Page 80 of 12 Months of Mayhem

The second he reached my desk, he set me down like I was made of glass, and then his mouth was back on mine.

We were fire.

His kiss was deeper now, hungrier. His hands explored my sides and back. He tugged me closer until I was practically molded to him. I slid his jacket off him, then found the hem of his shirt and tugged it up. I let my fingers skim along the ridges of his stomach and up his chest and marveled at how solid he felt—like every inch of him had been carved with a purpose.

I caught myself just staring.

He was all broad chest and sculpted muscle, a few scars scattered here and there. Each one probably with a story. I bit my lip. Damn, he looked good.

Tank’s hands slid under my shirt next, and with one smooth motion, he peeled it over my head. My bra followed, pushed down just enough for him to cup my breasts. His hands were rough yet gentle.

When his mouth closed over my nipple, I threw my head back and gasped. The sound escaped my lips before I could stop it. His tongue was warm and teasing. I arched into him, and my fingers threaded through his hair.

My body felt like it was on fire. Everywhere he touched, it burned. I couldn’t think and only knew I wanted more.

He kissed up my chest, over my throat, and back to my lips. His hands settled on my hips and anchored me to the edge of the desk. I could feel how badly he wanted me, pressed between us, and it only made me more desperate.

I reached for his jeans, fumbling with the button, then the zipper. He laughed softly against my neck, and when they finally came loose—

“God,” I whispered, eyes wide as I realized he wasn’t wearing any underwear.

He grinned. “Surprised, mama?”

Shocked.

I wrapped my hand around him, and he groaned low. He leaned into me like I was undoing him one touch at a time.

His eyes stayed locked on mine, wild and dark and full of something that felt a little too much like need as I stroked him.

Then, suddenly, he stepped back.

“Enough,” he growled, voice gravelly.

Before I could ask, he grabbed me gently by the hips and pulled me forward. I reached behind me, unclasped my bra, and let it fall to the floor while I kicked off my shoes as he hooked his fingers into my waistband. My pants and underwear were gone in seconds, and just like that, I was standing there—bare, exposed, completely undone.

He looked at me like I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“You are fucking gorgeous, mama,” he said, his voice raw with honesty.

Heat bloomed across my cheeks and chest, and I felt it all over. Not just desire but something deeper.

Before I could say a word, he lifted me into his arms again. I clung to him, with my heart racing as he held me close. He turned, leaned me back against the wall, and then he slid inside me.

“Tank,” I cried out. It had been a long time since I had been with a man, and Tank was living up to his name. He was large and stretched me wide. “Slow,” I panted. It felt good, but damn if it didn’t feel like the man was touching the bottom of my soul.

“You’re so fucking tight, mama,” he growled. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to mine. “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

I nodded and bit my bottom lip as he slowly pulled out and then slid back in.

We fit together like we’d done this a hundred times before. Like our bodies had been made for this moment.

He moved with purpose, slow at first, then deeper. I clung to him like he was the only thing keeping me tethered to this world. I buried my face in his neck as I moaned his name as he pushed me higher and higher until I finally broke—my body shattered in his arms.

He followed with a low groan and held me tight as we both came down.

I didn’t want to let go. Didn’t want this to end.

I rested my head on his shoulder. “Wow,” I whispered.

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