Текст книги "Outside the Lines"

Автор книги: Emily Goodwin

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

I cry out when his fingers sweep against me. The muscles in my thighs tighten when he pulls the panties off. I twist the comforter in my hands, opening my eyes to watch him go to town.

He moves slowly, knowing he’s a fucking tease. His hands slide under my thighs, spreading me and pulling me against him. His tongue lashes out against my clit, hard, then soft, then hard again.

Oh. My. God.

He turns his head and kisses my inner thigh, the same time he runs his fingernails along my stomach. It’s almost too much and we just fucking got started. I twist the blanket in my hands, not trusting myself not to grab his head and force him against me until I came. Twice. Three times, maybe.

He turns back, mouth against my core, and licks and sucks. My chest rises and falls and my mouth is open. I curl my legs around his shoulders, breath quickening even more. I’m so close.

Ben knows it, too, that fucker. He slows down, pulling back and only giving me soft, gentle kisses, making me arch my back so that my center stays in contact with his sweet, wonderful mouth and that oh-so talented tongue.

After a minute of torture, he goes back in full force, sliding a finger inside me. I moan out load, pleasure erupting. My abs tighten and I don’t breath as the orgasm rolls through me, ending with a shudder that leaves me quivering and pulsing against his mouth.

I’m panting, vision blacked out. He keeps his mouth on me, drawing it out, waiting until I stop floating in bliss to let me go. He wipes his mouth and moves back up. It takes all I have in me to reach down and grab his cock and guide him inside me. My fingertips feel all tingly from that strong orgasm.

Fuck, yes.

I wrap my fingers around his thick shaft, pulling his wetness down and using it as I pump my hand. He moans and kisses my neck. I keep working my hand until I can bend my legs again. Then I flip him over, yanks his pants off, and start returning the favor.

Ben tangles his fingers in my hair, breathing heavily as I flick my tongue over the tip of his dick. He reaches for me, fingers stroking my clit, bringing me close to coming. Again.

When he’s close, he pulls me onto him, cock rubbing against me, then begrudgingly sits up to get a condom from the wallet in the pocket of his pants. I clench my jaw, impatiently watching him put it on. I wipe my face and quickly run my hands through my hair, hoping I still look as hot as I feel.

Ben drops the condom wrapper on the bed and is on top of me in an instant. I open my legs and bend my knees, urging him to me. He cradles my head in his hands, lowers his lips to mine, and kisses me as he slides inside.

His dick is large; I know that since I was just all up in its business, but I underestimated how big now that it’s inside me, thrusting, pulsing, pushing in and out. Ben’s holding himself up above me, muscles tight and bulging. I feel his biceps, imagining the tattoos beneath my fingers. I slit my eyes open just enough to get a look at his handsome face.

Arching my back allows his thick, wonderful, magic fuck-stick to hit my g-spot. I let out another moan as I come, holding him tighter. He moves his head down, nuzzling my breasts. I pick my head up and flick my tongue along his ear. Ben softly groans, and his movements quicken.

I nip at his earlobe with my teeth and he pushes into me as deep as he can, moaning as he finishes. He lowers himself, cock still pulsating inside me, and rests his head against mine. A few beats pass before he slowly slides out and rolls onto his side. His arms slip around my waist and he kisses the side of my neck.

I let out a satisfied breath and relax against Ben. I want to enjoy this moment, relish in the fact that I’m all tingly and warm and can still Ben’s big dick between my legs. I’m sure I’ll feel it in the morning too.

But of course, with me being me, I start thinking that something has to be said before this gets awkward. We’ll have to face the music sometime soon, and I have to pee so it’s not like I can pretend to be fall asleep.

Ben trails his fingers up my stomach and gently fondles my sensitive breasts. I shiver and tip my head toward him. He leans over and kisses me.

Could this be any more perfect? I’m convinced he’s the perfect lover.

