Page 61 of Texting the CEO's Obsession
All thoughts of where we are and potential consequences vanish at the promise of being able to come, and I let my head fall against the desk. I sob out pleas and praise and pleasure as he drives up into me, and when my orgasm finally crests, I dig my nails into his desk so hard that I’m sure to leave marks.
I don’t care, too caught up in the tidal wave of pleasure that has me shaking in his lap, white hot bliss raking down my spine as I clench down on his cock.
Nick follows me over the edge moments later, tugging me back against his chest as he grinds deep inside me and fills me up. His hand finds my throat again, squeezing just hard enough to haveme gasping for air as he groans out his pleasure against the side of my throat. His cock throbs inside me as he comes, pressed so tight against my cervix that if I didn’t have an IUD, he’d have knocked me up for sure.
Before I can even feel my legs again, he lifts me off his cock like I weigh approximately nothing. I squeal and clench down to stop the flood of his come that threatens to pour down my thighs. Nick grins as he guides me down between his spread legs, one hand on the nape of my neck and the other wrapped around the base of his cock.
It glistens with both of our releases, still hard but starting to flag, and even if I hadn’t written it out in my sordid little fantasy, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from leaning in and lapping at the mess for all the gold in the world.
“Such a good girl,” Nick croons, sliding his hand forward so he can pet over my cheekbone. “Let me see those pretty eyes while you clean me up.”
I look up at him as I wrap my lips around the tip of his cock, sucking off the salty bitterness of our juices and swallowing every last drop I find. His eyes are softer than I’ve ever seen them, creased around the corners with an adoring smile. He watches me clean him up as he pets idly over my face, looking like he has the whole world in his hands.
LikeI’mhis whole world.
My heart swells and stutters at the thought, and I tell myself it’s ridiculous. It does nothing to change the fact that I want it to be true. I want to matter to Nick as much as he matters to me, and the realization of just howmuchhe matters to me hits me like a freight train.
I’m pretty sure if my mouth wasn’t full right now, I’d be telling Nick that I love him.
CHAPTER 18
RILEY
Nick did, in fact, manage to talk me into going home with him, and he didn’t even have to hold my panties hostage to get me to say yes.
Maybe it’s just because everything is so new and I’ve been pining after him for so long, but I can’t seem to get enough of Nick. Every second we spend apart feels like weeks on end, and every moment that we’re both free, we spend together. It’s fun, knowing that he’s just as into this—intome—as I’m into him. I’ve never had a partner that I wanted to be around all the time before, but I can’t get enough of it.
He’s so intense, even when he’s being gentle and affectionate, like a wolf that knows exactly how sharp his teeth are and is being extra careful not to draw blood. In between downright filthy texts, he asks me meaningless little questions, things that would be idle conversation from anyone else. Nick seems to want to knoweverythingabout me, no matter how mundane, and it makes me feel like I’m the center of his world even if all we’re talking about is the weather.
Especially after the not-so-little revelation I had beneath his desk this afternoon, I find that I want to be around him all the time. It’s only Wednesday, so I can’t convince myself to stay the night, but I couldn’t say no when he invited me to dinner.
It’s not like he’d have taken no for an answer, anyway.
I’m coming to learn that aninvitationfrom Nick is really just him telling me when and where to show up.
He texted me shortly after sending me back to my desk with his come staining my panties and told me that we were having dinner at his penthouse tonight. Wine, food, the works, he’d said.
The works, now that I’m here, apparently include a bouquet of freshly picked roses, candles flickering romantically around his dining room and living room, and a stunning meal dropped off by his private chef.
I don’t know if he just guessed really well or if he sneakily asked Taylor for recommendations, but he managed to pick my favorite…everything.
Needless to say, I’m overwhelmed by it all, and when he excuses himself to get us each a glass of wine after kissing me on the forehead, I take a moment to remind myself that this is real. Soft classical violin titters out from the glossy turntable that takes up an entire wall in his living room. The massive dining table I’m sitting at looks like it cost as much as my entire apartment building, but I remind myself for probably the thousandth time since walking in that Nick isn’t trying to impress me with his money.
His penthouse looks like something out of a Pinterest post, but it’s not gaudy. Just so out of my league that I’m a little scared to touch anything.
“Sorry for the wait,” Nick says as he comes back in from his kitchen with two huge glasses of dark red wine. “Pétrus, 1989. I’m more of a whiskey man myself, but my mother swears by it.”
He slides one glass in front of me before rounding my chair and taking a seat beside me.
I pick the glass up and sniff at it curiously before taking a sip, my brows arching in surprise at the bold, deep flavor. “Wow,” I hum, taking another sip. “I know, like, nothing about wine, but that’s delicious.”
“My mother will be thrilled to hear it,” Nick says with a grin before taking a sip of his own. “Let’s eat. Ronan’s food is too good to let sit around.”
Dinner is laid out lavishly on one large tray: thin slices of perfectly cooked steak drizzled with a dark sauce and golden roasted spears of asparagus nestled on a bed of fluffy mashed potatoes. Microgreens and little flowers dot the plate and add a splash of color that turns the meal into a work of art.
I almost feel bad about eating it.
Nick has no such reservations, picking up his fork and spearing a bite-sized piece of steak. He swipes it through the mashed potatoes, leaving a streak of the sauce behind, before holding it up to me.
