Page 48 of Worth the Wait

She stiffens slightly but continues her explanation of regulatory frameworks without missing a beat. Only the slight tremor in her hand as she gestures betrays her.

"I can smell how wet you are," I breathe against her cheek once the conversation focus turns away from her. “And I can’t fucking wait to have you dripping from my tongue.”

“Excuse me,” she says softly to the group with a lifted hand before slipping away. I watch as she disappears down the corridor where the bathrooms are located. I turn my gaze back to the conversation but I’m not listening. I’m focused on watching, waiting for her to come back, hoping I didn’t scare her off.

A minute later, my phone vibrates in my pocket with a text from her.

Tarryn: Your room or mine?

Me: Mine. Five minutes.

I make my excuses to Miguel, watching from the corner of my eye as Tarryn does the same with Christine. The elevator ride is silent agony, both of us maintaining distance until the doors close on our floor.

The moment we're inside my suite, she's on me. Her mouth claims mine with stunning force, hands already working at my tie, my belt. There's nothing hesitant in her movements—this isn't that timid young girl from before. This is a sexually confident and very fucking turned-on woman. This is pure, undiluted lust, taking exactly what she wants.

"I've been thinking about this all fucking night," she growls against my lips, shoving my jacket off my shoulders.

Her aggression ignites something primal in me, but I let her lead, fascinated by this unleashed version of the woman who maintains such tight control in the boardroom.

She backs me toward the bed until my knees hit the edge, then pushes me down with surprising strength. The burgundy dress pools at her feet in one fluid motion, revealing black lace that makes my mouth go desert-dry.

"Christ, Tarryn."

"Eyes up here, Hayes," she commands, though her smile is pure sin as she straddles me. "Though I do love watching you look at me like you're starving."

Her hips roll against my still-clothed erection, creating maddening friction. My hands find her waist, fingers digging into soft flesh as I try to guide her movements, but she captures my wrists, pinning them above my head.

"Not yet." Her voice is husky with desire but unmistakably in charge. "First, I want to hear you say it."

"Say what?" My voice sounds wrecked already, strained with the effort of restraint.

"That you're mine." She rocks against me again, the damp heat of her evident even through layers of fabric. "That no one else gets to see you like this."

"Yours," I groan as she releases my wrists to unbutton my shirt with methodical precision. "Completely and utterly yours, Tarryn."

Satisfaction flashes in her eyes before she claims my mouth again, her tongue demanding entrance I eagerly grant. She tastes like champagne and sex, intoxicating in her assertiveness.

My shirt joins her dress on the floor, followed quickly by her bra. The sight of her above me—half-naked, flushed with desire, eyes glittering with determination—nearly undoes me.

"I need to taste you," I manage, reaching for her.

She considers for a moment, then shifts forward on her knees, bringing her breasts level with my mouth. I waste no time, capturing one pebbled nipple between my lips, drawing a gasp from deep in her throat. My tongue circles the sensitive peak while my hand attends to its twin, reveling in her increasingly desperate sounds.

"Jackson," she moans, fingers tangling in my hair, holding me to her.

The power dynamic shifts subtly—she's directing my attention, but I'm wringing these reactions from her, learning the secret language of her body all over again. For every bit of control she exerts, I find ways to make her unravel.

She pulls back eventually, breathing hard. She reaches between us, her hand sliding down beneath my boxers to grip me fully.

“Fuck,” I hiss, my eyes closing, head lulling back as she strokes me. A second later, she’s sliding off me, tugging at my pants. I get the message loud and clear, helping her pull them down my body and kicking them to the side, leaving my cock rigid, springing free.

"Look at you," she murmurs, wrapping her hand around my length with confident pressure. "So hard for me already."

I hiss through clenched teeth as she strokes me, her thumb gathering the moisture at the tip and spreading it downward. There's nothing tentative in her touch—she knows exactly what she's doing, precisely how to push me toward the edge without tipping me over.

"Condom," I somehow manage.

"Unnecessary," she counters, shimmying out of her lace panties. "I'm on the pill, and I'm clean. You?"

---