I’ve never felt like this. No man has ever made me want to have sex so badly. I’ve never been this desperate for an orgasm. And then his mouth… God… his mouth is right there. Pressed against the center of my panties. He’s every bit as good—or as bad—as he’s been promising because I go up in flames. I pull him closer, pleading for more. Or everything. Anything. My reward is a small, secret kiss I feel deep in my core. He has his palms wrapped around my butt cheeks, his fingertips tickling the crease between them and when he inhales, he has to smell me. Instead of being embarrassed, though, I’m aroused.
“Open up more,” he growls.
Bossy, isn’t he? I hesitate just a moment, thighs tensing against his shoulders before I give up and give in. I open my legs wide. He immediately rewards me for that obedience, moving higher, his fingers curling into the hot, salty spot where my thighs meet.
“Farther,” he coaxes, nudging me. Anything. I’ll do anything to keep him right there. Never mind that I can feel the cool surface of the metal desk beneath my butt and there’s a ridge of fabric jammed at the base of my spine. It would have been smarter to jump him at a Four Seasons, but we’re here now, and I’ll kill him if he doesn’t finish what I started.
“Did you lock the door?” Yes. I have to ask, even if I kind of hope he ignores my question. Or just tells me that yes, of course he did, and he’s got a tank or something equally impenetrable (har) blocking the entrance to our impromptu love nest. Lies. Truth. All I want is plausible deniability and the green light to go ahead. This is the best worst idea ever, and I totally blame his hot physique and that unexpected flash of caring. How was I supposed to resist?
Unfortunately, he lifts his head. An inch. Crap. “Do you care?”
That’s not a yes. In fact, I could probably infer it’s a fuck no because you didn’t give me a chance, babe. The problem is that I can feel each one of those three words on my skin. His breath brushes over me in a dirty, wicked tease. Do I care? Yes, I decide reluctantly. I do. Despite the fire camp baking outside in the summer heat, the air in the cabin feels shockingly cool on my bare skin. Which is bare because my skirt is hiked up to my waist and I’m using Pick’s shoulders as my own personal footrest. I lift my hands. Set them down. Consider crossing them over my boobs. Why is casual hook up sex so goddamned awkward?
He takes pity on me. “No one’s coming through that door. You can relax.”
Right. Because stopping and having a conversation in the middle of hot, impulse sex-on-a-desk is so relaxing making. He must correctly interpret the look on my face, because he lowers his head and hooks my waistband, his thumbs drawing my panties down. The fabric teases me where I’m slick and swollen, pulling over my swollen flesh. He doesn’t take them off, though, just leaves them tucked below my mound like now that he can reach what he wants, nothing else matters.
Thank God. We’re done passing the appetizers around, and now we’re going for the main course. I expect him to hop up, grab a condom, and get down to it, but instead he swipes his tongue over me. Oh. FREAKING. Yes. I suddenly understand why the hotshot team is sort of legendary all over town. If his teammates are anywhere near as talented, it’s amazing anyone ever lets them out of bed.
Sensation bursts through me, pleasure following each sure lick. No more thinking. No more worrying. I fall back—forgetting all about my metal bed—grab his head with my hands, and turn him into my own personal steering wheel. Left, a little more to the right, and then right. Fucking. There. I yank him closer and let him hear my appreciation of his insane oral skills.
Once again, Pick proves he isn’t a man in a rush. Again and again, he kisses me while I bump and grind, riding his amazingly talented face to the best of my abilities. He’s admirably thorough too. He swirls his tongue around the top of my girl bits, drawing torturous circles around my clit before making the trip back down like he has all the time in the world and it’s no rush, nowhere to be but here as the sweet, slow ache builds in me.
At some point, he’s set me down on the desk because now he’s got two hands at his disposal and God, can he use them. He slides his thumbs up, loving the hell out of my pussy. When he presses inside me with one callused finger, I see stars. And then I do some more groaning and demanding because why settle for looking at the Big Dipper when you could have the entire galaxy? I try to explain that to him, but my mouth seems incapable of anything more than babble and throaty moans. I run my hands all over him, touching each inch that I can, feeling up his arms, his shoulders, the top of his head. More Pick, please.