Come As You Are(17)

Power.

This feels like power.

Like something I haven’t experienced in the longest time. It’s intoxicating, and I want so much more of it—of his reaction, of the vulnerability in the set of his jaw and the parting of his lips as I stroke him, feeling how aroused he is. His skin is hot and so hard, and I’m going to take him inside me. “I want to feel all of you.”

His eyes open. He shakes his head in wonder. “Who are you?”

I smile because I know he doesn’t actually want an answer, but I love that he’s asked the question. “Your mystery girl.”

He blinks, like he has to shake off the lust to finish the job of rolling on the protection. As he pinches the top of the condom, I slide out of my panties. He positions himself between my legs and hikes up my thigh around his hip. Guiding him, I rub the tip against all that wetness.

“God, you feel so fucking good and I’m not even inside you yet.”

He pushes in, and for the briefest second, I feel stretched in ways I haven’t felt stretched in too long. He’s so deep in me, I draw a sharp inhale, then I sigh blissfully.

I want to use his name. I want to say Duke, or Ninja, or John, or David, or Mr. Venture Fund, or whoever he is. Instead, I blurt out, “I don’t think it’s going to take me long at all.”

He moves inside me, stroking in and out, filling me. I’m vaguely aware of the sounds of the party from far beyond the door, the low beat of the music, the chatter of the crowd, and then us, all the sensations.

My pants. His groans.

The wet slickness of me taking him in deep.

His lips sliding across mine.

His breath on my neck.

The press of my back on the wall.

We’re in our own cocoon of one-night lust, of crazy, instant chemistry here in the library as the stealth start-up screws the angel investor against the wall. I band my arms around his neck, all the chiffon and funny money hitting his arms, his shoulders.

I look up at what I can see of his face, the cut of his jaw, the shape of his full lips, the brightness of his eyes, wondering who I let into my body.

But then a thrill races through me because I don’t know the answer. I bring my mouth to his, brushing our lips together. As he thrusts inside me, he whispers against my face, “I don’t think it’ll take me long either. You feel too good.”

I bring my mouth to his ear. “Fuck me harder. Fuck me so hard I forget where I am.”

His groan sounds like it’s ripped from his throat as he hikes my thigh higher. He grabs my other leg, lifts me, and wraps both around his back. “Hold on tight,” he says, keeping me pinned like that, holding me up as he takes me.

I can’t move like this, and I’m sure the wall is bruising my back where it digs into the wall. I’m equally sure I don’t care as he fills me, pounds me, and delivers me to a place I haven’t been in the longest time.

A deep pull of desire tugs in the center of my belly. It pulses again, then another time.

“So close,” I cry out.

“Yes,” he grunts. He unleashes wild thrusts on me, groaning, “Want to watch you come.”

My eyes are closed, but I swear I can feel him staring at me as a wave of pleasure sweeps over, pulls me under, and overwhelms me.

Is he as turned on as I am? Is he falling apart watching me shatter? I hope so, oh God, I hope so. Because I’m breaking, and it’s intense. I part my lips, I cry out, and then my world spins away as pleasure spills over me, crashing across my skin.

I feel it everywhere. I don’t know if I’m quiet or loud. I don’t know if anyone can hear me, or if no one can.

But I can’t stop saying I’m coming, oh God, I’m coming over and over, because it feels like an endless orgasm. Like never-ending bliss.

With his hands digging into my hips, he slams into me, filling me deep as he trembles all over. When I open my eyes, I catch the tail-end of his orgasm. His face is contorted, his lips twisted and his jaw tight. After one final deep thrust, he tenses, grunts a primal moan of pleasure. Then, he relaxes.

I let my legs fall, my feet touching the floor. I’m wobbly at first. My bones need to shift from a liquid state to a solid one again. He pulls out, grabbing a tissue from the desk, and quickly disposing of the condom in a nearby trash can.

When he returns to me, there’s one more kiss coming my way.

A soft, sweet, after-the-fire kind of kiss.

A kiss that tells me this was rough and hot, but tender too.

A kiss that says he’d like another, and so would I.

“What’s your number?” he asks, and I grin, like a happy commoner, because the duke wants to see me again.

I start to tell him, then stop to ask if he wants to enter it in his cell.

Shaking his head, he dusts his lips to my neck. “I have an amazing memory.”

I shiver from the kiss, then rattle off all but the last three digits for him, when my phone chirps.

And chirps.

And chirps.

Then it hits me.

Bob Galloway.

Fear stabs at me—the worry that I’ll miss a big chance.

I blink, drop to my knees, grab my clutch, and rip it open, hunting for my mobile phone. It’s him.

I slide my thumb over the screen. “I have to take this call,” I whisper to my non-ninja duke.

I grab a bill from the halo on the desk, a five hundred. Waving it, I thrust it at him, mouthing, The last three digits of my number. I need to be alone for this call. I want to talk to a potential editor without looking at the man who fucked me, so I run for the door, clear my throat, and say, “Hello, Mr. Galloway,” once I reach the hallway.