Thrill Me

by Olivia Cunning

  “My office isn’t far.”

  He had seen that fantasy on her list, but hadn’t expected they’d tackle that one today.

  “Do you want to fuck me on my desk, Owen?”

  He pressed her hand against his stiff cock. “He’s answering for me at the moment.”

  She rubbed him just enough to make his breath catch. “I think he’s saying yes.”

  He always said yes.

  Owen’s hand moved between Caitlyn’s legs. Desire slammed into his gut as the heat coming off of her pussy registered. “Drive,” he growled.

  The short trip to the deserted office building was a blur. She didn’t stop him when he rubbed her mound through her shorts or her tit through her shirt as she drove. She merely moaned encouragement when he kissed her neck and pinched one hard nipple. By the time they stumbled out of the car and she used her key to open the front door of the building, he was about to bust the zipper out of his pants.

  “Is there anyone here?” He followed her into an attractively decorated reception area, lit only by natural light pouring in through a bank of high windows.

  “It’s a Sunday,” she reminded him, “so no.”

  “I think you mean it’s Sinday.” He pushed her up against the back of the door and unfastened her shorts. “I’m going to assume this is your office, because I can’t wait another second.”

  Her shorts dropped to her ankles, and she kicked them aside. He fumbled with her panties while she freed his cock, and then he found her center, sinking deep into her hot, slick flesh. She kissed him desperately, hands pressing into his face, his shoulders, stretching to hold his ass as he fucked her so hard her body shifted up and down the back of the door.

  “Is that your desk?” he asked, lifting her by the ass and turning her to settle on a meticulously kept desk.

  She reclined back and swept her arms over the surface, sending a stapler, pen cup, and several outboxes tumbling to the floor.

  “Belongs to my partner’s receptionist,” she said breathlessly. “I overheard her in the breakroom talking about me. She said my husband cheated on me because I was a dried-up prude.”

  He snorted. “No clue where she got that idea.”

  She sent a framed picture of the receptionist’s man tumbling to the floor, shattering the glass on impact.

  “Make me come on her desk,” Caitlyn said, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him against her. Her ankles dug into his thighs as he pounded her to her peak. Her cries of release echoed through the cavernous room. He wasn’t finished with her yet, though. They still hadn’t fucked on her desk, and that was why they’d gone there in the first place.

  “Where’s your office?” he asked when her body went slack and she lay sprawled across the surface of the receptionist’s desk trying to catch her breath.

  “Third floor.”

  He probably could have carried her down the hall, but not up two flights of stairs.

  “The elevator is down that way.” She tilted her head toward a corridor.

  “Elevator?” He grinned and scooped her off the desk. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist as he carried her toward the stainless steel doors obscured by shadows in the dark hallway. “Why didn’t you say there was an elevator here?”

  “Sorry. Didn’t know elevators were your thing.”

  “Everything is my thing,” he assured her.

  She kissed him desperately, her fingers toying with his hair as he slapped at the button to open the elevator door. She pulled away long enough to say, “I know I just came, but I can’t stand you not being inside me. Hurry.” She crushed her mouth to his again.

  The elevator dinged and the door slid open. His muscles were starting to fatigue, so he set her on her feet. Their gazes locked and then were torn apart momentarily as she removed his shirt and tossed it onto the floor. She removed her own shirt next and then her bra to stand naked before him. Her tits were too gorgeous not to catch his attention. He sank to his knees at her feet, cupping the perfect, soft globes in his hands and drawing one nipple into his mouth.

  “Fuck, you’re hot, Caitlyn,” he murmured as he moved his mouth to her other breast.

  She laughed and buried her fingers in his hair, holding him to her. “No one has ever accused me of that.”

  “They don’t see you the way I see you.”

  “Naked in an elevator?” she said. “Probably not.”

  She slapped a button, and the elevator car began to rise. At the same time, she sank down, directing his straining cock into the warmth between her thighs. He groaned, pulling her against him as she rose and sank over him, loving the feel of her breasts caressing his chest almost as much as the sweet friction of her pussy around him. Her head dropped back, long silky hair tickling the arm he held securely around her back. Cries of passion punctuated her every motion, her vocalizations growing louder and faster as she took what she wanted from him and gave him so much in return. He kissed her neck, using his tongue to collect the salty moisture that rose to the surface of her skin. When the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, she reached over and slapped a button and they began their descent. The unsettling feeling of his body dropping while he thrust up into her made him dizzy. Or maybe it was being with her that had him out of his head.

  “We’re not getting off this elevator until you come,” he murmured against her throat.

  “Almost there,” she said between broken gasps. “I do love your pierced cock.”

  Based on the way she was grinding against him as if trying to keep it inside her forever, he’d figured as much.

