Sweet Rivalry (1001 Dark Nights)(23)

And so I do just that, sit my butt down on the desk behind me and part my thighs. Ryder stays where he is and outstretches his arm, fingers still in me, and meets my eyes. They’re clouded with lust but it’s the half-cocked smile on his lips, carnal and rapacious, that holds me rapt as his gaze scrapes ever so slowly down my body to where his fingers are buried deep within me.

His eyes remain there, pulling my own down with it, so that we’re both watching his fingers work in and out of me. It’s erotic. It’s intoxicating. It’s damn near incredible.

I burn and I ache and I tense up but want to melt into a pool of bliss. There are so many damn sensations that I’m not sure which one to focus on: the friction he adds to my clit, the pressured slide down my seam before he plunges his fingers into me, or his expert manipulation of my nerves inside.

He watches his hands pleasure me and I watch him. His eyes are intense, concentration etched on his face, dick swelling as his hand works over and over and over in sync with his fingers within me.

Over the edge I fall. The lightning strike of ecstasy hits me with forewarning but there’s no way I can prepare for it. It burns hot and bright and the current reverberates out to my limbs and then back to my center again as my muscles pulse around his fingers.

I think I cry his name. I’m not sure because there’s a buzz in my ears almost as strong as the pounding of my pulse so I wouldn’t be able hear it even if I did. When I open my eyes, he wears a haughty smirk that says I told you it would be good.

And just like every other part of our tumultuous relationship back then and right now, that arrogance pulls on me, challenges me, makes me want to push his limits.

In seconds, I’m off the desk and on my knees with his cock, thick and heavy, in my mouth. His gasped growl fills the room around us as his hands find the back of my head and grip my hair.

I use my tongue and hands and lips to tease and taunt and torment him. A lick of my tongue. A suck of my lips. A twisted stroke of my hand around his shaft. A slide all the way down onto it until its thick head hits the back of my throat. His groan in the air and his fingers tensing on my scalp before I start all over again.

I work him in and out of my mouth with lips pulled tight to add that extra suction. His ass flexes beneath my palm as he thrusts himself farther into my mouth. My own body reacts to the taste of him, the feel of him, and the power of knowing I can pleasure him.

That sweet ache is back in me and starting to burn bright again. My hunger for him is ravenous, so I work his cock harder, wanting that moment where he loses control to be in my hands, by my mouth, and at the same time needing him inside me desperately. Filling me. Pushing me. Breaking me down to a whimper until I cry out his name in pleasure.

My mind wars whether to let go or to hold on while his pre-cum hits my taste buds and his dick begins to swell. He’s so large, so engorged, and I’m so turned on I have to concentrate on drawing in air.

I did this to him. God what a heady, arousing feeling.

Just when I decide to go for it, suck him off and swallow every last drop he has to offer, he pulls his dick from between my lips with a popping sound. I don’t even have time to protest or react because he hauls me up and pushes me over the edge of the desk. Before I have time to say a word, I hear the telltale rip of foil and within moments his hands are firmly on the sides of my ass, and his dick pulsing at my wet and ready entrance.

“Do you actually think I’m going to let you suck me dry? You don’t get to control this, Harper.” He pushes in about an inch, my body burning in the most desirable of ways—from stretching to accommodate his girth and from the havoc the ridge on his head is causing on every single one of my nerves. I clench around him, beg for more. “I do.”

And with those last words he slams into me from behind so that I can feel the wake of my nerves being willingly assaulted in every inch of my body. My moan sounds out in the room, hits my ears, and yet all I can do is feel as he bottoms out in me and grinds his hips so every part of me is filled to the hilt with him.

Good God that feels incredible. But nothing like when he starts to move in and out of me. Slow at first. Then a bit more demanding. A lot more pleasurable.

His hands are on my hips, his fingers bruising my skin. My arms are laid out across the desk, over plans and pencils and notebooks, and I don’t care. Each time he thrusts back into me, the bite of the edge of the desk brings me back from the brink of an orgasm.

Our sounds fill the rooms. The slap of skin together. His harsh pants. My soft pleas for more. His guttural groan as he demands that I tell him what I want.

Harder.

Faster.

Deeper.

Don’t stop.

It’s the slow burn tinged with the edge of a wildfire. The gentle swell of sensations overtaken by the huge surge of unfettered desire. The eye just before the storm hits.

And when it hits, it’s everything all at once. It’s touch and taste and scent and sound. It’s don’t move and don’t stop. It’s white-hot heat flashing beneath my closed eyelids and sweltering embers igniting into flame. It’s me being so consumed in the orgasmic haze that it’s not until my name is a broken groan that I realize he’s coming too.

My body writhes on the desk as his hands hold tight onto me. Each buck of my hips causes a growl from his throat and a tensing of his fingers into my flesh. He leans over and wraps his arms around me and hugs me from behind.