27. Elizabeth #2
And that cements it for me. We’re adults.
Professionals. We can’t be sneaking around, having illicit trysts at our workplace.
I have to shut this down once and for all.
So instead of saying I’ll give him permission to do both of those things if he gets in that car and wins today the way my entire body is screaming at me to, I say, “We can’t do this. ”
“Why not?” he asks. “There’s nothing stopping us. Unless…you don’t want me the way I want you?”
And damn, if that doesn’t make me want set the record straight by telling him that he’s right, I do want him.
And that, terrifyingly, I think it transcends sexual chemistry.
Because despite not wanting to confront my feelings, I haven’t stopped thinking about that night in Cape Cod when he said he wants to know my full shape.
I haven’t stopped wondering what it might be like to allow such a thing.
If maybe it could lead to something I’ve never thought was possible for me.
But no. That’s not what either of us needs right now.
So I push away my feelings and focus on what I know is the most logical decision.
The most rational move. The smartest choice.
Even though I know it’s going to hurt. “You already know why. It’s entirely inappropriate.
I never should have come to your room that night.
I should have found some stranger in a bar. ”
I don’t add that I would never do that. A woman with my predilections knows better than to put herself in a situation that could become very unsafe very fast.
His eyes flash with a mixture of outrage and hurt as he clenches his jaw. “But you didn’t. You came to me.”
“I know,” I say, crossing my arms and gazing at the ceiling.
I can’t have this conversation if I keep looking at his emotional eyes or phenomenal body.
But when he’s quiet for longer than I expect, I glance at him—and he’s transformed.
Gone is the uncertain, overwhelmed guy who opened the door, replaced with the swaggering, confident driver who always gets what he wants.
The side of Wes’s mouth tilts up. “You came to me because you want me.”
I shoot him an irritated look. And then I lie through my teeth. “I needed to scratch an itch. You were convenient.”
“Maybe that was true then,” Wes says in the same dangerously casual tone he used after the race in Monaco.
He stands, then leans against the wall and shoves his hands in his pockets, pulling his sweatpants lower on his hips.
“But I see how you look at me, Jacobs. I bet you think about me when you’re getting yourself off.
Do you use your fingers? A toy? The shower head? ”
I laugh, more out of surprise at his audacity than anything else. “That’s none of your business, Wes.”
“My name sounds so fucking good on your lips.”
Electricity zips up my spine, and for once, I don’t know if that’s good or bad.
I shouldn’t allow him to speak to me this way.
I wouldn’t allow it with another man. But it’s undeniable that I like him.
On top of that, I’m intrigued by the challenge he presents.
But he doesn’t need to know any of that.
So I make my voice hard. “You need to stop.”
“No,” he growls, and I grit my teeth as my temper flares. “I need you to allow me the privilege of licking your pussy until you come on my face. I need you to give me permission so I can taste you the entire time I’m in the car, dominating the track.”
And just like that, every ounce of resolve and certainty I felt so keenly seconds ago evaporates.
Because though he framed it as a demand, he also handed me control. And it’s definitely the hottest thing anyone has ever said to me.
So, fuck it.
“Beg.”
Wes’s eyes go wide, then never leave mine as he sinks to his knees. “Please. Please, Elizabeth.”
I let the moment stretch. I let him think there’s a possibility I’m going to say no. It’s when the hope in his eyes starts to dim that I say, “I’ll allow it.”
Wes sucks in a breath. “What rules do I need to follow?”
My knees nearly buckle. The fact that I have this man on his knees and asking for direction when he could have any person he wanted in his bed, happily following his commands, makes me feel insanely powerful.
I think about insisting the only way we’re doing this is if I sit on his face.
But it’d really be a shame to lose this view.
“I’m still in charge. You do only what I tell you to. ”
Wes nods before whispering, “Am I allowed to speak?”
I arch an eyebrow. “Will you be able to?”
He husks a laugh. “I like to talk during sex.”
I’m sure he’s already realized this, but I don’t. All I need is to know that I control them. What they think about me and my body is irrelevant. Wes must see it on my face because he says, “But I’ll only do it with your permission.”
Fuck.
“You get one shot,” I say. “If I hate it, you’re silenced forever.”
Delight flashes in his eyes. “Understood.”
