I’ve never been with a man like him before, a man who knows what he wants and knows how to get it. A man who knows how to make you know what you want before you do.
I’m not sure if that even makes sense, but I also don’t care as my heartbeat thunders and my pulse races, my mind a jumble of confused thoughts that all seem to center on the pulsing nerves between my legs.
Right there, I silently beg. Right there.
Something tells me he’d be far more adept at bringing me pleasure than I am, and I’m the owner of this body. He knows things, though. I know he does.
He palms my ass, lifting me up on the edge of the desk as his mouth continues its thorough exploration of damn near every nerve in my body. My pulse quickens so much I think my whole body is one big throbbing need. I didn’t even know there were nerves in my toes, but there they are.
And then he nips my nipple.
Whaaaat.
I gasp and squirm, but his hands are on my wrists, pinning them to my thighs as he licks the nipple he just assaulted. My stomach plummets, and my ovaries sing.
He kneads my thighs in his big, strong hands, then moves his mouth to the other poor, neglected nipple that springs to life under his ministrations.
“I love how you did that,” I whisper, not even sure what I’m saying.
“Oh yeah, baby?” he asks in that husky voice of his. “Did what?”
“Just skipped straight over pleasantries and formalities,” I pant, “forget about bunting, forget about first base. Just,” pant, pant, moan, “straight for the home run.”
His mouth is at my ear while his fingers play with my breasts, and I squirm deliciously.
“Can’t fucking help myself,” he whispers. “You’re a fucking bombshell.”
I giggle at that, and I wonder if the amaretto’s still doing its dance through my body. “You’re high.”
He gives me a none-too-playful slap to the part of my leg where my ass meets my thigh. A near-spank, one might say.
“Ooh, ow.”
“I’m not high, and don’t you dare. I know a gorgeous woman when I see one. I’ve been imagining doing this since the first moment I laid eyes on you.”
“Oh, so, like, yesterday?”
A deep, dark chuckle and another quick slap.
“Behave yourself.”
“Or what?”
He slides his finger up my thigh and ghosts over my panties. “Or you won’t get what you need.”
I mewl in protest. I don’t even know what I need, but I know if I don’t get it, I’ll die or something.
“Okay, alright, let’s not get carried away, now.”
“I have every intention of getting carried away.”
Alleluia.
Then his fingers are between my thighs and our lips meet, and his tongue tangles with mine just as he touches exactly where I need him to touch. He strokes and fondles, and I’m vividly aware of his heavy erection pressed up against my thigh. I move my hand to stroke him over his pants, and he hisses out a breath.
“Jesus, baby,” he grates.
“Mmm?”
“Not now. Hands off.”
“Why?” I whine. I don’t know why I need to touch him, but I think it has something to do with taking back control, of seeing his softer side. Mastering him the way he masters me.
“Because I’ll blow in my pants like a teenager.”
“Ooh, I make you that horny?”
He lays me back on the desk as he moans, “You have no fucking idea.”
Then my dress is hiked up and he’s kissing my thighs, parting my legs, and when he plants a hot kiss right between my legs, my back arches up.
Surprised eyes meet mine. “You’re that turned on, aren’t you?”
“Ohpleasedontstop,” I whisper. “Uhyeah.”
Holding my gaze, he presses his tongue to the damp fabric between my legs. I pulse again, then I shatter. I explode into a million prism pieces of perfection, whimpering and begging, until I collapse with his name on my lips.
“Miguel.”
He presses a kiss to my thigh.
“Yeah, baby?”
Baby. That’s right. He just made baby come right on top of this million-dollar desk.
I think this is the perfect time to tousle that gorgeous hair. “Thank you.” I close my eyes. “Imma go to sleep now, m’kay?” My limbs are lead, my heart still hammering so fast you’d think I’d run a marathon.
He chuckles, sliding me around on his desk. He must keep it super clean, because nothing squeaks or bounces or moves, it’s just me and my butt twirling around the top of it like a merry-go-round. Then he sits heavily in his chair and drags me onto his lap, where I curl up like a little kitten.
“Okay so, wow, we just did that.”
“We did.”
“Do I detect a trace of smugness in that tone?” I try to quirk an eyebrow at him but I’m afraid I just look like I’m squinting.
“Oh, there’s no trace, baby. It was nothing but sheer smugness.”