“That was really nice,” I blurt. “I enjoyed it.” I’m not rating a video game. I squeeze my eyes closed. Fuck, what is wrong with me?

“I’m glad you did,” he says. “I did too.”

I just nod and try to relax. I’m tensing at my own lack of social skills. Is after-sex talk even considered a social skill? I clamp my jaw shut, resisting the urge to ask him “now what?”

He runs his finger over the curve in my hip and presses his lips to my neck. He’s not acting like he wants to jump up and run home. That’s good, right? Another few minutes pass before he gets up and goes into the bathroom, grabbing just his boxers.

I’m overanalyzing everything and it hits me that I really want things to work with Ben. I want a second date. Then a third. And a fourth. I want to see where this can go. I like him, and I think soon I can really like him, given a few more dates and another (okay, more than one please) fucking awesome cooter clash like he’d just given me.

It also hits me that I’m not really sure what to do now. I’m far from being a virgin, but I haven’t had that many relationships. I lost my virginity the beginning of senior year in high school, dated that loser for a while then hit a dry spell until college, where I met, dated, and bedded an even bigger loser—but that’s another story. I swore off men for a while after that, not getting back into the game until after I turned twenty-one. Things were casual, and I had one good fuck buddy until he decided to grow a vagina and develop feelings for me.

Then I dated Mr. Foot Fucker. Yeah … no need to bring that up. But we had actually dated for a while before we hooked up, which, thinking back on it, was probably done on purpose. He made me have feelings for him, made me care before he asked to suck my toes while he beat himself off.

Because I would have grabbed the polka-dot stilettos he always wanted me to wear and booked it the fuck out of there if I didn’t care deeply for him.

And that brings me back to Ben.

Ben.

The cool, confident, sophisticated, sexy artist. I’m not romanticizing him, not at all. I didn’t know him very well yet, we’d only been on—hold the phone.

One date.

We’d gone on only one date. Not two. One. And we slept together. Did that make me a slut? Do I care if it does? (No, I don’t.) But what I do care about is what Ben thinks of me. I’m not easy. I don’t give it up to anyone who wines and dines me. There’s something about him, something that makes me unable to hold back any and all passion, something that makes me so comfortable to be around him even when I’m nervous.

And none of that makes sense.

What is he doing to me?

The toilet flushes and I hear water running. Ben’s coming out any second now. I run my hands through my hair, pushing it out of my face, and throw back the comforter, pulling down the sheets. I slip underneath, moving it up to cover my breasts. Not because I don’t want Ben to see, but because that’s what they do in movies.

It’s sexy, right?

Or maybe it’s just a sexy way to censor nipples?

(Fuck censorship, by the way.)

The bathroom door opens, and I know I have to be realistic. Ben can very well tell me he has to go, has work in the morning, blah, blah, blah, and I can’t blame him. I can’t get mad at him.

His eyes meet mine and his lips pull up in a small smile. He picks up the rest of his clothes and my heart sinks a bit. Yep, he’s leaving.

“Well,” I start. Should I thank him? No, that doesn’t feel like the right thing to say. Hope to do this again another time? Yeah, that might work. It’s the honest truth, anyway. He lazily folds his clothes together and tosses them on the chair next to my dresser. Then he’s climbing back into bed.

I’m in that bed.

I blink, heart skipping a beat as it rises back into place. He doesn’t get under the covers, but he lays down and drapes his arm around me, resting his head against my stomach, which in turn presses on my bladder and reminds me I have to pee. Stupid bodily functions ruining the moment. I run my fingers through his hair.

“My turn,” I say softly and try to be as graceful as possible when I get out of bed and walk into the bathroom. I’m still naked, completely naked, and I know he’s watching.

I pee, wash my hands, and debate on taking my makeup off now or later. I decide on later mostly because I’m lazy. I’ll actually end up falling asleep with it on, like usual. There is a short nightgown hanging on the back of the bathroom door. It barely covers my ass, and is outlined in lace.

