11. Chapter 11 #3
I obey my brooding, demanding boss, riding his fingers shamelessly, chasing the orgasm building at the base of my spine.
"You're close," he says darkly, pumping his fingers faster. "I can feel you getting tighter. You're going to come on my hand right here in this lobby, aren't you?"
I nod frantically.
"Show me." His order is absolute. "Show me how I make this pussy feel good."
His thumb presses hard against my clit and his fingers crook deeper, and I explode—my orgasm crashing through me so hard my knees buckle and only his body against mine keeps me upright.
He works me slower now, fingers easing, until I'm trembling and boneless in his arms.
When he finally removes his hand from between my legs, he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean, sea-green eyes daring me to protest.
"I've been thinking about that taste for four fucking weeks,” he says quietly, then kisses me once—hard and thorough—before reaching for my skirt.
"Turn around," he says.
"What?"
"Turn around. Face the wall."
I turn, palm flattening against the cool surface beside the elevator panel. The lobby is dim and humming and entirely, completely empty.
I hear his belt, the zip, the quiet foil of a condom wrapper right before Declan’s hands close over my hips.
Pushing my skirt up— all the way—his fingers grip the lace at my hips and drag my panties down in one fluid motion.
“So wet, sweetheart," he hums, fingers sliding between my thighs from behind, testing and discovering me slick and embarrassingly desperate. "God, you’re perfect.”
"Declan—"
“I said quiet, darling.” He steps closer, the heat of his crown against my back. "Put your hands on the wall and keep them there."
I press my palms flat again when his hand slides around to my front, cupping me fully.
I gasp at the instant pressure, and he laughs, a very quiet sound against my shoulder, before he slides his hard length inside me.
Holy everything—he's impossibly deep from this angle.
My forehead drops against the wall, his name falling broken from my lips.
His hands tighten around my hips. "Don’t you fucking move."
He starts to thrust.
Not frantic—worse than frantic.
Methodical.
Deep, thorough, with the unhurried attention of a man who intends to make the most of this.
"You feel incredible," he says against the back of my neck. "Every single time."
"Declan—"
"Does this pussy know exactly who it belongs to?" He drives deeper and I gasp, forehead pressing harder against the wall. "Does it?"
“Y-yes. Oh my God…”
"Say it."
"It belongs to you—"
His hand slides from my hip and comes down—a sharp, stinging smack against my bare ass that makes me cry out.
"Careful," he orders. "Unless you want the entire building to know what's happening in this lobby."
I press my lips together.
"That's it." He soothes his palm over the spot he just spanked—warm and tingling. "My dirty girl doesn’t want me to stop, does she?"
"No." The word comes embarrassingly fast. "No."
"I didn't think so." Another slow thrust. Another smack—the other cheek this time, perfectly balanced, and I bite down on my lip to keep quiet. "You like that."
He's not asking now.
"Yes," I breathe.
His hand slides around to my front, finding my clit. His fingers circle once, light and teasing, before he delivers one precise tap directly against my clit.
I nearly come off the wall.
“Oh my fu—“ I grunt.
"Shh." He does it again, slightly harder. "Count them."
"I can't—"
Another tap, and my thighs shake. "Count."
"Three," I groan.
"Good girl." His fingers resume circling, gentling me back from the edge. "This greedy little clit." He taps again and I whimper. "Every time I touch it you soak my hand. Do you know what that does to me?"
I can barely think, let alone answer.
Fortunately, he does it for me.
"It makes me want to ruin you." Declan’s deep voice rumbles across my skin. "Completely."
He drives deep and his hand comes down on my ass again—a third smack that blooms warm and sharp—and I press my palm against my mouth.
"You feel that? How fucking hard you make me? This tight little cunt was made to destroy my self-control."
Another tap to my clit, harder now, and my legs nearly buckle.
"Four,” he calls out.
"Four—"
He thrusts faster, fingers working my clit between taps, his cock hitting that deep spot that turns my brain to mush. "Tell me who does this to you. Who makes you this wet."
"You, please. Only y-you."
"And this ass—" His palm comes down again, harder, and I moan into my hand. "—is mine."
Oh God.
"This pussy—" A tap to my clit sends me up on my toes. "—is mine."
“Oh my Go—Yes, yours. A-all of it.”
"Come for me." He delivers one final controlled tap and drives deep simultaneously.
I shatter, climaxing silently, which is somehow worse.
“That’s it. Christ, baby. Squeeze that pussy around my cock.”
My orgasm floods through veins with nowhere to go, my whole body shaking against the wall while I press my fist against my mouth and feel every wave of it.
And all the while, Declan helps me through it—fingers gentling, cock still moving slowly—until I'm trembling and barely standing.
Then his thrusts turn rougher, with devastating purpose, making my legs shake.
His hips snap again and again until he explodes inside me, hips stuttering, his face pressed hard into my neck, coming apart with that deep, broken sound I'll be thinking about for weeks.
We stay like that for much too long, both of us breathing hard—trying to relocate our respective minds.
"Okay," I say finally, into the wall.
"Okay," he agrees into my neck.
"We shouldn't have—"
"Probably not."
"But we did."
He straightens, steps back, and with infuriating composure, begins straightening his clothes.
Inches away, I pull my skirt down, retrieving my panties from the lobby floor—a sentence I never expected to think.
"Declan—"
I look at him. At the silver hair I've messed up and the green eyes watching me. At the man who just had me against the wall of his own office building and is somehow, impossibly, making me feel like the most capable person in this entire company.
This is the actual problem.
Not the sex or the job.
It’s that Declan Shaw can do both simultaneously and make me believe in both simultaneously and I have no idea what to do with a man like that.
"I should go," I say.
He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out.
That is, until the elevator dings.
We both freeze, turning into living statues as the doors open.
Out steps Victoria, Declan’s executive assistant.
She stops dead when she sees us.
We've separated—barely—but my skirt is hiked up, Declan’s silky hair is a mess, and we're both panting like we’ve run a race.
She quickly does the math; her blue eyes widen.
"I—" She clears her throat. "I forgot my phone. I'll just—"
She grabs her phone from the reception desk and practically runs back to the elevator.
The doors close behind her, and silence immediately ensues. One minute passes, and still we say nothing.
I swallow hard, chest rising fast. “Do you think she—"
“Yes,” Declan finishes. “But she technically saw nothing. We’re standing in a lobby." He straightens his collar. "Nothing more."
"Declan. My underwear is still in my hand."
Despite the orgasm and the wall and Victoria's face and the fact that I am holding my own panties in my company lobby, I laugh.
He does too. That laugh is possibly the most dangerous thing that's happened tonight.
The sex I can file under temporary insanity.
That quiet, deep, sexy laugh is something else entirely.
I pick up my bag.
"I'm going home," I say.
I look over at Declan, who has stepped aside, head bowed, eyes closed.
“So…see you Monday?” I ask stupidly.
He nods, barely moving. “Monday.”
The elevator pings, doors opening with a swoosh. My eyes are still stuck on Declan’s face.
“Then I guess this is good evening, Mr. Shaw,” I say.
“Yes.” He finally opens his eyes, those green eyes now the color of a Caribbean swell. “Get in the elevator, Darcy.”
This time I do.