Page 56 of Worth the Wait

"All day," I confirm, a smile curving my lips at the raw desire in his expression. "Thinking about this moment. About your hands on me."

"Christ, Tarryn." His voice breaks on my name, hands reverent as they trace the edge of lace across my breast. "Do you have any idea what that does to me? Knowing you were in that meeting, looking so professional, with this underneath?"

Instead of answering, I pull him down to me, our bodies colliding with delicious friction. His weight presses me into the mattress, solid and real after hours of careful distance. The heat of his skin against mine feels like coming home—a thought I immediately push away as dangerously sentimental.

This is an arrangement, not a relationship. A solution to the undeniable chemistry between us that won't jeopardize our professional standing.

But as Jackson's mouth traces a path down my neck, across my collarbone, to the swell of my breast above black lace, all rational thought dissolves beneath waves of sensation. His tongue teases through the delicate fabric, making me arch against him with a gasp that turns to a moan when he finally pulls the lace aside, taking my nipple into the wet heat of his mouth.

"Yes," I breathe, fingers tangling in his hair to hold him where I need him. "God, just like that."

He lavishes attention on first one breast, then the other, until I'm writhing beneath him, desperate for more. When his hand slides down my stomach, fingertips tracing the edge of matching black lace between my thighs, I spread my legs in wordless invitation.

"Tell me what you want," he murmurs against my skin, fingers teasing but not giving the pressure I crave. "I want to hear you say it."

In the office, I'm measured, cautious, every word carefully calculated for maximum effect with minimum risk. Here, with Jackson, something else emerges—a woman unafraid to demand exactly what she needs.

"Touch me," I command, lifting my hips in emphasis. "Inside. I need to feel you inside me."

He groans against my breast, the sound vibrating through me as his fingers finally push the lace aside, finding me already slick with desire. One long finger slides inside, then another, his thumb circling the sensitive bundle of nerves that makes my breath catch.

"Like this?" he asks, crooking his fingers to find that spot that makes me see stars.

"Yes," I gasp, hips rising to meet each thrust of his hand. "More. Harder."

He complies immediately, setting a rhythm that has me spiraling toward release with unbridled speed. I should be embarrassed by how quickly he can bring me to the edge, but there's no room for shame between us—only raw need.

When my climax hits, it's with an intensity that draws a cry from my throat, my body clenching around his fingers as waves of pleasure crash through me. He works me through it, movements gentling as the aftershocks ripple across my skin.

Before I've fully recovered, I'm pushing at his shoulders, rolling us until I'm straddling him. The surprise in his eyes quickly transforms to heat as I settle over him, feeling his hardness pressed against me through the thin barrier of his boxers.

"My turn," I tell him, reaching between us to free him from the last piece of fabric separating us.

He groans as my hand wraps around him, head falling back against the pillows. "Tarryn," he breathes, the word half plea, half prayer.

In the boardroom, in client meetings, in every professional setting, I maintain careful control. But here, in this bed, I claim a different kind of power—the power to reduce this brilliant, composed man to desperate need with nothing but my touch.

"You're killing me," he groans, hands gripping my hips with bruising intensity.

"Not yet," I promise, positioning myself above him. "But soon."

When I finally sink down onto him, taking him deep inside me, we both moan at the fullness. For a moment I stay perfectly still, savoring the sensation of being completely filled, completely connected.

Then I begin to move, setting a pace that quickly has us both gasping. His hands roam my body—cupping my breasts, trailing down my stomach, finding where we're joined to circle the sensitive bundle of nerves that makes my rhythm falter.

"That's it," he encourages, watching me with raw hunger as I ride him. "Let me see you come apart again."

The combination of his words, his touch, and the perfect fullness of him inside me hurtles me toward the edge much faster than I'd intended. I try to slow down, to prolong the delicious tension, but he grips my hips, holding me in place as he thrusts up into me with perfect precision.

"Let go," he urges, his voice rough with his own approaching climax. "I want to feel you coming on my cock, baby."

His words shatter the last of my control. I cry out as pleasure crashes through me, more intense than before, my body clenching around him in pulsing waves. He follows immediately, his release triggering aftershocks of pleasure that leave me trembling above him.

I collapse against his chest, our breath mingling as we slowly return to reality. His hands stroke lazily up and down my back, touch gentle now that the urgent need has been satisfied.

"You surprise me," Jackson murmurs, his fingers playing with a strand of my hair. "Not that you're passionate—I always knew that fire was there beneath the surface. But how completely you embrace it. How directly you ask for what you want."

I prop myself up on one elbow, studying his face in the dim light filtering through the blinds. "Does that surprise you? That I know what I want?"

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