Page 12 of The Best Kind of Bad

I groan, sliding my palm along the curve of her spine. Flipping her skirt over her hips, I admire that perfect round ass, squeezing it hard. She sighs even as my fingers dig into her soft flesh.

Nudging her feet apart with my boot, I have her widen her stance. My cock slides between her folds. I had every intention of setting a manageable pace. But hovering over her like this, seeing the way she’s spread prone before me, triggers something deep and possessive in me. I swing my hips forward, burying my entire length in one thrust.

She groans loudly, pushing her hips back against mine.

“Shh. Baby girl.” I admonish, not quite keeping the smile out of my voice.

She clamps a hand over her mouth.

“Is it okay?” I ask. “Not too hard?”

She shakes her head, wiggling her hips impatiently. Trusting that she’ll stop me if I get too rough, I start thrusting into her. God, she feels good. My hips slap against her ass. She feels so soft. Her body’s gripping me just right.

I reach forward, unhooking her bra with a flick of my wrist and I lean forward, kissing and nipping at her back. I push myself upright again, pistoning into her, heedless of the metallic squeaking of the desk. I wind her long dark hair around my wrist, murmuring praise for this feisty little thing.

She is beautiful.

Sexy.

Bewitching.

I pull at her hair and she arches her back, groaning. “Right there.”

I pound into her and she comes around my cock again, muscles clamping down on my shaft. Every muscle in my torso tenses and I pull her upright. Pinning her to my chest, I thrust into her. Pleasure radiates down my spine, rushing out in a glorious climax as my cock swells, pulsing into her.

We both collapse on the desk. I give her only a small fraction of my weight, enjoying the full body connection of her soft body under mine.

I can feel her heart racing against my chest and I nuzzle her soft hair, breathing in the scent of her shampoo.

Eventually, reluctantly, I ease out of her, slipping her skirt back over that perfect little ass.

I take a deep breath, grinning. That was the hardest I’ve ever come and I never even took off my jeans.

She snags her bra, fitting it back into place before turning to face me.

I’m almost afraid that awkwardness might descend on us, which I don’t think I could stand, but she’s got a sly little smile on her lips.

This gorgeous little vixen.

We quietly set about putting Tia’s things back in order. Some of her papers had fallen to the ground. We have to guess at the order everything was in. No doubt, she’ll notice something occurred back here. I’m debating whether I should explain myself or let Tia’s imagination do her worst, when my beautiful stranger steps closer to Tia’s shelves. She’s examining the signed football there. She points at my signature. “Is that you?”

We were state champions that year. Our senior year. All our names are there, but my signature has always had a distinctive chicken scratch appearance. It’s one step away from an illiterate ‘x’. At least it’s legible.

“Yeah. Tia won the ball at a charity raffle. Keeps it hidden back here, though.” I say with an amused twist of my lips.

She’s squinting at the year scrawled across the ball. Turning back to me with one eyebrow raised. “How old are you?”

My hackles go up. Something about her tone suggests danger. And yet, there’s no point in lying. “Twenty-five.”

Both eyebrows fly up, and a surprised laugh rolls off her tongue. “Oh my God. I’ve robbed the cradle.” She covers her mouth, looking amused but also horrified. Mostly horrified. “Dusty… you’re just a baby.”

She’s got a dimple. This woman was holding onto a secret weapon the entire time. Not that she needed it. I shrug. “How old are you?”

“Rude.”

I laugh. “Sixty-five?”

“Close.”

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