But it’s dark green with the Green Lantern symbol on the chest. Oh well. I pull it on, noticing that my nipples are still hard and very visible through the thin fabric. That’s definitely not a bad thing, not right now.

I go back in the room and get in bed next to Ben.

“So,” he starts and reaches for me. “How about a glass of wine?”

CHAPTER EIGHT

I wake up around ten AM that next morning. I have a slight headache, thanks to the two bottles of wine Ben and I polished off last night. We stayed up way too late drinking and drunk racing each other in Mario Kart. I think it was nearing four in the morning when we has sex again on my living room floor then wobbled into my room and passed out in bed together, naked and sweaty, and cuddling until we drifted off into a booze and sex-induced blissful sleep.

My mouth is dry, I need to use the bathroom, and probably brush my teeth. I run my hands over my face, feeling little crusts of mascara on my cheeks. Thank God I woke up before Ben.

He’s still sleeping, breathing deep and steady, and he’s lying on his stomach, arm wrapped around a pillow. He’s sprawled out, hogging over half the bed, and has the blankets tangled around his legs like he tried to kick them off in his sleep. I admire his bare ass for a minute then quietly get out of bed and slink into the bathroom.

Turning on the shower, I brush most of the knots from my hair while waiting for the water to warm, then jump in, brushing my teeth while the shampoo rinses from my hair. I re-shave my armpits because those fuckers grow a full head of hair overnight, but skip my legs for the sake of saving time.

I towel dry my hair the best I can, rake my fingers through it, and decide that’s good enough. Ben is still sleeping when I get dressed and pad into the kitchen to stick a K-cup in the Keurig. While the water is heating up, I preheat the oven and grab a can of cinnamon rolls from the fridge. I peel back the label and put it on the counter, pressing a spoon to the seam. Before I can actually push down, I close my eyes and turn away, like I’m clipping the red wire of a homemade bomb with three seconds left until detonation.

I fucking hate opening cans of biscuits.

I stick them in the oven before it’s at the optimal temp, but that’ll help them cook faster, right? Breakfast now cooking, I get a cup of coffee and pick up my phone. I need to talk to Erin. Stat.

I sit at my little island counter and send her a text.

Ben and I hooked up after one date! HOLY SHIT! But seriously, WTF do I do now? He’s still sleeping in my bed. 

 I add creamer to my coffee, waiting for Erin’s reply. I’m not sure if she’s working today or not, but if she is she’s probably busy decorating a wedding cake. My phone buzzes a minute later with a response from her.

Make him breakfast in bed, suck his dick, and tell him he’s the best you’ve ever had. Then offer anal. Definitely anal. 

I raise an eyebrow. Hi, David, I type back. Is Erin around?

She’s at work, he replies. Left her phone at home. You really hooked up on the first date? Boo, you whore.

I smile and shake my head. He won’t admit Mean Girls is one of his favorite movies, yet he quotes it all the time.

Haha, thanks. Have Erin call me when she gets home, please, I type. He responds with a thumbs up emoji and I exit out of my texts. I scroll through Facebook, not really paying attention to what I’m looking at, as I wait for the rolls to finish baking, or for Ben to wake up. Whichever happens first.

They end up happening at pretty much the same time. I open the oven when Ben walks into the kitchen.

“Smells good,” he says.

“Thanks,” I say and set the hot pan on the stove. “There’s coffee too, if you want some.”

Ben rubs his temples. “I think I need some.” He gets himself a cup and sits at the island. I frost the rolls before they’ve cooled and the cream cheese frosting melts down the sides just the way I like it. I dish two up and take a seat next to Ben.

“What are your plans the rest of today?” he asks and slices his cinnamon roll apart with his fork.

“Nothing really,” I say. I have nothing planned for the whole weekend other than gaming and working on my costume. “You?”

“Nothing really either,” he replies. “I have a work thing tonight.” He makes a face. “I told you I go to events a lot.”

