Page 31 of These White Lies
My hands slide back up her thighs, parting them wider around me, the silk of her dress bunched at her waist. I trail one hand up to her hip and grip tight, positioning her closer to the edge where I want her. She gasps and arches her back, her hands falling to her sides.
Her words about her ex always expecting her to make all the decisions tell me more than she realizes. This is a woman who walks through life in charge of and responsible for everything. Good thing I have no problem taking control.
The burn in my veins intensifies as I feel her relax under my hands, and an unfamiliar emotion curls through my chest at the knowledge that she’s trusting me to catch her when she finally lets go. And I will. With unexpected fervor, I want to give this to her. An experience where she doesn’t have to think, only feel.
I press a kiss to the inside of her knee, then another higher. Her skin is warm, smooth, and soft, and I have to take a breath to keep from rushing in like a neanderthal. I want to consume her.
“Keep quiet for me,” I murmur, when she whimpers, my breath teasing her already sensitive, glistening skin. I lower my head and hear her groan before she bites down on her lip.
The first swipe of my tongue makes her legs tremble, and her hands shoot out behind her, gripping the edge of the desk for balance.
“I’ve got you, baby,” I whisper against her, and her hips lift toward me. Anchoring her thighs in my hands, I take my time. In the back of my mind, I know I don’t have time for this, but after my first taste I know I’m going to savor her. This might be my only chance.
The soft undulations of her hips shift under my tongue to something more urgent, and when I slide two fingers inside to stroke, her entire body stiffens. The sounds she’s making, muffled by her hand, are making my cock throb, and I realizethat, for the first time since I was a teenager, there is a very real possibility I’m going to finish before she even touches me.
Worth it.
Her hands are in my hair, fingers tightening, and pulling at whatever she can reach. Her heels dig into my back as she grinds against me. She’s trembling, panting, on the edge.
But I want more. I want the sounds she’s swallowing. I want her screaming my name. For her to know who it is that is making her feel this way.
“Let go,” I growl against her, lightly biting her clit. “Come for me.”
Her body snaps taut, thighs shaking, her breath catching in a strangled scream.
I want to hear her. All of her. But I can’t. We can’t be caught in this room and certainly not together.
I rise slowly and pull her body until it’s flush against mine. She’s shaking in the aftermath of her orgasm, her light blue eyes wide behind the mask, lips red and swollen where she’s been biting them.
I can’t help myself, and my lips crash into hers. There’s nothing gentle about the way my mouth is claiming hers. The raw need to possess her is as startling as it is powerful, and it urges me on as I reach without success for the zipper of her dress.
“It doesn’t have one,” she pants against my lips. Her hands grip my jacket lapels, and she pushes me back a little.
I want to howl a denial. I need more of her. An almost unbearable desire to know if the skin of her breasts is as smooth as the delicious skin on her thighs. Fighting against primal need, I force myself to step back, still painfully hard.
I almost weep with relief when she rises from the desk, and slowly, without a word—pulls the black cocktail dress up and over her head.
I forget how to breathe.
She stands in front of me wearing nothing but a sheer black lace bra, a gold mask, and heels that make her legs look miles long. Her skin is still flushed with desire, her eyes dilated.
If I thought she was beautiful before…
This?
Someone should carve this image in stone and worship it.
“Fuck,” I mutter, voice rough with awe.
I shrug out of my jacket and then rip at the buttons on my shirt with shaking fingers, pulling it off and tossing it to the floor.
Her breath stutters when her eyes catch on the ink that sprawls across my left shoulder and snakes along my ribs. Her pupils dilate to almost black behind the gold mask as she lingers on the edges of one piece in particular–the hand wrap tattoo I got after winning my first amateur title bout. Her gaze tracks the lines and she licks her lips, like she wants to trace them with her tongue, making my cock jump.
I close the remaining distance between us until, her hard nipples burn into my chest. The thin layer of lace is the only barrier between us, as her hands slide over the images on my torso, causing heat to slam through me.
“You like ink?”
Her eyes flash to mine, and she nods once. “Apparently more than I thought.” She slips her hand over my erection and squeezes. “Any more I can’t see?”
