Page 31 of Christmas with My Ruthless CEO
The dress loosens as the zipper descends, and Atticus steps back just enough to let the emerald silk slip from my shoulders, pooling at my feet in a whisper of fabric. His sharp intake of breath as he takes in the sight of me in nothing but a strapless black lace bra, matching panties, and thigh-high stockings is immensely satisfying.
"You wore this... all through dinner with my mother?" he asks, voice rough with desire.
"I did." I reach for his tie, slowly loosening the knot. "Thinking about you seeing me in it afterward."
"Christ, Sloane." His hands settle on my hips, thumbs tracing the lace edge of my panties. "You have no idea what you do to me."
"Show me," I challenge, unbuttoning his shirt with deliberate slowness.
His restraint visibly fractures. In one fluid motion, he lifts me, my legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he carries me toward the bedroom. His mouth claims mine in a kiss that's all heat and hunger, tongue stroking against mine in a rhythm that has me moaning into his mouth.
The bedroom is cast in shadows, illuminated only by moonlight filtering through large windows and the faint glow from the fireplace in the main room. He lays me on the king-sized bed with surprising gentleness given the desire evident in his eyes.
"You're overdressed," I observe, propping myself up on my elbows as he stands at the foot of the bed.
"A situation I intend to remedy immediately." He shrugs out of his partially unbuttoned shirt, revealing the toned chest I'd explored so thoroughly last night. His hands move to his belt, unfastening it with deliberate slowness that makes my mouth go dry.
I can’t look away. Every inch of skin he reveals feels like another blow to my self-control. He strips off his shirt, then his dress pants, slow and unhurried like he knows I’m watching, like hewantsme watching. When he’s down to just tight black boxer briefs clinging to him, straining with the proof of how badly he wants this, wantsme, I can’t breathe.
He climbs back onto the bed with a quiet, predatory grace, body sleek and hard as he covers mine. One knee between my thighs, his weight pressing me into the mattress inch by inch, making me feel small, delicate,his.
“You’re unreal,” he murmurs, voice low, one hand trailing up from my hip to the curve beneath my bra. “Every inch of you. All mine tonight.”
I nod, breath shaky. “Yes,” I whisper. “I’m right here.”
His mouth crashes into mine, deeper this time, a kiss that’s pure command. His thigh shifts between mine, pressing up in just the right way and I gasp, hips jerking without permission. I dig my hands into his back, nails dragging over the hard muscle as he grinds against me, the friction cruel and perfect.
His fingers reach behind me, unclasping my bra in one deft movement. He tosses it aside without a glance. Then he pulls back just enough to look down at me, bare to him. His stare is electric, heat pulsing in his eyes as they roam over my chest.
“Fucking perfect,” he growls.
His hand cups my breast, thumb circling, teasing until I’m squirming beneath him. Then his mouth lowers, tongue flickingover the peak before sucking it deep, and I cry out, my back arching. He takes his time. Moves to the other, giving equal attention, tongue and teeth and lips turning my nerves to fire.
By the time he starts moving lower, I’m a mess. Writhing. Whimpering. My body is begging for more.
He kisses down my ribs, my stomach, a slow torturous path until he reaches the edge of black lace between my thighs. He hooks two fingers into the waistband and pauses, gaze lifting.
“Say it,” he orders.
“Yes,” I breathe. “Please.”
He pulls my panties down slowly, leaving the thigh-high stockings in place. His fingers skim the tops, appreciating the contrast.
“These stay,” he decides. “You look too fucking good in them.”
Then he parts my legs, spreading me wide. His breath ghosts over my skin and then his mouth is on me. Hot. Devouring. I cry out, hips lifting as pleasure slams through me. His hands hold me firm, mouth working with the same ruthless precision I’ve seen him use in meetings, only now every calculated move is aboutme.
He tastes, learns, listens to every sound I make. When he adds his fingers, sliding two inside me and curling just right, I shatter. A scream of his name rips from my throat as I come hard, thighs clenching around his shoulders, entire body trembling.
Before I’ve even caught my breath, he’s moving up my body, kissing me hard, deep. I taste myself on his tongue and moan into his mouth. My hand slides down, finding him thick and hard beneath the cotton. He thrusts into my palm with a choked groan.
“Sloane,” he grits out, every muscle tight with restraint.
“I want you,” I whisper, shoving his boxers down. “Now.”
He doesn’t hesitate. He kicks them off, grabs protection from the drawer, but I take it from him with a shake of my head. “Let me.”
I roll the condom on slowly, watching his jaw tighten, his eyes darken. He nearly growls when I finish. Then he grabs my thighs, positions himself between them, and pushes forward.
