by K. Bromberg
We’re slow and steady with a tinge of desperation. Our kisses, our encouragement, our movements. It feels like it lasts forever and doesn’t last long enough.
And then my hips hit the desk behind me, and it’s like a switch has been flipped, our bodies ready to sate and take and claim. We’re a desperate rush of movements. His hands pushing my blazer off my shoulders. My fingers working the buttons on his shirt. His slipping the cool silk of my camisole over my head. My hands on his belt and unzipping his pants. His fingers unzipping my skirt.
All the while our lips meet, then separate.
Hurry.
A lick of his tongue against mine.
God, I want you.
I nip his bottom lip with my teeth.
You’re gorgeous.
His lips on my neck, at that spot right below my ear.
I want to touch you everywhere at once and want to savor you at the same time.
His mouth on my nipple through the lace of my bra. The heat, the wetness, the pressure of him sucking, but muted from the fabric so it leaves me wanting more.
We can savor later. Just touch me. Everywhere. Now.
My fingers finding their way beneath his waistband to wrap around his cock. Our mutual groans when I begin to work up and down its long, hard length.
Christ, Harper. Fucking Christ that feels good.
The feel of his beard over my breast as his mouth finds his way back up my body, all the while shoving his pants down his hips to grant me better access to stroke him.
His mouth is on mine again with a fervent ardor. Gone are the sips and tastes. Now it’s heat and passion and urgency and demand. And then his fingers find their way between my thighs. I swear I try to remember to kiss him, but I can’t render a thought let alone make my lips move because I’m on sensation overload. His fingers part me, dip into me, and tease me before sliding back out, coated in arousal, and make their way to my clit. No, there is not kissing him back. There is only wanting to spread my thighs wider to enable him to touch me more.
And so I do just that, sit my butt down on the desk behind me and part my thighs. Ryder stays where he is and outstretches his arm, fingers still in me, and meets my eyes. They’re clouded with lust but it’s the half-cocked smile on his lips, carnal and rapacious, that holds me rapt as his gaze scrapes ever so slowly down my body to where his fingers are buried deep within me.
His eyes remain there, pulling my own down with it, so that we’re both watching his fingers work in and out of me. It’s erotic. It’s intoxicating. It’s damn near incredible.
I burn and I ache and I tense up but want to melt into a pool of bliss. There are so many damn sensations that I’m not sure which one to focus on: the friction he adds to my clit, the pressured slide down my seam before he plunges his fingers into me, or his expert manipulation of my nerves inside.
He watches his hands pleasure me and I watch him. His eyes are intense, concentration etched on his face, dick swelling as his hand works over and over and over in sync with his fingers within me.
Over the edge I fall. The lightning strike of ecstasy hits me with forewarning but there’s no way I can prepare for it. It burns hot and bright and the current reverberates out to my limbs and then back to my center again as my muscles pulse around his fingers.
I think I cry his name. I’m not sure because there’s a buzz in my ears almost as strong as the pounding of my pulse so I wouldn’t be able hear it even if I did. When I open my eyes, he wears a haughty smirk that says I told you it would be good.
And just like every other part of our tumultuous relationship back then and right now, that arrogance pulls on me, challenges me, makes me want to push his limits.
In seconds, I’m off the desk and on my knees with his cock, thick and heavy, in my mouth. His gasped growl fills the room around us as his hands find the back of my head and grip my hair.
I use my tongue and hands and lips to tease and taunt and torment him. A lick of my tongue. A suck of my lips. A twisted stroke of my hand around his shaft. A slide all the way down onto it until its thick head hits the back of my throat. His groan in the air and his fingers tensing on my scalp before I start all over again.
I work him in and out of my mouth with lips pulled tight to add that extra suction. His ass flexes beneath my palm as he thrusts himself farther into my mouth. My own body reacts to the taste of him, the feel of him, and the power of knowing I can pleasure him.
