The Lie(54)

I shake my head. “Professor McGregor, I am shocked.”

“Then you shock easily, Miss Trudeau. We’ll have to fix this.”

I love, love, love how normal this all feels, the teasing, the being with each other completely naked, the naughty smirks and innuendo.

But when he rolls the condom over the tip of his cock, slowly sliding it down (and I start to grow more and more impatient), something in his eyes change. The smile disappears. His eyes ratchet up the intensity. Remember how I said his eyes just screamed sex? Well now they scream f*cking, as in he’s going to totally ravage every inch of me until I’m begging him to stop.

And it’s more than that. It’s something dark and deep, like he’s not just after my body but my soul. I can feel it in his gaze, in the way he keeps sifting through the layers, searching for something to satisfy him.

“Sit up,” he murmurs, sliding his arms around my waist and pulling me up. I wrap my legs around him, place my hands behind his neck, already damp with sweat. Our faces are inches apart, but he’s not kissing me. He’s f*cking me with his eyes, the way they simmer over my mouth, as if he’s thinking of all the things my mouth could do.

I want to show him.

I bring my face closer, take his bottom lip between my teeth and gently suck.

I feel a rumbling groan build through his chest, like he’s barely holding his lust in check, a million horses prancing at the gate, waiting to be unleashed.

“I’m trying to have patience with you,” he whispers hoarsely, kissing the corner of my mouth. “I can’t have this over too fast. I need to savor,” he kisses my jaw, “every,” he kisses my neck, “part of you.”

“Savor me later,” I tell him, as a sudden surge of adrenaline rockets through me. I grab the back of his neck, wanting, needing him to kiss me hard. His cock is this hot, stiff pressure rubbing against my clit, and I’m desperate, so desperate, for him to come inside me.

His mouth continues along my collarbone, nipping and licking, and my legs pull him closer. I’m whimpering, his lips ducking down to my nipples, so swollen and sensitive.

“Please,” I beg, my voice ragged in my throat. “I need you inside me.”

He brings his head up, his eyes wild with this hazy, heavy kind of lust. “I’ve always dreamed of you saying that,” he says thickly. He reaches down, positioning his cock against me. His eyes hold mine at knifepoint, and I’m unable to look away as he slowly pushes himself inside.

I stretch around him, my breath hitching tight in my throat.

“Oh, f*ck,” Brigs gasps against my neck, his hands dropping to the small of my waist and pulling himself deeper into me. “Fuck. Natasha.”

My name has never sounded so good.

Meanwhile, my body is still adjusting to his size, feeling absolutely stretched and full. Thank god I’m drenched.

He pulls back—so f*cking deliberate, like he’s trying to feel every centimeter—and I’m ravenous.

I’m crazed.

An animal.

I need more.

Crave more.

My hands move to his shoulders, and I dig them into his skin, wanting all of him.

As Brigs pushes back in, I expand around him, accepting him as if he’s always belonged in me, as if he’s always been home. The connection between us is tight and frightening, and the intimacy is nearly too much for my heart to swallow. Our eyes dance with each other, glancing through lowered lashes, through the sweat and haze, searing deep and then moving on to other parts. He takes in my mouth like a glass of water, and the carnality in his gaze snaps a million strings inside me.

He murmurs my name again, his voice sliding over me like rough silk, and I am enraptured by his surrendering, his pleasure, lost in the hot, ragged draw of his breath against my skin and his raw grunts in my ear.

I can’t believe this is happening.

Brigs McGregor.

Inside me.

I’m on his desk.

Being thoroughly f*cked by a man I had only dreamed about.

How we’ve gone from what we were then to what we are now…to this.

This.

This.

This.

This is unlike anything I’ve felt in this world. This is holding fire and stars and electricity in your burning hands. This is magic and light running through your veins, a switch being turned on, turning you into everything primal and basic and real.

This is us.

The desk starts to move underneath me. An earthquake of his doing. My legs grip him harder. I reach down and shrug his toned, round ass between my hands, pulling him into me. His grunts are hoarser now, loud from lust, and I still can’t believe this is my reality, that this is my funny, handsome, charming Brigs, and he’s so deep inside me I can’t breathe. I can’t do anything but hold on.

His pace becomes frantic. The desk squeaks as it moves across the floor. A drop of hot sweat rolls off his brow and onto my collarbone. His lungs gasp with exertion, because this is a workout to f*ck me like this, so fast, so deep, so thorough.

I never want it to end.

Then his hand slips between my legs, his thumb finding my clit, and now I’m frantically chasing my release until I’m at its mercy, on the edge, ready to fall.

I groan loudly.

I’m opening, I’m opening, I’m opening, legs falling apart, wider and wider.

I’m coming.