The Lie(52)

Oh god, please don’t be like this.

I rub my lips together, feeling desperation course through me.

“No, it’s not all,” I tell him, my voice sounding so quiet and meek. “I…” I close my eyes. “Fuck. I can’t.”

Suddenly I hear his chair slide back, and my eyes fly open. He’s in front of me, grabbing my forearm, his fingers molten against my skin.

“If you say you can’t one more time,” he warns me, his voice low and sharp and brimming with fury. “You might think you have some right to come here and tease me but—”

I step away from the edge of the desk, not breaking eye contact. “I’m not teasing you.”

Our faces are just inches apart. I’m breathing in his air. My gaze drops to his lips, the tense set of his jaw. The tension between us grows thick and heavy, and the back of my neck grows damp with sweat.

“Kiss me,” I whisper to him, my lips barely moving, the sound coming out like a last breath.

The tension wraps around us tighter, tying knots. Or maybe it’s my stomach that’s flipping as my words seem to hang between us with nowhere to go.

“Please,” I add. I glance up at him through my lashes and see his expression has changed to a mix of lust and disbelief. He thinks I’m kidding. I don’t think I’ve ever been more serious.

“Fine,” I tell him. I’ll do it.

I put my hand behind his neck and pull him down to me. I kiss him softly, unsurely, worried that he might pull away in some kind of punishment.

But he lets out a faint groan and steps into me.

His hands disappear into my hair, holding my head in place while our mouths slide against each other in a wet, heated dance. It whips up something in my chest, turning coals into flames, want into desire. This kiss reaches down to my very toes and ensures that I can’t feel the ground.

But he presses himself against me more, and I can feel the edge of the desk bite into my ass the pressure of his hard chest against mine, the rigid shape of his cock pushing into my hips.

This isn’t just going to be a kiss.

Maybe it never was.

Brigs breaks away, holding my face in his hands, breathing hard. His eyes are glazed, hot, carnal, like he’s already f*cking me with them.

No, this isn’t just a kiss at all.

“Are you sure?” he manages to say, his voice coated with this huskiness that makes the hairs on my arms stand up, the space between my legs flush with heat.

My “yes” is caught in my throat. I can only nod.

Please touch me. Touch me everywhere.

My whole body moves toward him like gravity, wanting more.

He gives me a half-smile that borders on predatory. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to do this.”

“Oh I think I might,” I manage to say as his mouth dips toward my jawline, nibbling along it before it slides down my neck, a hot trail of lips and tongue and teeth.

A gasp is pulled from my lungs as my body starts to kick up the adrenaline, and it hits me hard with my heart banging like a drum, my pulse through the roof. I grip the back of his neck harder, urging him to crush me, needing to feel the solidity, the maleness of his body.

His mouth returns to mine, his lips soft and strong, and I’m melting into his mouth, dissolving underneath his tongue. It’s just as explicit as sex, and I feel open and bare from just the heat of our kiss, the languid, penetrating way he explores my mouth. It’s like he’s devouring me, conquering me, and I’ve never been happier to give in.

“Natasha,” he says, our mouths parting for a moment, my name an urgent hiss on his lips. His hands are now moving down to my shirt, sliding over my skin. His hands feel so warm, so possessive as they glide over my waist and stomach, slowly making their way up to my breasts.

I help him out by grabbing the hem of my shirt and pulling it up and over my head, just as he takes a firm grab of my ass with both hands and lifts me up onto the edge of his desk.

Moving like a man with one instinct only—to f*ck—he parts my legs and presses his hips between them. He lowers his head to my breasts, kissing the swell of them while he quickly reaches behind my back and deftly undoes my bra, discarding it on the floor beside us.

My nipples tighten in the air, begging to be touched. He cups one breast and brings his mouth to them slowly dragging his tongue around it in circles, over and over again, before giving it a hard flick.

I moan, my head back, as his tongue continues to flick my nipple, hard and fast. It pulls every nerve ending into a tightened knot. I don’t even have to guess if I’m wet, I know I am, and I’m growing more turned on and desperate by the minute. My back arches, and I push my breasts up to him, craving more and less at the same time.

I don’t have any time in my foggy, liquid brain to think about it being Brigs.

But it is Brigs.

It’s his teeth now razing over my nipples, causing me to gently cry out.

It’s his hands sliding down to my jeans and unzipping them.

It’s his cock that presses against me, pushing against the fabric of his pants.

Lust hits me like a slap. I want nothing more than to come. I want him to make me come, I want my clothes off, his clothes off, I want to be f*cked silly on this desk until I’m screaming his name.

If he wants to spank me after with a ruler, I wouldn’t complain.