing stroke beneath the hood lasts only a heartbeat before he seals his mouth around my clit and sucks.
“Holy shit!”
“Language.” He follows the reprimand with a light nip on the sensitive bud.
I try to buck him off, but he pins me firmly down with his hands. My already soaking pussy floods with more juices. Usually, I don’t have a light trigger, but my body seems to consider the days I spend with Dylan organizing his work as foreplay. I’m primed and ready.
I let myself go pliant and earn a “Good girl,” before he redoubles his effort between my legs.
He tightens his lips around the hood and clit as his tongue dances across the nub until everything in my lower half tightens and tingles.
Dylan pinches, tweaks, licks, and circles at my pussy like it is some kind of delicacy.
When he plunges a finger inside me, my back arches, and I cry out.
“Fuck, baby, you’re tight.”
Yeah, it’s been a while.
I don’t voice that thought, as I try to absorb every slow thrust that makes my inner walls ripple and clench around the intrusion. He adds another finger and twists his hand. My belly starts to flutter and my leg muscles lock. I’m close. “I need to come.”
Dylan crooks his fingers against my G-spot, the pressure dragging another helpless pulse through me.
It crests there, stretched tight enough that I feel it in my throat.
When he holds the pressure and strokes again, my hips lift before I can stop them, chasing the sensation. The movement is small, almost desperate, but it lands deep enough to leave sharp tremors lingering through my body.
I gasp, the breath catching halfway as my stomach pulls tight. My thighs draw in, trembling, and I feel the way I close around him, again and again, each reaction stronger than the last.
He shifts.
Just enough to find that same spot.
My fingers tighten where I’m holding on, and I push into him again, needing him not to move away, needing that pressure to stay exactly where it is.
Another curl.
My back arches, a broken sound slipping out of me as everything inside tightens at once. It starts low, a hard pull in my stomach that spreads outward, dragging my breath with it, until I can’t fill my lungs anymore.
I press into him again.
He meets it.
That same place.
Again.
The sensation stacks, each movement landing before the last one settles, until there’s no space between them. My body doesn’t ease into it this time. It rises into it, faster, tighter, like something is winding too far, too fast.
I can’t slow it down.
My grip slips, then tightens as my whole body braces, staving off the climax for a little longer as the pressure builds inside me. It climbs higher, pushing into my chest, my throat, until my breath breaks completely.
His fingers curl again.
Everything snaps.
The release hits hard, pulling me tight before it lets go, a sharp, overwhelming surge that makes my legs shake and my breath disappear entirely. I cling to him as it rolls through me—
—but it doesn’t stop.
Instead of easing, it drives deeper.
My stomach tightens again, harder this time, and I feel it climb higher than it should, past the point where it usually softens. My breath comes back in short, uneven pulls that don’t steady, and I press into him again without thinking, chasing it even as it edges into too much.
It keeps building.
No pause.
No release.
Just that same pressure, sharper now, spreading through my chest, down my legs, through every place it can reach. My body follows it, stretched along the line of it, like I’ve missed the moment where I should have come down.
Like I’ve been carried past it.
Too far.
My fingers slip again, my muscles tightening and giving at the same time as it surges through me a second time, stronger, deeper. My hips jerk forward, chasing it, and I lose whatever control I had left as it breaks through me in waves that don’t wait for each other.
One hits.
Then another.
Close behind.
I can’t hold it back.
I don’t try.
I let it take me, every pulse, every jolt, until it finally begins to slow, the tension easing out of my body in uneven pieces. My legs loosen, my stomach softening as my breath drags back in, shaky and incomplete.
I sag into him, still feeling the aftershocks where his hand remains, each small movement sending another tremor through me.
It fades.
Not completely.
There’s still that pull underneath it.
That sense of having gone past something steady… and not wanting to find my way back.
I lie back, breath still uneven, watching him lift away from me.
The air feels cooler where he’s no longer there.
His mouth glistens, and something low in my belly tightens again at the sight.
His chest rises and falls, slower than mine, controlled, but there’s nothing calm about the way he looks at me.
His hand slides up my thigh, “I’d really like to continue, but only if you want to.” His gaze meets mine, like he’s giving me space to pull away if I need to.
I don’t.
My fingers reach for him instead, brushing his wrist, guiding him closer.
“Yes,” I whisper. My voice is still rough with the earlier climax.
Something shifts in his expression, a quiet release of tension, and then he moves.
I watch him as he straightens, as his hands go to his belt.
The soft clink of metal sounds loud in the quiet.
My pulse picks up again as he works the buckle loose.
He fumbles with the fabric, impatient as the zipper catches for a second before giving way.
I blink when he frees himself, the sight of him hitting me in a way that makes my stomach dip and my breath hitch all over again.
His slacks frame his cock as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a square package.
My gaze is glued to his hands as he rolls on the protection with quick, practiced movements.