  She shuddered, her pussy tightening around him as she cried out. Owen squeezed his eyes shut and recited the alphabet backward in his head—an attempt to calm himself so he didn’t follow her over the edge. He still had to fuck her on her desk.

  The elevator dinged again, and the doors slid open. He held her against him, trying to still the trembling of her body and the spasms tugging at his cock.

  “Don’t move for a second,” he pleaded, sucking air into his lungs and forcing the pressure building inside his pelvis not to burst.

  The elevator door slid shut, but the car didn’t move as he sat there collecting his wits—what was left of them.

  “Slowly now,” he said as he took her by the hips and lifted her from his lap. When his cock fell free of her soft haven, he sucked an agonized breath through his teeth.

  “Oh, sweetheart,” Caitlyn said, reaching for his overly engorged and very pissed-off cock.

  “Don’t touch it.” He grabbed her hand.

  “Let me help. I’ll suck—”

  “Ah God, don’t put that image in my head. I’ll never last. Where’s your desk?”

  “You held back for me?”

  He had no idea why her eyes were suddenly brimming with tears. Of course he’d held back for her. He couldn’t remember ever needing to come as badly as he did at that moment.

  Caitlyn climbed to her feet and opened the elevator door. She reached for his hand and tugged him to standing, then raced naked down the hall to an open door at its very end. Seeing her desk—all covered in journals and stacks of papers and manila folders—unlocked something primal in him. There was no tenderness or concern in the way he bent her over the desk, his hand pressing the side of her head against the solid surface, and rammed his aching cock into her. She didn’t seem to mind his harsh treatment. In fact, she shifted into his rigorous thrusts, meeting him stroke for stroke.

  “Fuck me, Owen,” she said. “Harder. Fuck me.”

  He slapped her flank, and her pussy tightened around him. He liked it so much he smacked the same spot again.

  “Oh God,” she said, her hand sliding between her legs to touch the place where their bodies were coming together. That tiny bit of added stimulation sent him flying.

  He cried out as pleasure ripped through his center and blessed release consumed him. She rocked into him, drawing his orgasm out until he had to grab her hips
to still her body. When the waves of ecstasy finally subsided, he leaned over her back and kissed her spine.

  When their breathing had returned to almost normal, she said, “I’m going to have to change offices.”

  He lifted his head, his heart suddenly panging with hurt. “I didn’t live up to your expectations?”

  “Baby, you exceeded them so much that I’ll never get any work done. I’ll be too busy dwelling on the things you did to my body here. And in the elevator. And downstairs.”

  He grinned, feeling better. Not as good as he would have felt if she’d dwelled on the things he did to her emotions—to her heart and to her soul—but he had faith that he’d bring her to that point eventually.

  “So instead of working, you’ll be fantasizing?” he asked, pulling out of her body, his breath catching as he watched their combined cum dribble from her reddened pussy and down her thigh. He knelt at her feet and licked at the salty, slightly bitter mess they’d made together.

  She gasped. “Jesus, Owen, you’re so dirty.”

  He stopped just shy of her pussy lips. “Sorry.”

  “Why are you sorry? I fucking love it. I won’t just sit here fantasizing about you when I’m behind this desk; I’ll have my hand in my panties touching myself.”

  He groaned in appreciation of that visual and gently licked her drenched hole.

  She sucked a pained breath through her teeth, and he immediately knew what that meant. “Sore?”

  “Very,” she admitted.

  He kissed her tender flesh, hoping to heal her agony. “I should have taken the piercing out.”

  “No, it was wonderful. Perfect. I wouldn’t change a second of it. And you’re wonderful. Perfect. I wouldn’t change anything about you.”

  This woman was very good for his ego.

  She sighed. “But being this sore means you’ll have to spend more time with the clothed version of me.”

  He traced her opening with the tip of his tongue. “I happen to like the clothed version of you.”

  “Even if she’s walking like a cowboy who rode a thousand miles on a spiked saddle?”

  He chuckled, loving her wit. “Especially if she’s walking like that.”

  He leaned away, and she lifted herself from the desk before dropping to her knees so they were face to face. “Would it be dirty of me to kiss you after you’ve been licking my cum-filled pussy?”

  “Very dirty.”

  She melded her mouth to his in a tongue-teasing, lips-caressing, teeth-nibbling kiss. She pulled away after a moment, her dark eyes searching his.

  “Would it be dirty of me to lick the cum off your cock?”

  “Dirty and dangerous,” he said.

  “I’m not worried about germs.”

  He chuckled. “Dangerous because you might get a rise out of me, and then I’ll either have to fuck that sore pussy again or take your ass.”

  “Or I could suck you off,” she said, lowering her head until her warm breath teased the head of his cock.

