‘Don’t stop,’ he murmurs into my mouth, ripping himself away from me just enough to see properly. Heat burns my cheeks. I tilt my head back a little as I feel an orgasm building, unmistakable, blinding, urgent.
And then his hand is on my wrist, pulling me from my body, his own fingers taking over, touching me, slowly at first, so the heat that’s built ebbs and I make a moaning noise because, after two days without Theo, I don’t want to wait another moment.
He understands—this is his way of tormenting me back. He drops his mouth to my throat, kissing the pulse point there, flicking it with his tongue, and then he moves his hand, bringing his hard cock against me, rolling his hips so the promise of what he can give me is right there. Christ, I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
I push at his chest, my eyes showing wildness. ‘Fuck me, Theo. Right now.’
His expression is a mask of need.
‘Right now,’ I repeat.
He nods once, then reaches into his pocket, his trademark protection always close at hand when he carries a stash in his wallet. He undresses quickly, so quickly, and while he does I touch myself, perched on the edge of his boardroom table. My fingers move over my clit until I’m panting with need, so close to bursting. ‘Please,’ I moan, but he stands there, naked, watching me, his lips just a gash in his face.
‘Theo,’ I groan.
He stays where he is, his arms crossed over his chest.
‘I want to watch you.’
I tilt my head back, my fingers moving faster, the wave threatening to pull me under. ‘I want to feel you,’ I counter.
‘You will.’
His promise is the striking of a match. I arch my back, heat building inside me, pleasure overtaking my every instinct until I’m flying far away from here, from him, from me, from this and us, until I’m flying above Manhattan, just air and ash, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, spirit to sky. I am a being of sensation and nothing else.
There is no time to get my breath back. Even as I’m panting, trying to make sense of the new sensual heat I find myself enveloped by, he’s pulling at my legs, kissing me hard enough to push my back flat against the boardroom table, then driving his length into me, hard, his hands on my thighs holding me right where he needs me, taking me again and again until I’m twisting and turning on his boardroom table, my body a thousand and one flames.
His hands possess me rather than caress me. His touch is a necessity, his fingers and palm finding every inch of me, running over it as a matter of need, not want. The same flames that burst through me are consuming him.
He drives into me and I’m tipping away from reality once more, but this time he’s with me, his body riding the same wave. He’s silent; I’m not. My cries are muted, in deference to where we are, but I cannot keep my mouth closed. I moan his name over and over, an incantation and in gratitude. I thank God for bringing Theo into my life, even for a short time. I know we’re almost over but I will never forget the way he makes me feel and I will always be glad he taught me how great sex should be.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘DANIELLA CAN GO,’ I murmur, scanning the email, lifting my gaze to Kevin.
He shakes his head. ‘Her doctor doesn’t want her flying in the third trimester.’
‘Right, of course. She’s pregnant.’ I’m happy for her, but there’s also a part of me that feels a squeeze of envy—envy at how everyone else’s life seems to be following the trajectory we’re told we should want, and mine is so far from that.
‘Yeah, she’s pregnant. You’re sending her a hamper, by the way.’
I send him a look. ‘You’re too good to me.’
‘I know.’
I shake my head. ‘Can I get her a massage as well, and a really huge bottle of champagne for her once she’s pushed that thing out?’
‘That “thing” is a kid.’
‘Oh, don’t go acting all baby-mad on me.’
He grins. ‘Nah, it’ll be you and me, single, child-free and fabulous at sixty.’
My gut twists. I keep a smile plastered to my face but it feels false, because it’s exactly the opposite of what I know I really want. ‘Rocking out at a retirement village?’
‘In pleather.’
‘Pleather? Puh-lease.’ I roll my eyes. ‘What about Peter?’