“Maybe you took care of it. I certainly didn’t. ”
“What’s the big deal? It’s a blender. ”
“Exactly. ” I smile as I repeat his words back to him. “What’s the big deal? It’s a blender. ”
He narrows his eyes at me. “That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one day. ”
I play coy, glance up at him through my lashes. “I thought it already had. ”
He groans then, pulls me into his arms. “I missed you last night. ”
“I missed you, too. ”
He bends his head, nuzzles my neck. “Tonight you’re staying with me. ”
“It’s customary to ask, you know. ” It’s my turn to moan as he pulls the high collar of my blouse out of the way so that he can lick at the bruises on the side of my throat. Despite my determination to keep things professional during business hours, my head lolls to the side in an effort to give him better access.
“I asked yesterday and all it got me was an empty bed. I’m not making that mistake again. ” His hands wrap around my waist, his talented fingers sneaking inside my waistband to rub against the sensitive skin of my stomach. At least, that’s what I think he’s doing until it registers that he’s playing with my belly chain.
“You’re wearing it,” he says, his voice rife with satisfaction.
“I said I would. ”
“But you won’t keep the blender. ”
“It’s a different thing entirely. ”
His hands slip under my skirt to palm my ass, his fingers skating down to toy with my sex. I’m wet already, just from the feel of his lips on my neck, and I moan as he slips first one finger and then a second inside me.
“How is it different?” he asks as he pushes his fingers in before slowly sliding them back out. In and out. In and out.
I moan and spread my legs for him. “How is…what different?” Suddenly I’m having a difficult time keeping up with the conversation.
Ethan’s thumb glides through the tender folds of my sex, finds my clit, circles around and around it in a lazy rhythm that has my eyes closing and my breathing turning ragged.
“The blender,” he murmurs, even as he bends down and presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive spot behind my ear.
“What blender?” My voice and my body shatter as he bends the fingers he has inside me so that he’s rubbing gently against my G-spot.
“Forget the fucking blender,” he growls right before he sinks his teeth into the tender skin of my shoulder. At the same time, he twists his fingers deep inside me, a move that intensifies my orgasm and has me screaming his name. Thank God his office is soundproof.
He draws out my climax, pulling every single ounce of sensation from me that he can. Only then, when I’m little more than a puddle of satisfied mush, does he grab on to my panties and yank.
They’re lace, so it doesn’t take much to rip them right off my body. I gasp and he groans, even as he unbuttons his custom-tailored suit pants and slips on a condom I never even saw him open. Then he’s palming my ass again, lifting me up. Wrapping my legs around his waist.
And then he’s inside me, his strong hands lifting and lowering me in a rhythm that has my eyes crossing and need building inside me all over again.
“Fuck,” he gasps as I tangle my hands in his hair and drag his mouth down to mine. And then there are no more words as I lick and suck and bite at his mouth, desperate for him despite the orgasm that just rocketed through me.
Whirling around, Ethan takes a few steps to the right and suddenly my back is against one of his office walls. “You okay?” he demands, one hand still on my ass while the other comes up to squeeze and pet and stroke my breasts.
“Yes,” I gasp, rising to meet each of his thrusts. “Please, Ethan. Please. ”
“Please what?” he snarls, his hips pistoning against my own with so much power that I figure I’m going to be adding a few fairly spectacular ass bruises to my collection. But that doesn’t matter now; nothing does but the desperate, clawing need currently tearing through me.
“Let me come again,” I whimper. “Please. I can’t—”
He bends his head down then, bites at my nipple through the thin fabric of my blouse, my bra. At the same time, he reaches between us and pinches my clit. It’s the edge I need, the tiny little pinprick of pain that sends me hurtling over the edge into oblivion.