That sweet ache is back in me and starting to burn bright again. My hunger for him is ravenous, so I work his cock harder, wanting that moment where he loses control to be in my hands, by my mouth, and at the same time needing him inside me desperately. Filling me. Pushing me. Breaking me down to a whimper until I cry out his name in pleasure.
My mind wars whether to let go or to hold on while his pre-cum hits my taste buds and his dick begins to swell. He’s so large, so engorged, and I’m so turned on I have to concentrate on drawing in air.
I did this to him. God what a heady, arousing feeling.
Just when I decide to go for it, suck him off and swallow every last drop he has to offer, he pulls his dick from between my lips with a popping sound. I don’t even have time to protest or react because he hauls me up and pushes me over the edge of the desk. Before I have time to say a word, I hear the telltale rip of foil and within moments his hands are firmly on the sides of my ass, and his dick pulsing at my wet and ready entrance.
“Do you actually think I’m going to let you suck me dry? You don’t get to control this, Harper.” He pushes in about an inch, my body burning in the most desirable of ways—from stretching to accommodate his girth and from the havoc the ridge on his head is causing on every single one of my nerves. I clench around him, beg for more. “I do.”
And with those last words he slams into me from behind so that I can feel the wake of my nerves being willingly assaulted in every inch of my body. My moan sounds out in the room, hits my ears, and yet all I can do is feel as he bottoms out in me and grinds his hips so every part of me is filled to the hilt with him.
Good God that feels incredible. But nothing like when he starts to move in and out of me. Slow at first. Then a bit more demanding. A lot more pleasurable.
His hands are on my hips, his fingers bruising my skin. My arms are laid out across the desk, over plans and pencils and notebooks, and I don’t care. Each time he thrusts back into me, the bite of the edge of the desk brings me back from the brink of an orgasm.
Our sounds fill the rooms. The slap of skin together. His harsh pants. My soft pleas for more. His guttural groan as he demands that I tell him what I want.
Harder.
Faster.
Deeper.
Don’t stop.
It’s the slow burn tinged with the edge of a wildfire. The gentle swell of sensations overtaken by the huge surge of unfettered desire. The eye just before the storm hits.
And when it hits, it’s everything all at once. It’s touch and taste and scent and sound. It’s don’t move and don’t stop. It’s white-hot heat flashing beneath my closed eyelids and sweltering embers igniting into flame. It’s me being so consumed in the orgasmic haze that it’s not until my name is a broken groan that I realize he’s coming too.
My body writhes on the desk as his hands hold tight onto me. Each buck of my hips causes a growl from his throat and a tensing of his fingers into my flesh. He leans over and wraps his arms around me and hugs me from behind.
It’s an unexpected move that causes so many thoughts and fears and worries that have no place in the moment to scatter back into hiding as he lies like this on top of me, bent over the desk. Our hearts calm some, our breathing eases, and the warmth of his lips and coarseness of his beard are a comforting feeling against my back.
“I guess we have to move,” he murmurs after a bit followed by a chuckle.
And it’s not like I didn’t know we were in the office. On Alan’s desk. In the same place we’re to submit proposals in the m
orning that quite possibly could derail whatever this is between us here, but with my body satisfied, my brain begins to realize this.
“It’s a little late to worry about it now,” I murmur as he stands up and pulls out of me––both his warmth and the feeling of fullness gone at the same time.
“True,” he says at my back. “But considering I plan on doing that again within the hour, I think it might be best if we move it to a bed. Or a kitchen table. Or wherever the hell you want to have it so long as it’s not the office.”
I’m up off the desk in an instant, the dark promise of his words reinvigorating me as his low chuckle at my reaction resonates in the room around us.
Our eyes lock. Our smiles widen. And we stand there, spent, exhilarated, and enamored. Him in his dress shirt unbuttoned and undershirt pushed up to his armpits granting me only a partial view of those tattoos I want to lick. And me in my bra and heels and one leg in my skirt. We’re a picture of urgency and desperation. Of holding a torch for someone for years and finally getting the chance to light it and see if it works in the dark long enough to find your way to each other. Of desire recognized, attraction undisputed, and the need for more paramount.