I’ve seen it a hundred times and always found it a necessary step, but also a bit of a mood killer. Somehow, watching Dylan do it is sexy.
I shift in my chair, letting my knees fall open.
Dylan
My dick pulses in my hand as she opens herself to me. Her pink pussy is glistening with her juices. She’s open, but I want more.
“Put your legs over the arms of the chair.”
I watch as she complies, stroking my shaft. The tip is already leaking precum, and my spine tingles. If I’m not careful, I’ll spill like a teenager fumbling around with his first date. I squeeze the base of my cock and step between her legs.
“You’re fucking gorgeous like that.” My voice is nothing more than a hoarse growl.
I position myself at her entrance and hold her gaze. As much as to taunt her as to tease myself, I let myself sink in slowly until I’m balls deep inside of her. I steady there as we’re connected in the most intimate way a man and woman can be.
Mine.
I don’t know where that voice in the back of my mind came from. I have never been possessive over a woman. I didn’t think I had it in me, but Tess brings out the inner caveman.
I push up her dress until I uncover handfuls of soft flesh straining against black lace, perfectly sized for my palms. Her nipples are taut and poking against the fabric.
I bend and suckle on one hard bud through the lace, using my fingers to roll and pull at the other.
I watch as she trembles, writhes, and arches.
My balls tighten, and my cock flexes inside her body.
“Dylan!”
“What?” Teasingly slow, I withdraw from her before sinking back in at the same pace.
She curves her delectable body into mine. She’s so demanding, pressing against me instead of yielding. Tess is all quiet confidence and restrained control, even now, and the reaction it pulls from me is immediate.
She’s used to directing the moment.
Used to being the one who sets the pace.
But right now, something deep and instinctive inside me needs the opposite. Needs her beneath my hands and my mouth. Needs to feel her give that control to me willingly instead of taking it for herself.
“Enough teasing!”
“But I enjoy teasing you.” With another swirl of my hips, I execute a lazy withdrawal and push back in. “What do you need, baby? I want you to say it.”
She snaps her teeth at me.
“Vicious.” I grin. “But not what I want.”
She tries to reverse our positions, but with my weight on top and hindered by the chair, she can’t find purchase.
“Say it, baby.”
Her eyes are shooting daggers. “Please fuck me.”
“Like this?” I pull out and glide back in.
“Fuck me harder.”
I pull out and slam back in. “Like this?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Fuck me hard.”
I cock my hips and slam in again. “Who’s fucking you?” Another thrust. “Who’s fucking you good, baby?” Again, I pull out. “Say my name.”
“Dylan Shaw.”
I reward her with a shove so hard the chair moves.
“Fuck me, Dylan. Dylan, Dylan, Dylaannn.”
As she chants my name, I hammer into her until my breath becomes ragged, and my cock is pulsing with the need to come. I pinch her clit between my thumb and forefinger until her body goes rigid.
I drive into her harder, the impact forcing the chair to shift beneath us. She takes it, every thrust, her voice breaking on my name like she can’t hold it in.
“Dylan… Dylan… Dylan—”
The way she says it does something to me. Tightens everything low in my body, pulls me closer to the edge faster than I want. I force myself to hold on, to stay right there with her instead of chasing my own release.
Not yet.
My hand moves between us, playing with the hood as I know it will tip her over. She reacts instantly; her body tightens, and her breath catches. I slow just enough to feel it, the way she gathers, the way she draws inward.
“Come on,” I murmur against her ear, my voice rougher than I intend. “Stay with me.”
I keep the rhythm steady, not letting her drift away from it, not letting her lose that edge. My fingers press, hold, adjust just slightly until she gasps, her whole body going still for a split second.
There.
I keep her there, right on it, until she breaks.
It hits her all at once. I feel it in the way she locks around me, the way her body arches, the sound that leaves her throat sharp and unrestrained. It pulls me under with her, my control slipping as I push into her through every wave that follows.
I don’t hold back after that.
I can’t.
The pressure builds too fast, too strong, and I let go, driving into her as everything tightens and releases at once.
Right before I let go, the thought hits of being closer than this with nothing between us.
Just her taking all of me, my body answering something older, deeper, a pull that has nothing to do with sense and everything to do with claiming, with leaving something behind that’s mine.
My grip on her shifts, holding her steady as I spill into the barrier between us, my body pulsing with the force of it.
I spill my seed into the condom. Frustration flashes through me alongside the pleasure, sharp and instinctive, because some raw possessive part of me suddenly hates the thin layer separating us.
I stay there for a moment, breathing hard, forehead resting against her shoulder, trying to come back down.
A different kind of heat settles low in my gut, quieter but deeper, as I pull back just enough to look at her.
The way she still trembles, the way her body softens after, open and spent in a way that does something dangerous to my head.
Mine.
The word lingers.
I’m so screwed.