“You say that like you don’t like them.”

“I do and I don’t,” he explains then takes a bite. Once he’s finished chewing, he continues. “It’s work. I like selling paintings, of course, and getting recognized for it, but it’s all fake smiles and bullshit small talk. I didn’t start painting so I could go to things like that.”

It’s an honest confession, and I feel like I can see the real Ben right there in front of me.

“Makes sense,” I say. “I don’t go to many black-tie events though, so wearing a pretty dress and sparkly jewelry seems fun.”

“For maybe an hour,” he says dryly. “Then you’ll get bored, trust me.”

“How’s the food at those things?”

He chuckles. “Not too bad, actually. But I don’t get to sit down and eat. I’m busy walking around and talking.”

“Aww, poor baby,” I tease.

He nudges me. “Shut up. Yeah, yeah, I should be thankful and all that.” He raises an eyebrow. “But it’s still boring as fuck.”

I hold up my coffee cup. “Here’s to a non-boring-as-fuck night.”

“Thanks,” he says and picks up his own coffee mug. “If you were with me, it wouldn’t be boring.”

He’s referencing sex again. I think. Or maybe I’m good company to keep? Hell if I know.

He finishes his cinnamon roll and set his fork down on his plate. “Are you up for one more round of Mario Kart?”

*

Ben said he’d call me when he left an hour later. I didn’t ask when he’d call, even though I wanted to. It’s a legit question, after all. Sunday came and passed with no word from him. So did Monday. Tuesday morning I get up and think what we had was a fling. I’m feeling a little down as I drive to work, and stop at the McDonald’s drive thru to get something greasy that will kill my stomach later as comfort food.

Around eleven, I’m nodding off as I code a custom template for another client. My stomach grumbles and I can taste the two hash browns I ate earlier. I lean back in my rolly chair and rub my eyes, thankful I didn’t bother with mascara this morning. I’m thinking about what I should get for lunch when Ben texts me.

When do you get off work?

Five-ish, I type back. Why?

I want to see you.

I smile and read his two texts again, making sure I read his message right. Before I can reply he asks me when I go to lunch and asks if I want to meet with him somewhere. My smile broadens and we agree to meet at noon at a locally run cafe not far from my office.

The next hour drags on forever.

Ben is already in the cafe when I get there, absent-mindedly stirring his coffee with his straw, eyes down on a book. He looks up when I’m a few feet away and smiles.

“Hey,” he says and checks me out. A flash of regret over my outfit choice goes through me, but I quickly squish it down. I like my World of Warcraft Alliance Polo shirt. And Polo shirts are sexy … or at least they were in the early 2000s. Whatever.

Ben is wearing jeans and a light blue T-shirt that is covered in something dark, but looks too thin to be paint. The closer I get, the more I can smell the varnish. He doesn’t give a fuck how he looks, though to be fair, the messy artist look is working for him.

“Hi,” I say and take my purse of my shoulder. He puts his book down and stands, extending an arm, putting it around my waist and pulling me in for a quick kiss.

“How long do you have?” he asks me.

“Like forty-five minutes. You? Oh wait, it doesn’t matter, does it?”

He smiles and shakes his head. “Not really, though I try to set hours for myself or I’m at the gallery all night.” He shrugs. “Not that I mind.”

“Lucky.”

“I know. We should order food now so you don’t run out of time. What do you want?” He pulls his wallet out of his pocket. Is that a subtle way of saying this is a date? Fuck. Why is everything so awkward when it comes to dating?

“I usually get the veggie pot pie here,” I say.

“Sit down, relax,” he says. “I’ll get it.”

“Thanks.” I take a seat across from where he’d been sitting, and see that he’s reading a contemporary thriller. It’s a popular book, one that’s been on the lists for a while now, but hadn’t caught my interest. My phone is dinging like crazy from inside my purse. I had texted Erin on the way over to tell her that I’d heard from Ben, and she was already asking for deets.

