He gives a hoarse half-laugh, and the sound goes straight through me, hits parts of me that are aching just as bad as the spot between my legs. He’s out of control, and it’s all for me.
Victor slides an arm around my waist to support me as he speeds up. The other hand strokes over the slick folds of me, spread around him, and presses down on the swollen nub up top.
I moan at the feeling. Too stimulated, I’m too stimulated, and he couldn’t possibly—
But he does, and I do, my body breaking apart for a second time. I grip his shoulders and reach out, my mouth finding his bare shoulder. Teeth sink down.
Victor curses and speeds up, hips like pistons, my skin digging into the kitchen counter.
We’ll have to sanitize it with bleach after.
His hands curl around my hips and fingers dig into my skin. “Fucking hell, Myers.”
He comes with sharp, erratic thrusts that smart against my inner thighs. His chest rises and falls, the scar rippling with the heavy breaths. I dig my hands into his shoulders. Don’t pull out, I think. Not yet.
But Victor does. He steps back, mouth soft and hair wild, and tucks himself back into his pants. The shirt still hangs off him and the chest is on glorious, glorious display. He looks like a god, a conqueror, a man thoroughly well-pleased.
I slide off the counter and wiggle my dress down past my hips, keeping my legs locked closed. The lack of panties is suddenly very apparent.
Victor runs his eyes over me, pleasure in his deep-blue eyes. “This might complicate things, but I don’t think we’ll let it. We’ve always worked well together.”
“Uh,” I say. “Yes, that’s true.”
He shakes his head. “You’re my ideal woman, Cecilia. Business always comes first.”
I reach for my bra. It’s in the sink, and the flesh-colored satin is splattered with water drops. “Business first,” I repeat.
He takes it as confirmation. “Thanks for an unreal night,” he says, and then his familiar striding gait echoes down the hallway as he makes for the staircase.
Well. He lost control, but it didn’t take him long to regain it.
18
Victor
It’s been three days since the kitchen counter incident, but sleeping with Myers hadn’t gotten the desire out of my system. It only increased it, to where my need for her feels like a fever beneath my skin.
The idea of prim Cecilia Myers, quiet assistant and organizational genius, wearing a dress without panties out to a dinner with business associates is… well.
Hot as fucking hell.
But the idea of Cecilia, with her wide smiles and teasing jokes, standing in the bedroom across from mine, and making the decision not to put on underwear so she could seduce me?
It makes me hard just to think about.
I reach beneath my desk and rearrange the ache. Three days since the kitchen is three days too long, as far as that part of my anatomy is concerned. It has a head of its own in more ways than one.
She’d tasted sweet in the car. If I close my eyes, I can still hear her muffled whimpers. I can see the bare treasure between her legs and taste it on my tongue.
The memories are doing nothing for my concentration or the pounding headache at my temples. Nothing to dull the ache in my pants, either, but I have no time to solve that issue. Not now. Not when Myers and I have our meeting in fifteen minutes.
She arrives on the dot, punctual as always. We’re at home, but with my office so similar to that of Excietur, it’s hard not to draw the parallels. The only difference is her slippers instead of heels.
“Hi,” she says. Her hair is in a high ponytail and a flush creeps up her cheeks.
“Hello,” I say. We haven’t spoken much since we slept together, althoughsleptis not the right word for the explosive kitchen counter fuck. She has her routine and I have mine.
I’m going to have to get more sex into it somehow.