9. MARCY #3
“Feel good?” he murmurs, lowering his head to nibble at the sensitive spot on my neck.
I let out a breathy moan, nodding. “Feels… so good.”
And it does—God, it does. The rush of having him this close, the heat of his body against mine, the way I can feel every hard inch of him in my hand, impossibly large, pulsing with raw need.
He moves his hand between my legs, fingers pressing against my slick folds, and I jerk at the overwhelming sensation, my own hand squeezing around him.
He groans, muffled against my skin. “Keep doing that, sweetheart, and this’ll be over a lot quicker than I planned.”
I smirk, pleased at the effect I’m having on him, and slide my hand just a bit higher. “Maybe I like that idea.”
Ryder snarls softly, eyes flashing as he pins me with his gaze. “Oh, really?”
Before I can answer, his fingers slide inside me, and my entire body arches off the desk.
I grip the base around Ryder’s cock, my breath coming in short, heated bursts as he presses me back onto the desk.
The scattered papers crinkle under me, but I barely notice.
Every nerve in my body is focused on the slide of his calloused fingers between my legs, the rasp of his breathing against my neck.
“God, you’re so wet,” he rasps, slipping another finger inside me, his touch both rough and careful at the same time.
I lean my head back, my free hand bracing on his shoulder. “Yeah,” I manage, voice trembling. “And you’re… so big.”
His lips curl into a dark grin. “You like that, Marcy?”
To answer, I circle my thumb over the tip of his cock. The groan that rumbles out of him is low, primal. He flexes in my hand, and I squeeze him back, stroking slow and deliberate.
“Fuck,” he growls, eyes nearly closing at the sensation. Then he swallows hard, gaze flicking down between us. “Come here.”
We shift, and he presses his forehead to mine, our breath mingling together. Slowly, we find a rhythm: my hand working over him in firm, measured strokes while his fingers slip in and out of me before swirling around my engorged clit. He knows exactly how to touch me.
“Ryder…” I breathe, rocking my hips into his hand, chasing that perfect friction. Every nerve seems to sing at once, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter deep in my belly.
He curls his fingers, pressing just right, and I gasp, heat cascading through me. I match his pace, stroking him, feeling him pulse in my hand. The sounds of our slick, ragged breathing—my needy whimpers, his throaty groans—fill the office.
“Look at me,” he murmurs.
I manage to drag my gaze to his, and the intensity in those dark eyes almost undoes me.
“I wanna see you when you come.”
My cheeks burn, but I don’t look away. I can’t.
Suddenly, a wave of pleasure hits me hard. My hand spasms around him as I jerk against his fingers, my climax cresting before I even realize it’s happening. The world blurs, and I let out a choked cry, my body quaking around him.
Ryder keeps going, riding me through it, his fingers relentless until the tremors subside.
I’m still trembling when he shudders against me, his cock jerking in my palm.
He groans, the sound low and guttural, his head tipping back.
His hot seed spills over my fingers, and I keep stroking, coaxing every last bit of pleasure from him until we both collapse into each other, breathless and utterly spent.
I’m still holding Ryder’s cock in my hand—my body trembling, my mind spinning—when I hear it.
“Ryder!”
CJ’s voice.
A burst of adrenaline slams through me, and I freeze. My gaze darts to the door, open just a sliver, and there he is. CJ, in the hallway, his voice cutting through the office like a damn whip.
For a split second, our eyes lock. I’m still holding Ryder, my fingers curled around his thickness, breath coming in ragged gulps.
And CJ’s eyes widen, dark and unreadable, and I swear I see a flicker of something—lust, shock, maybe both—flash across his face before he settles into that cold, controlled mask.
“In my office. Now.” CJ’s voice is low, commanding, leaving no room for argument.
My heart hammers against my ribs as Ryder tenses beneath my touch. For a moment, nobody moves.
He presses a swift, heated kiss to my lips—one last taste—before he draws back, his breathing still uneven. Gently, he wraps his own hand over mine, coaxing me to let go of him. My cheeks burn, and I force myself to release him, the warmth of his skin slipping from my grasp.
Ryder quickly adjusts himself, zipping up his jeans and shrugging into his cut. His expression hardens, his jaw clenching, that familiar brooding intensity taking over. Before I can say anything, he leans in, brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear with surprising tenderness.
“You okay?” he murmurs, voice rough.
I swallow hard, nodding.
He gives me one last lingering look, then heads for the door. My stomach twists as I watch him go, dread curling low in my gut.
Because CJ saw. And something tells me this is far from over.
But most importantly: what the hell has gotten into me? First Hawk, and now Ryder?
Get a grip on yourself, Marcy.