I turn my phone on silent. I’ll text her later, like when I’m sitting at my desk and am supposed to be doing work. Ben returns to the table.

“How’s work?”

“Meh, it’s work.”

“Are you going on any more customer service calls?”

I shake my head. “The temp is there to take over, thank God. I really don’t like dealing with people,” I admit and Ben laughs. “Though I’m glad I took that one call with that asshole client.”

“I’m glad you did too.” He reaches across the table and takes my hand, gently pressing his thumb into my palm. “Want to go out again this weekend?”

“I do,” I say without even having to think about it. “Have anything in mind?”

“Dinner … movie … sex,” he says casually and it takes all I have not to look around and see who heard. Not that I’d mind, since that sex is happening with me.

“I can live with that,” I tell him. “Friday?”

He makes a face. “I have a gala Friday. Is Saturday okay?”

“Yeah,” I say then wonder if I should act like I have a life. Why lie? My ideal Friday night is one spent at home anyway, with fictional characters and wine to keep me company. We talk and laugh throughout lunch, and soon it’s time for me to head back to the office. Ben walks me to my car.

His hands settle on my waist and he pushes his hips into mine. I can’t help but get turned on. I hook my arms around his neck.

“If I called your work and personally requested you, would you get sent out to help me plug in my router?” he asks, voice heavy with innuendo.

“Possibly,” I say. “It’s worth a try. Because that’s definitely a problem I can help you with. And my boss is out sick, so whoever you talk to won’t really know what’s going on.”

I want him, and my lady parts that were oh so lonely until recently agree. I’m getting wet just thinking about doing the sex again. Screw work. There’s an alley behind this cafe…

“I’ll call,” he says. “Say you messed up something else and act like I’m pissed.”

“Good thing my boss is out sick or this wouldn’t work,” I say. “Because I’m very good at plugging in routers.”  Then I shake my head. “He wouldn’t buy it if you said I messed it up. Not that I’ve done it personally for him. He swings the other way, actually.” I need to stop talking. Like yesterday. I shake my head and look down, letting my vision focus on his crotch.

“Well, that works in my favor then.” He tips my chin up and kisses me, leaving me breathless. We part our ways and I smile like a goon for a few minutes. Then I shake myself and call Erin. I give her a brief recap of our lunch date.

“I told you he likes you!” she says.

“It’s still too early to really know,” I argue and ignore that nagging feeling of dread bubbling inside me. The one that questions why he likes me. I’m just me, nothing special, nothing overly memorable.

Just plain, ‘ol Felicity.

“Though,” she goes on. “I do wonder why he didn’t ask you to go to that gala with him. I assume he’d take a date. You usually do to fancy events.”

“I half wondered the same thing.”

“Half wondered?”

“Yeah,” I say. “The thought entered my head but I didn’t want to think about it because I knew you could take dates to those events, and why am I not his date. I can be sophisticated. Well, I can act sophisticated.”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“No, it’s fine,” I insist and push down on the gas to get through a yellow light. “He did tell me he dates. Like we didn’t specify that we’re exclusive or anything, and he said early on that he used to—still does—shit if I know. Whatever. He’s free to date other women until some rules are laid down, right?”

“Right. And you can date other men.”

“Good, since I got a line of ‘em outside my door.”

“Hey, you never know.”

I let out a snort. “True. But it’s whatever. I like Ben, even if it’s all casual for now. There’s always a later.”

“I love your outlook,” she says. “I wish I was like that.”

“You can be,” I say. Erin is a worrier. Stage four, incurable worrier. “Just loosen up. Or drink more wine. That’s what I do.”

“I had a glass last night.”

“I had a bottle last night,” I say, and I’m only exaggerating a bit. “I’m back at work,” I sigh. “How’s the bakery today?”

“Slow,” she replies. “Which is kind of nice. This weekend is going to be crazy with orders. Someone ordered a five-hundred dollar Ninja Turtle cake for their kid’s first birthday.”

