Merry and Bright(63)

He knew her now, or he was starting to. He knew the real her, and he was still here, still wanting her. She could feel that wanting in his kiss, in the way he touched her, and the knowledge was so incredibly empowering and arousing, she gave herself up to it. To him.

She wasn’t alone, not tonight, and marveling over that, too, she touched his mouth, feeling him smile beneath her fingers, his tense jaw, the muscles bunched beneath the wall of his chest. “I’m still fine,” she marveled, giving him a breathless update.

He smiled and nibbled his way to her ear. She shivered, which he soothed away with his hands as he lifted her tank top. Looking into her eyes, he peeled the material over her head. Oh, God. Her inner fat girl surfaced for a brief flash.

He danced his hands from waist to ribs, palming her breasts. “Okay?” he murmured, his thumbs rasping over her nipples.

“O-okay,” she managed. Don’t think about him seeing your body, don’t think about it, just enjoy.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, banishing her inner fat girl for another day.

Somehow she stripped off his shirt as well, looking at him in the low light. The man had a body like a pagan god, and she wanted to touch it.

Before she could, he dipped his head, forging a path of hot, open-mouth kisses down her shoulder as he unhooked her bra, baring her breasts.

The heat within her spread. Fat girl stayed banished.

“Still okay?” he wanted to know as he bent to a breast. Licked. Sucked. Bit.

She panted for breath. “Yes.”

“Good.” His hands curled around the hem of her skirt, skimming it up her thighs. Then his fingers hooked into her panties.

She stared into his hungry eyes. “Um . . .”

“Tell me you’re still hanging in,” he said, his voice not so light now.

“Y-yes. Hanging in.”

“Good. Now hold on.” He stepped back, tugged, and her panties vanished. Cold air danced over her legs, but then he was back between her thighs. With his usual bluntness, he looked down at her sprawled out for him like some sort of feast, letting out a hungry sound she felt all the way to her womb.

Torn between the erotic sexual haze he’d trapped her in and a vulnerable embarrassment, she squeezed her eyes shut. Not as experienced as she’d have liked, she didn’t know the protocol here, or what to do with her hands. He’d told her to hold on, so she gripped the edge of the desk for all she was worth, struggling to remain calm. Should she say something? Tell him she didn’t often climax with a man because it was hard for her to give up her control? Or should she just smile sexily and fake it?

Or do what she was already doing, which was panting for air because she could hardly breathe.

He took the decision out of her hands when he sank to his knees and stroked his fingers over her.

Her body jerked in surprise, in pleasure.

“Shh,” he murmured, and with another rough sound of hunger, leaned in and tasted her.

Reality had no chance then, no chance at all. At the first stroke of his tongue, she became incapable of smiling sexily, or even of blushing, incapable of doing anything except holding onto that desk and gasping for air between little whimpers of pleasure. Oh, God, this felt good, this felt amazing. She could actually—She was going to—“Matt!”

“I know. It’s okay. Come for me, Cami.”

When she did come—exploded—with a shocked, breathless cry, he murmured his approval and did it again.

Did her again.

“Oh, my God,” she panted when she could speak. She was flat on her back, blinking at the bright stars dancing in her vision. “I think I’ve walked into the light.”

His face appeared above her as he braced a hand on either side of her head. He wore a grin, albeit a tense one. “Those are the Christmas lights outside the window.”

“Oh.” She smiled sheepishly. “That was . . . holy cow. You have no idea.”

“Been a while?”

“You have no idea. There’s more, right?”

“Oh, yeah, there’s more.” He unzipped his pants, put on a condom from his wallet, a task most pleasurable to watch, Cami thought dimly, her brain not quite connected, her body still pulsing.

“Still with me?” he asked.

“So with you.”

“Good.” Draping her thighs over his forearms, Matt gripped her hips and slid home, filling her to bursting, a feeling intensified by the low, serrated sound of desire that ripped from deep in his throat.

She could feel her toes curl as he breathed her name in a husky, destroyed voice. “Cami.”

She couldn’t respond, because within a few strokes she was clutching at him, panting, whimpering. Dying. Between the delicious friction and the expression of need on his face alone, she flew high, trembling, quivering, suspended on the very edge, until with a rough, guttural groan, he shattered. He was still in its throes when she took the leap with him.

Again.





6


Cami told herself that she was fine, that she’d escaped from the experience in her office with Matt relatively unscathed. She told herself that all the way home, and all the way through her hot shower, and all the way through the next three hours in her bed, until her alarm went off at six A.M.

Just a torrid affair, like she’d always wondered about.