And fuck.
And fuck.
Hard. Slow. Hard. Slow.
It’s as if we’re working out our aggression, our crazy need, while inside I know this can’t mean anything. He doesn’t want kids; he’s not a commitment guy. I’m his, right now, and that’s okay, but men like him ... a month from now, it’ll be someone new for him. He has a yacht. He dates models, movie stars, and singers. I’m just ... me. Whatever. Who cares right now?
He says my name, and our breaths mingle, our lips a hair’s breadth apart as we stare each other down.
He moves my knees up as his hands hold my legs. He dips his head to my neck as tingles of heat boil in my spine. He fucks me with purpose, a hot, desperate look on his face. I feel the burn in my spine.It’s coming fast, too fast, when I want to savor it. My nails dig into his skin as I inhale his scent, tasting the spice, his pheromone that drives me crazy.
I lock eyes with him as I circle myself.
He murmurs my name ...
It’s the trigger I need.
Little quakes of pleasure multiply and build until they spring free. I spasm, my walls squeezing him.
He’s talking, saying something, his body hardening, his hands bruising my hips. His body jolts, and he stiffens as he goes over the edge, his breath coming in short bursts of air. His chest leans into me for several moments; then his hands card through my hair with a gentleness I didn’t expect.
Moments later, he tips my face up to his and gazes at my lips. He kisses his finger, then touches it to my mouth. “You. Are. Fucking. Hot.”
My legs are weak as he stands back and slowly untangles us. I ease shaky legs to the floor.
He removes the condom and ties it off while I grab my panties and tuck my shirt back in my skirt. I toss him his shirt, and he slips it on, then adjusts his joggers.
“Want to grab some lunch?” he says, watching me as I reapply my lipstick.
Do I want lunch?
What else do you say after fucking in a public place?
“I have to go.”
“Where? I’ll come with. I’m free most of the day.” He uses the window reflection to brush his hair back off his face. It’s sexy as hell, and when he turns to look at me, a long exhale comes from my chest. Unease crawls over me, this urge to tell him that I can’t see him because I’m having his baby and he doesn’t want one.
My hands fist. I want to have lunch with him, to get to know him better ...
“I, um, have another client this afternoon.” Truth.
He frowns as he searches my face, then sticks his hands in his joggers and fidgets. “I got the email from Darden. Congrats on the position. You’ve got a powerful man backing you. Impressive. He must care a lot about you.”
“It’s not like that, you know. We’re only friends. We just click.”
A half smile crosses his face. “I wasn’t implying anything.”
Good. I nod.
“If you come to my place, I’ll show you my art.” He bats his lashes at me, and I can’t help the smile it brings to my face.
I take my satchel off the windowsill. “That sounds fun, but some other time.”
He narrows his gaze as he puts his hands on his hips. “You’re brushing me off. Unbelievable.”
I sigh. “We both got what we wanted. Don’t make this awkward—”
“I’m not awkward. In fact, I’m pretty fucking confident that was the best fuck you’ve had since Decadence,” he growls.