“I’m kind of jealous.”

“It’s an awesome cake,” she says. “But that much for a one-year-old?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty crazy. Don’t babies smash and drool all over their first cakes too?”

“Oh, they ordered a separate ‘smash cake’ for the kid.”

“Entitled little asshole.”

“You’re telling me.” I take a spot in the back of the parking lot, knowing it’s not even worth driving up to the doors to look for my spot I had earlier. I swear there are parking vultures around here, watching for anyone a row up to move their car. Maybe they can’t do simple math, because walking out to move the car, then back in, then back out, comes to more walking than just in and out like a normal person. “All right, later, bitch.”

“Bye, hun,” she says and we hang up. I gather my stuff, grab my pink lemonade, and go into work. I sit at my desk for all of two minutes before Cameron’s assistant calls me into his office. I get a few stares from my fellow employees, and Mariah tries to meet my eyes. They think I’m in trouble. I can’t look at her. I’m not ashamed, but I can’t contain this either. If Ben’s plan goes as, well, planned, I’m basically being summoned for a booty call.

That’s kind of fucking epic.

“What’s up, Jason?”

“Some girl named Mindy called from that gallery you went to last week.”

I can’t help the abhorrence that shows on my face and the nausea that twists in my stomach. Mindy fucking Abraham is even worse than the aftertaste of grape-flavored cough syrup.

“Oh, and?”

His thick eyebrows push together. “She couldn’t even explain what the problem was, just that there was a problem. And she’d like you to come back and help fix it, since you installed new software or something.”

Jason is an older man, rocking the dad-bod. He rubs his head. “Good luck with this one. I couldn’t get a decent answer out of her. Can you head over and see if you can handle it?”

I sigh. “I guess. Want me to leave now?”

“Yeah, just get it taken care of. Hell of a day for Cameron to get sick.”

“You’ve been busy?”

“Just one of those days, ya know?”

“I do,” I say and feel a little guilty. I didn’t want to stress anyone out. “I’ll go now. Don’t worry. I can handle it.”

“Thanks.”

I was hoping he’d say to leave once I was done, but it is early in the second half of the work day. I keep my eyes down as I walk to my desk, which probably furthers everyone’s thinking I got yelled at.

“Follow-up customer service,” I quickly explain to Mariah. “Still covering those.”

Her mouth forms a little “o” and she nods. “Have fun,” she says.

“It shouldn’t be too bad.” Hell, it’s going to be good.

*

I step into the gallery, having almost forgotten about Mindy. Seeing her sitting behind the desk with her perfect blonde hair in perfect curls, and her perfect silk blouse perfectly showing off the right amount of perfect fake cleavage is like a sucker punch.

 “Felicity,” she says, lipsticked lips pulling back into what she would call a smile. “The computers aren’t working. Ben’s isn’t working at all.” She says each word slowly, and blinks several times. Are her eyelashes real? No one has eyelashes that long. Though, if anyone did, it’d be her.

“Then I better go up there and get to work.”

“Yeah, you better. I thought you were supposed to be like super smart and you can’t even do something simple like this,” she says with a sigh. “No wonder you failed out of MIT and had to go to that little community college.”

I push my shoulders back. “I didn’t fail out of MIT,” I say, not even addressing the fact that she insulted herself by insulting the college we both graduated from. “And it’s none of your damn business.”

She opens her mouth and puts her hand to her chest. “Stay professional,” she says. “We are paying your salary, after all. Wait, you probably get paid hourly, not salary.”

I’m fuming, and I don’t want her to ruin things for me. She will not be on my mind when I’m screwing Ben in a few minutes.

“And it is my business,” she goes on. “Ben will want to know if someone incompetent is coming in. Maybe we should have requested someone else.”

Shit. No, don’t tell Ben I didn’t graduate from MIT. He thinks I did. I really don’t want to have to tell him that story. I don’t even want to think about that story. “I should get to work,” I mumble, and silently pray that Mindy steps on a Lego tonight.