I nod. “Stay right where you are.”
Wes doesn’t move a muscle. Not when I step out of my heels.
Not when I reach under my skirt and shimmy my thong down my legs.
Not when I lean my back against the wall.
He stays entirely still, his eyes cataloging everything, drinking every moment in.
I can’t resist making this next demand. It’s too delicious to ignore. “Crawl.”
Wes lifts his eyebrows. But then he grins wickedly and places his hands directly under his shoulders.
I’m riveted as he lifts his head, those caramel eyes meeting mine as he prowls forward.
It reminds me of the time I sized him up as a predator—there’s no doubt he is one.
But he’s also perfectly fine with being prey.
When he’s at my feet, I tell him to return to his knees.
He does it immediately, looking at me for his next instructions.
It’s my turn to grin. I hike up my calf-length skirt and hook a leg over his shoulder.
But before he can touch or speak, I thread my fingers through his soft hair, tugging at the roots until his chin tips up.
“Let’s see if your mouth is as good as your cock. ”
Humor glitters in his eyes, but he stays silent.
Then Wes Grant leans forward, presses a warm hand on the front of my thigh, and takes my entire pussy in his mouth.
His tongue is so dexterous that I can’t stop the harsh curse that’s followed by a lusty little laugh.
I push my hips forward and Wes hums in approval.
My hand is still in his hair and I use it to steady myself as I begin moving against him.
He matches the rhythm, assuring the way he’s sucking and swirling is accentuated by the roll of my hips.
When Wes lets up to catch his breath, his lips are swollen and his eyes are brimming with lust. “You taste so goddamn delicious that I’m fairly certain it’s going to make me come in my pants, Jacobs.”
A laugh bursts out of me, wild and free, and he bites his lip.
“Christ, that sound might be the best thing I’ve ever heard.
” Wes puts his mouth to work again, his grip on my thigh tightening as he pushes himself closer, as if he can’t get enough.
I move my hand to the back of his head and apply pressure.
He groans into me, his deft tongue curling in a way that has me gasping.
When my grip on him loosens, he pulls back. “Would you consider fucking my face again? Please?”
He looks so eager and turned on and genuinely enthralled that I don’t even have to think about it—I just pull his face back to me and begin grinding.
This time, I guide him to the places that feel the best, telling him to lick or suck or flick with the tip of his tongue.
It’s a heady rush, having him efficiently switch gears as quickly as I can give him instructions.
When the sensations become too intense, I lean back and give in, letting the orgasm rush through me. Wes brings me through it, expertly navigating the path to my pleasure until I’m cooling down.
Those amber eyes stay on mine for a long, hot moment before he drops his gaze and presses a surprisingly chaste kiss to the inside of my thigh. “Thank you.” The whispered words are quiet, reverent, ragged. I marvel at this man, still on his knees, thanking me for allowing him to make me come.
I feel invincible. Benevolent. Like a fearsome god granting a favor to a loyal supplicant.
“Feeling better?” I ask
He nods. “I feel calmer. More centered.”
“I’m glad,” I say, meaning it. “You can stand now.”
Wes looks up at me again, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Maybe I like it here.”
He’s so hot I want to scream. Instead, I say, “Get up, Grant.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, standing. A stain near his crotch is immediately apparent, and my jaw drops.
“Told you,” he says, shrugging, as if coming untouched is no big deal. But then he laughs, the sound full of self-consciousness, a little bit of embarrassment, and a dash of dismay, despite him telling me it would happen. “As if I wouldn’t come when you’re grinding your ambrosial pussy on my face.”
“Ambrosial?” I repeat, unsure if I should laugh or go find the documentary camera crew so they can record this for posterity, my job security and reputation be damned.
“Yes,” Wes says, decisive. “Ambrosial.”
This time, I do laugh. “Okay, Fitzwilliam.”
He chuckles, and I go to the bathroom. After cleaning up and returning my clothes to where they belong, I head toward the door.
“Before you go,” Wes says from where he’s leaning a hip against the table. “Will you tell me the verdict?”
“The verdict?”
He smiles in a way that tells me that’s an answer in and of itself. “Is my mouth better than my cock?”
And because this damn man is so good at both, I simply turn around and leave.
His laugh follows me down the hall.