Beautiful Bitch(10)

“You think you don’t always smell like sex?”

“I don’t always smell like you,” she clarified, before licking my neck.

“The hell you don’t.”

It had been so long since we’d fooled around in the office, and I was so keen to feel her; I wanted to tear my pants down my legs and shove her skirt over her hips, then ruin the neat stacks of paper on my desk by throwing her down on it.

Mercifully, she kissed from my jaw down my neck and slid along my body to the floor, pulling her skirt up slightly, demurely, so she could kneel in front of me.

But no . . . once on the floor, she kept pulling her skirt up until it bunched at her hips. With one hand, she reached between her legs; with the other, she made quick work of my belt and zipper. I closed my eyes, needing to calm my mind for a beat as she freed me quickly, and without hesitation pulled my cock into her mouth. I’d been nearly hard, and with her touch I lengthened. Warm, wet suction slid down my length and back up again, harder with the second pass as she adjusted to the feel of me in her mouth.

I felt her breath come out in little bursts against my navel, could hear the sound of her fingers moving over herself as she kneeled on the floor.

“Are you touching yourself?”

Her head shifted slightly as she nodded.

“Were you already wet for me?”

She stilled for a beat, and then reached her hand up over her head. Bending down, I sucked two of her fingers into my mouth.

Fuck.

It obliterated me to see so clearly how much she wanted this. I knew from experience how she tasted before she was truly ready for me—for example, when I came over late and surprised her in her sleep with my mouth on her—and I knew how differently she tasted after we’d teased each other for what felt like an eternity. This, on her fingers, was full arousal, and it sent my head spinning. How long had she been thinking of this? All day? Since I left this morning? But she didn’t let me linger over it too long, returning her hand quickly to the unseen space between her legs.

I watched her head move, her lips slide over my length, and tried to let it calm me. But even when her mouth was on me like this or I was buried inside her, I’d always want more. It was impossible to have her every way at once, but it never stopped me from imagining it: a whirlwind of positions and sounds and my hands in her hair and on her hips, my fingers in her mouth and yet also between her legs and pulling on the back of her thighs.

When I ran my hands into her hair she knew I wanted faster, and when my hips started to jerk she knew not to tease, not even a little. At least, not since she had a meeting any minute.

In a sudden flash I remembered that my office was unlocked; Chloe had come in here thinking we’d discuss work. The outer office was closed but not locked, either.

“Oh, shit,” I groaned, because somehow the idea that we could be caught made it so much hotter. “Chloe—” Without more warning, my orgasm barreled down my spine, sharp and warm, and so intense it made my legs shake and my fists curl tightly in her hair. She arched against the pull, her arm jerking as she touched herself, causing the sounds of her own pleasure to come out muffled around me.

Looking down, I realized she was watching my reaction . . . of course she was. Her eyes were wide, but somehow soft, and she looked fascinated. I’m sure her expression was exactly how mine was every time I’d seen her come apart under my touch. After a pause to catch my breath, I pulled out from her mouth and kneeled on the floor facing her, reaching to cup one of my hands over the one she had between her legs. She shifted a little, letting my fingers take over. I slid two of them inside, pushing and deep, and she almost toppled backward, her body clamping down around me. Steadying her with my other hand on her hip, I pressed a kiss to her lips, humming at the way they were a little red, a little swollen.

“I’m really close,” she said, slipping her free hand around my neck for support.

“I like how you think you need to tell me that.”

I kept waiting for my touch to seem overly familiar, or my technique to grow tired, but each time she felt the sweep and press of my thumb against her clit it seemed more intense than the time before.

“Another,” she managed in a tight voice. “Please, I want . . .”

She never finished her thought. She didn’t need to. I pumped three fingers into her and watched as her head fell back, her lips parted, and the quiet, husky sound of her trying-to-be-quiet orgasm raced through her.

For a few seconds, she let me hold her up, breathe in the scent of her hair, and pretend that we were somewhere else, maybe my living room or her bedroom, certainly not on the floor of my unlocked office.