More Than I Could (52)

He turns his head to the side. The friction is enough to make me want to whimper.

I need a release. For heaven’s sake, I need relief.

My brain scrambles to think of a way out of this so I can get to my room and end my misery. My vibrator isn’t what I want, but it’ll suffice.

“Well, here’s the thing—I’m distracted anyway. Whether we get up and walk away or not, I’m going to think about fucking you every minute you’re here. I can’t get around that.”

I hold my breath.

He grins. “So what good is it really doing to stay away from you? You’re here. The damage is already done.”

“Hey,” I say, slapping his chest with my right hand.

Before I can do anything, his hand covers my wrist. He attempts to pull me around him—to guide me to his lap. But the movement causes his shoulder to tense, and he yelps in pain.

“Clearly, you need me back here,” I say, testing the waters. “Maybe that’s a sign.”

He pivots around, grabs me by the waist, and moves me until I’m astride him.

“Clearly,” he says as my sex moves against his rock-hard cock, “I need you right fucking here.”

I gasp, my body on high alert. I can’t think clearly—I don’t want to think clearly. I want to give in and let him have his way with me.

But, unfortunately, I’m a responsible woman.

“You better think this through,” I say, circling my hips. “We had an agreement for a reason.”

But please throw it away. Please. Throw. It. Away.

I move harder against him, realizing it’s not helping my attempt to give him time to think. But also not caring enough to stop.

I’m soaked, my body dampening my jeans. He sinks his hands into my hips and presses me down harder against him. Oh shit.

I bite back a moan, the denim’s resistance against my flesh better than nothing.

“Change in the agreement?” he asks.

“What do you propose?”

He smirks, his fingers dipping under my shirt and pressing so hard into my skin that it nearly burns. “We satiate this thing between us.”

“And you think that will help things how?” I ask, struggling to keep a clear mind. “Because I’m pretty sure we agreed when we weren’t alone, and I wasn’t on your lap, not knowing how the other person tastes is our best route to success.”

“Respectfully, I think we were wrong.” He leans so close that his mouth almost touches mine. The heat of his breath takes mine away. “Because how you taste is all I can fucking think about.”

I whimper as I sag into him. It takes everything I have not to grab his face and drag his mouth onto mine. But I don’t. Because somewhere in my almost thirty years of life, I’ve gathered some form of self-control.

Who knew?

“I leave in three weeks,” I say. “I guess giving in once can’t hurt.”

“Oh, sweetheart. If I give in once, there’s no way I’ll be able to keep my mouth off you.”

“Except when Kennedy is around?” I ask, almost panting.

He nods, lifting his hips against me. Easy, Chase, or I might come from this.

“Then I have one question, Mr. Marshall.”

“What’s that?”

“Why aren’t you on me already?” I ask with more confidence than I possess.

He bucks against me harder. Ooh.

“Ask me nicely.” He smirks. “I need to know exactly what you want.”

I lift on my knees so I’m kneeling over his lap. Holding his face in my hands, I grin. “Fuck me, Chase.”

His smile is sinful. “My pleasure.”





Chapter Nineteen





Megan




“It better be my pleasure, too,” I say moments before his mouth crashes on top of mine.

I moan against his lips. He smiles against mine.

One hand goes to the back of my head, holding me against him. The other slides under my ass and rocks me back and forth over his dick.

A flurry of explosions rips through me, and I feel like I might actually combust.

His kisses aren’t frenzied. They’re slow. Deliberate. Each swipe of his tongue, every press of his lips, is intentional. It’s as if we have all night.

Because we do.

My fingers wind through his hair. My nails dig roughly along his scalp. He sucks in a hasty breath but then kisses me harder.

His hand cups my jaw, holding me to him when I try to pull back. His eyes open, staring into mine with an intensity that I feel pooling inside me until he gets his fill from my mouth.

Finally, he nips my bottom lip and lets me go.

I pull my head back, desperate for a breath of air. He kisses across my jawline and down my neck.

“We’re really doing this?” I ask, grinding my pussy against him. He lifts his hips, and I grind harder.

The contact is a double-edged sword—giving me the promise of the relief to come but keeping it out of reach.

“We’re doing this,” he says as his hands go to my chest, “until you tell me to stop.”

“For the love of everything—don’t fucking stop.”

He chuckles, dragging my shirt over my head with a flourish. His eyes sparkle with dark mischief. “Don’t worry. I have no intention of stopping anytime soon, sweetheart.”