Chapter 31
Mattias
For a second I’m frozen, my mind reeling with all of the reasons this is a terrible, horrible idea—but then her mouth moves against mine, hot and needy and practically begging for it, and I give in.
My hands thread into her hair, tugging at the roots as I draw her bottom lip between my teeth.
She opens her mouth for me, and I groan as she pulls me closer.
She tastes like summer, soft and warm with the lingering tang of berries on her tongue.
She stands, her arms threading around my neck, and my hands immediately catch her wrists, pinning them back at her sides. Her eyes blink open, a devastating look of uncertainty in her expression, and I can’t help the small uptick of my lips as I look down at her, drinking in her flustered state.
I step towards her, kissing her, and she stumbles back, her ass hitting the edge of my kitchen table. I pull back for a moment, my breath ragged, looking for any trace of doubt in her expression. I only see desire, and I’m desperate when I crush my mouth against hers again.
We both know we shouldn’t be doing this. Neither of us seem to care.
My hand drops lower, dragging over the dip of her waist, pushing into her hips, my fingertips teasing under the hem of her shirt.
I half-expect her to recoil, but instead she leans into my touch, pressing herself against me.
The greedy witch has the audacity to palm me over my trousers, and I can’t stop the groan that tears from my throat.
I grab both of her hands and pin them behind her back before she tries to get handsy again.
This isn’t for me. She looks frustrated, burning a hole in me with her dark, smoldering eyes.
“Tell me what you need,” I murmur against her jaw as I begin kissing my way towards her collar. She smells like sunshine and lemons and I can’t get enough of the way her pulse thuds against my tongue. I draw her skin into my mouth, rolling it between my teeth and savoring the taste of her.
“I need you to touch me,” she gasps as I nip at her skin.
“Here?” My hand rises higher, fingers ghosting over the cup of her bra.
“Everywhere.” She rolls her hips against mine. I’m impossibly hard at how wanting she looks. How she wants me. How I’ve barely even touched her, and she’s arching against me, begging for it like a woman who’s never been told no in her life.
“How about here?” I slip my fingers under her bra cup, a sound of frustration escaping me when her nipple pebbles under my skin.
I roll it between my fingers, then drag her shirt down and push her bra aside, drawing it into my mouth and flicking my tongue over the bud.
She gasps and threads her fingers into my hair, pulling me closer. I close my eyes tight.
“You’re killing me,” she rasps.
I untangle myself from her just a little—just enough to dip my fingers below her trouser hem. “Would you prefer I did this?”
When she doesn’t protest, I slide my fingers lower, brushing against the soft cotton of her underwear.
She leans back on her elbows, bucking against my hand, trying to get my fingers to slip beneath the fabric—and I get a taste of how soaking wet she is.
Her breath is ragged, her chest rising and falling while she struggles against the anticipation.
“Are you going to fuck me or not?” she breathes.
Keeping control of myself is nearly impossible, but I click my tongue. “You think I’m doing this for me?”
I splay my hand across her abdomen, pushing her down against the table, taking in the round curve of her hips and the way there’s a little more to grab onto than the women who typically stumble into my lap.
“You could lose your career,” I say, my eyes snapping back to hers, deadly serious as I finally slide a finger beneath the drenched cotton.
She moans. “I don’t give a shit.”
A smile tugs at my lips, and I keep my gaze on her face as I slowly unbutton her trousers and slide the zipper down.
My throat goes dry as the heat from her becomes apparent against my palm.
I cast her trousers to my kitchen floor and spread her legs on my table—nothing but the thin cloth of her undergarments standing between us.
A whimper leaves her mouth, the sound of it music to my ears.
Gripping her calves, I hike her legs over my shoulders. There’s fire in her eyes as she arches her hips towards my face and I have to pin her back to the table. She’s practically writhing beneath me.
“Fuck, I need this.” She gasps.
“Need what?” I reply, bending down, my mouth hovering dangerously above her covered center.
“I need you to fuck me,” she says, a shaky plea.
I fall to my knees and pull her to the edge of the table, her legs dangling over my shoulders as I drag my tongue over her panties—up the indent of her slit. Watching her, I say, “I’m not going to fuck you, Freddie.”
Her expression turns indignant. My mouth closes over where I know her clit to be, and I hum at the first taste of her on my lips.
“This could cost me my job. It could cost you yours, too,” I murmur against her.
She threads her fingers through my hair, dragging me closer to her cunt, and normally I hate women grabbing at me but I just want to please her.
I want her to take whatever she wants. Then I hook a finger under the edge of her underwear and drag them to the side, stealing my first look at her.
She’s swollen and pink and her skin is slick for me. I want to bury my face in her.
She throws an arm over her face. “You’re such an asshole.”
“Do you want me to stop?” I lift my face and still my finger where I’d started to trace it along her folds, but not inside just yet.
“Don’t you dare fucking stop.” She pushes against it with her hips, practically begging to be fucked, and my dick is aching painfully. I slide off her underwear and toss them away, too.
She’s pleading with her dark eyes. I do as she says, burying my mouth in her cunt, licking and sucking and kissing all over.
She lets out an agonizing moan, and when I slip a finger inside, she sounds like she might cry.
I fuck her with my finger, then another, licking up her wetness and closing my lips around her clit, sucking as she clenches around my knuckles and her thighs tighten around my head.
She falls apart on my lips, a shattered, whimpering mess.