Page 63 of The Hookup
“Only with you.”
He dropped another kiss on her neck, loving her answer. She was like an instrument he could play with his masterful fingers and mouth.
“That was Dean?” he asked, irritation putting a dent in his plans when he found her hips and legs encased in goddamn pantyhose.
“Yes. Are we going to do ithere?” she asked in a husky voice.
“Why not?” He slipped his hand under her blouse then forced it under her bra until he found her nipple. When he tweaked it, harder than usual, she squealed, arching her back even more. He couldn’t take her top off, couldn’t strip her from the waist up, in case anyone looked up. “So that was Dean?”
“Huh?” she asked, sounding dazed. Faraway.
“That was your ex—the one before me?”
She nodded, might even have whispered a ‘Yes,’ he couldn’t tell. She quaked as he continued to rub her between her legs, the law of cause and effect enacting in front of him.
“He seemed happy to see you.”
“We were only talking.”
“I think he still likes you.”
“Nothing going on between us…” she sighed, pressing her pussy against his hand.
“I know. I just don’t like seeing him with you.” He rubbed her harder, making her moan as he slipped two fingers inside her.
“He doesn’t mean anything,” she whimpered, then turned her face to the side, trying to look up at him. He kissed her hard, taking pleasure in fondling her body, and relishing that she was here and in his arms now, not in Dean’s. The need to possess, and claim overriding everything.
“Stand up a minute,” he ordered, when she had gone limp against him. He tugged at her pantyhose, the second-skin like garment stuck to her hips and legs like glue.
“What if someone walked—” She placed her hands on the window, her forehead pressed against the glass.
“They won’t. I locked the door.” He peeled her pantyhose and panties down her legs, getting them only as far as her knees. “I don’t understand how you women can wear this shit,” he complained, before standing back up and freeing himself from his boxer briefs. It would be better if he bent her over his desk so that he could bury deep inside her, or turn her around so that she was facing him, but he couldn’t wait. Not seeing her had been hard enough, but seeing her with the asshole earlier had lit the fire.
“I wouldn’t have worn panties, if you’d told me we were going to—”
But she didn’t get a chance to finish. He rammed into her in one push, and she gasped, her head falling forward so that her forehead rested on the window.
“That feelssooooogood,” she stuttered, between pants, her hands splayed out against the window. He slammed into her again and again, his orgasm building, thrust by thrust.
“I love you inside me,” she said, between short breaths.
“Just you and me, Kay. Remember.”
“Just you and me,” she ground out, and he could feel her muscles clenching around him.
Together, they were the whole, and perfect and complete. Her soft exhales the perfect symphony for releasing his bottled-up emotions. Like this, they were so intimately connected, that he never wanted to let go. His pent-up anger and jealousy had melted, and now he was fueled by nothing but lust, and the need to make her his.
The air turned to steam and painted the window with a veil of condensation. It was only when he burst inside her, that he recognized the heightened feeling, and the cause of the intensity.
Crap.
He’d gone in bare, and hadn’t used a condom.
“Damn,” he said, pulling out and reaching for the box of tissues on the desk. He heard her disappointed moan. “Damn it,” he hissed again.
“What?” she asked, turning around slowly, her face flushed.
He zipped up his pants. “I forgot to use a condom.”
