Wherever It Leads(33)

Sucking in a deep breath, I tiptoe into the living room and halt as soon as I see him standing in front of the windows. His shoulders are stiff, one arm brings a tumbler to his lips. Dressed in a jet-black suit and tie, he looks like he’s straight out of Central Casting—the dapper, powerful businessman in his high-rise.

I rest my bag on the floor. The towel tucked inside makes it lopsided and it falls to the side. My lip gloss goes tumbling across the tile. Fenton wheels around.

“You’re late,” he says, taking another drink.

“You’re early.” I throw him a shrug and try to downplay that I read his frustration.

“I said twelve minutes.”

“And I found running through the casino and shoving people out of my way to make some insane timeline a little embarrassing. So deal with it.”

He wants to smile. I can tell. But he doesn’t. He takes another drink instead. Pulling the tumbler away from his lips, he narrows his eyes. “Come here.”

It’s a command and one I can’t—and don’t want to—ignore. I sashay across the room and stop a few feet in front of him. He places the glass on the table, his eyes never leaving mine.

My chest rises and falls like crazy, the anticipation of the moment driving me insane. He’s doing what he does—drawing out the excitement. It’s a torturous, potent method and altogether successful.

He takes my hand and instead of pulling me into his arms or into the bedroom, he walks to the windows. A black leather bench is placed in the center of the wall of windows. It hasn’t been there before. Before I can ponder that, he speaks.

“Put your knees on the bench and face the glass.”

“What?” I look at him and his eyes are as calm as I’ve ever seen them.

Instead of answering me, he lifts me up and sits me on the bench. “Hold on.”

My throat is scalding as I pass a swallow. My breathing is hitched as I do as instructed and grab the edge of the leather.

The glass allows me to see his reflection if I look at it the right way. I hear his belt pull from around his waist, the crispness of his jacket as he slips from inside it. Each movement, every sound, heightens my senses, and I can barely take it.

“Fenton . . .” I look at him over my shoulder. He’s naked, his body not just formed, but created. Sculpted. Chiseled to perfection. He’s not overly muscled, but defined in a way that makes me want to touch him, worship him.

He stands behind me, his cock sitting against my ass. I exhale a breath that comes out in a heated gush, the feeling of his hardness against my body leveling me up about six notches. I arch my back, pressing myself against him.

His hand wraps in my hair, tugging my head back. He captures my mouth with his, his tongue stroking mine in long, possessive marks. I moan into his mouth, soaking in every sensation as it comes.

“Face the window,” he orders, his tone soft but unwavering.

My thighs are gripped by a set of strong hands. He squeezes me just under the cheeks of my ass before drawing them up my back, letting the cover-up roll up to my shoulder blades. My skin shivers at the onslaught of cool air and his heavy hands, a contradiction that’s divine.

He finds the sides of my bikini bottoms and hooks his fingers beneath them. Slowly, he drags them down my hips and legs. I lift my knees so he can remove them completely. Glancing over my shoulder again, he’s watching me, my bottoms pressed to his face.

“I love the smell of you,” he rumbles before tossing them to the side and saddling up behind me again. He palms his cock and sets it against my opening, spreading my wetness around. “You’re so f*cking wet.”

“For you.”

“For me,” he breathes. “Now look at the glass.”

I watch his face in the reflection. His eyes find mine as his cock kisses my *. He presses deliciously slow, taking his precious time, and I moan as my body expands, letting him enter.

“You’re so damn tight,” he groans, biting his bottom lip.

I squeeze the leather, my knuckles beginning to turn white, as my body makes room for his size. His cock inches in, my body wrapping around it like a glove. Each movement sends a new shock wave of sensation through my body, and it’s not long before I have to close my eyes and focus on the feeling.

“Does that feel good?” he asks, his hands digging into my hips.

“So good,” I mutter through clenched teeth as he hits the back of me. He draws his cock out again, as gradually as he entered. Before I expect it, he pushes into me with one quick thrust. “Ah!”

He’s out and in again before I can comprehend it. My body squeezes his cock as he glides into me.

“Is this what you wanted today when you were out parading yourself around the pool?”

“Yes!” I nearly shout, arching my back so his cock hits the spot in the back of my vagina. “This is exactly what I wanted! Fuck!”

His hands move from my hips to the tops of my cheeks and he rubs them while driving into me. “You are so beautiful. Do you know that? Seeing you like this—displayed for me like this—is every man’s dream.”

Feeling like this is every woman’s dream, but I can’t find words. I can only find the ledge from which I’m about to jump.

With each stroke, he hits the spot that drives me insane. Each thrust presses me closer to an orgasm that I’m desperate to experience.