I keep my eyes on the stairs and walk past Mindy, trying to get satisfaction in knowing that I was summoned here for fun, not work, and that I’m sleeping with her boss. I’m halfway up the stairs before I realize I’m stomping, though the black Toms I’ve paired with my dress pants—that Cameron says don’t go together—don’t have the same clacking echo heels would have.

I open the office door and find Ben near the windows welding something. I stop, taken off guard. I thought he just painted. Sparks fly around him, and the anger and frustration melt away. The door catches in the breeze from the open windows and slams shut.

Ben jerks up and turns off the, uh, welder? What the heck is that thing called? I suppose it doesn’t matter. He looks hot holding it, and right now, that’s all I care about.

“Sorry,” I say.

“It’s okay. There’s a wind tunnel in here when the windows are open,” he says and takes off the protective eyewear. He wipes his hands on his pants, takes a step back, and looks at his work in progress. It’s abstract, and to be honest, I have no idea what the fuck it is.

I don’t really get modern art, and it makes me feel stupid, like I’m missing something that should be obvious to the rest of the world.

He strides over, taking me in his arms. He dips me backward and kisses me. He smells like metal and fire. I wrap my arms around his torso and drink him in. Once the kiss has ended, he reaches behind me and locks the office door. My heart is in my throat, and the heat is back between my legs, rivaling the heat of the blue flames that were just in his hand.

“You’re tense,” he says and I don’t know how he can tell so soon. “Nervous?”

“No,” I say then wish I played it off that way. “Just a little stressed. But I’ll be fine.”

“Sit,” he orders and waves to his chair. I let my purse fall from my shoulder to the floor and sit in the desk chair. It’s surprisingly comfortable. I need one of these bad boys for my desk at work. “Relax.”

I nod and let my eyes fall closed. Ben puts his hands on my shoulders and starts rubbing. Holy shit that feels good. I can’t even remember the last time I got a massage. I think it was from Erin, actually. And only because I had a knot in my shoulder so bad it kept me up at night and at the time I was way too broke to actually go get a massage.

“That feels so good,” I moan as he works my stiff muscles. My head droops forward. I didn’t stay up super late last night, but I still didn’t go to bed as early as I should have. I could fall asleep like this. It’s so fucking relaxing.

He’s very thorough, rubbing my neck, then my shoulders, and working his way down. He takes his time on my lower back, and then untucks my shirt. His warm fingers slide into my pants and he continues to massage the top of my ass. He bends over and kisses the nape of my neck. I shiver and let out a breath. He moves his hands around to my front and I lean back in the chair, giving him access to his favorite parts.

He unsnaps my dress pants and reaches inside, softly stroking my clit. In no time at all, I’m wet for him. Suddenly, he turns the chair around, grabs my waist, and picks me up, moving me to his desk. He’s so strong, lifting me as if I weighed nothing at all. He’s right there in front of me, one hand around my waist and the other cupping my cheek.

I wrap my legs around him and reach out, pulling him into an embrace as we kiss. His semi-hard cock stiffens, pressing into my center. I slide my hands down and unbutton his pants. He pulls my shirt over my head then takes his own off. In full sunlight, I can see how intricate his tattoos are. The scars came after a few had inked his skin, and I want to ask what happened. Maybe after we have sex. I don’t want to ruin the mood and know we don’t have much time.

I trace my finger over a long scar on his left pec muscle and he shivers, temporarily stopping kissing me. Then he dives in like he’s starving and I’m the first meal he’s had in days.

His lips move from my neck to my collarbone, teeth lightly clamping into my skin. He unhooks my bra and pulls it off and lowers himself, leaving a trail of kisses until he reaches my breasts. He takes one in a hand and the other in his mouth. I toss my head back and realize the windows are wide open. We’re on the second story and deep inside the office, but can still be seen.