  When her tongue danced over his sensitive flesh and lust slammed into his gut once again, he figured they never would make it to the next museum.

  Chapter Thirteen

  By the time Caitlyn had given Owen the best blow job of his life—his words—and found all of her discarded clothes—half in the elevator and half next to Joyce’s desk—and given him a brief tour of her research lab, it was well past lunch and nearing dinner time. If they were going to bring another two of her sexual fantasies to life, they’d have to start making their way home to pick up Owen’s Jeep and then head to the Gulf Coast. She was going to have to ask him to take the jewelry out of his piercing for their next encounter, which was a bummer, but she needed the break. Not from him, just from his jewelry.

  “Do you want to go out to dinner or have a picnic in the back of the Jeep?” she asked as she relocked the office’s front door and hoped no one ever had a reason to review today’s incriminating security tapes.

  “Which is more likely to make you smile?” he asked.

  “Whichever involves more of you.” She took his hand as they walked to her eye-catching car in the otherwise deserted parking lot. She knew she shouldn’t encourage this lovey-dovey crap, but her heart and her brain were at total odds. And as scary as it was, her heart was currently in control. She was pretty sure her oversexed body was unfairly swaying said heart in the man’s direction.

  “I will be present either way,” he said.

  But they’d have to keep their hands to themselves if they dined in public. Still, maybe that was for the best. The more time she spent with her hands on Owen’s body, the less her brain functioned in a logical and coherent fashion.

  “Picnic on the beach,” popped out of her mouth before she could get her thoughts in any semblance of order.

  “My mind-control techniques are working,” he said, releasing an evil-sounding laugh.

  So he’d rather picnic alone with her on the beach? Her belly began to quiver with butterflies at the thought of being with him from sunrise over the Bay to sunset over the Gulf. They’d have spent the entire day together, and she was in no way looking forward to him returning to his band’s tour the next day. She normally liked her interactions with other people to come in small doses; she’d always been a bit of a loner. But where Owen was involved, she feared she’d never get enough.

  “You’re staying the night, aren’t you?” she asked, her hand involuntarily tightening on his.

  “I hope to. Will you come see me later this week after a show? Before a show? During a show? I’m not sure I can wait until our next tour break to see you again.”

  “Of course,” she gushed, wishing the foot she had in her mouth was bigger so stupid happy shit would stop falling from her lips. But she did want to see him as soon as possible. And that was a bad sign. Very bad. Was she falling for him? Truly? That fast? It wasn’t possible, was it? Even in her impressionable and naive youth, her handsome, intelligent, and worldly English professor hadn’t won her heart this quickly. Perhaps she should have encouraged Owen to leave rather than stay the night. A little space would let her clear her head before she did something as ridiculous as fall in love with her rebound guy. Her younger man—sexually explorative, ego boosting, and awesome—was not long-term-commitment material. At least that was what she’d thought when she’d hooked up with him. Now she was starting to think beyond their weekend together. Even beyond that silly sexual fantasy list she’d made. She was thinking of him as her boyfriend. Crap.

  “You’re starting to give off men-suck vibes,” he said, drawing her up against the side of the car.

  “Are you sure?” She hooked an arm around his neck and kissed him. Her heart thundered in her chest. She knew her throbbing heart had little to do with the burning sexual chemistry between them and everything to do with the junior-high-level crush she had going on for the guy. Her scientific mind could explain her giddiness away by knowing the release of endorphins in her brain was tricking her into thinking she’d found her soulmate, but, lord, how she wanted these overwhelming feelings to be more than a chemical maelstrom brewing in her system.

  “Maybe I was mistaken,” he said, the movement of his mouth tickling her lips.

  “If I’m giving off vibes, they’re not directed at you. You don’t suck,” she assured him.

  “I can if you’d like.”

  She felt his grin against her lips.

  “I’m feeling things for you I’m not ready to feel yet.” And his close proximity must be affecting her judgement, because she wasn’t ready to admit even that much to him.

  The grin against her lips widened.

  “Maybe we need to spend some time apart,” she said, hating the words as soon as they escaped her, even as she knew that time apart was the sensible reaction to moving way too fast. And they were definitely moving way too fast. Even her Camaro—with its accelerator mashed to the floor—wouldn’t be able to keep pace with the progression of their relationship.

/>   “Okay,” he said. “Starting tomorrow I promise to give you some space. At least until you come see me on Tuesday.”

  “Wow, twenty-four hours without you? I’m not sure I can handle that.”

  “You can always come to the show in New Orleans. Can you survive twelve hours apart? If not, you can follow me back to Austin and stow away on the plane. I’ll hide you in my pants. No one will think anything is up.”