The flash bang of lust between us has been taken care of.
Now I want to take my time with him.
Trace my fingers over his tattoos. Suck on his nipples. Feel his hips beneath me thrusting as I lower myself slowly, inch by inch down onto his cock.
“I guess we should get dressed to get undressed again, huh?”
“Hmm.”
It’s that sound from our past again. The one that lit the fire so long ago. The only difference though is when I hear it this time, I know what he means by it.
And this time I laugh.
Chapter Thirteen
Ryder
Her throaty moan fills the room. She’s still asleep but I slide my tongue up and down the pink of her pussy anyway. I tease the inside of her thighs with the coarse end of my beard. I blow on her clit, flick my tongue over it again and again before sucking on the little nub, earning me another sound.
“Mmmm. Feels so good.” Her murmur is groggy, and I know she thinks she’s dreaming this, but I really am licking her pussy and about to make her come.
Because we may have done a lot of things last night when we finally got back to her room––till all hours of the morning type of things––but the one thing I didn’t do was give her a good and proper beard burn. We were so lost in the moment, so damn desperate to have more of each other, that there were a lot of things we missed that I plan on making up for…but this was a priority.
Besides, what man doesn’t like to eat a little pussy for breakfast?
So I start the process all over again, but this time with a little more intention. The first one was an I’m-going-to-make-you-think-it’s-a-dream and this one is going to be the I’m-going-to-wake-you-up.
A part of me is hoping she doesn’t wake right up. Her scent, her taste, are so goddamn addicting that I don’t want to leave this bed. Or rather, I don’t want to leave my spot between her thighs.
So I lick again. I use my hands to gently push her thighs father apart, take my beard and tease her sensitive skin with it, and then begin fingering her with smooth, slow strokes to match my tongue’s rhythm on her clit.
She murmurs my name. One of her hands comes down to fist in my hair and push my face harder into her. So this time I dart my tongue inside of her, lick it around, and suck on the opening to her pussy.
I know the moment she fully wakes up. There’s a gasp in the room, a tensing of her thigh muscles and a tighter grasp on my hair as she tries to sit up. “Ryd—what—oh, God that feels good.” Her words fade to moans as she lifts her hips up into my face. My tongue and fingers work her to the brink, all the while making sure to let my beard leave its mark on her. That sting of coarse to smooth, of tough to soft, of me to her.
“That feels like heaven,” she says in that sexy rasp of a morning voice that hardens my dick as I think about how she took me in her mouth last night without a moment’s hesitation. How I know she was determined to suck me off and drink me dry, and so now I’m here to return the favor.
“What time is it?” she murmurs as I add an extra finger to the mix so I can stretch and fill and assault her nerves even better.
My fingers still, my tongue slips out of her, and I lift my eyes to meet hers over the mound of her pussy.
“Excuse me? Am I doing this so poorly you’re thinking about work?” I ask, half joking, half serious, and one hundred percent knowing she’s trying to control the situation.
I let her think she was in charge last night. I let her set the pace, let her say she wanted me, let her suck my cock like she was thirsty for more, and yet right now, this is me taking back that control.
“No. I didn’t mean––I––”
“Relax,” I chuckle with my lips to her flesh, still swollen from last night. She tenses and then her sigh becomes a moan. Her legs fall open wider and right into my plan of attack.
I lick again. In her. Around her. Up and down.
“We have the bid…ohhhhhh.”
I run my beard up and down her seam each time before dipping my tongue into her again.
“It’s due in a few hours…oh God, yes.”
I start the process again.
“But…”
Her taste changes. Becomes muskier. Tells me she’s falling just into that comatose realm where pleasure swamps reality. Her fingers grip the sheets beside her hips. Her breathing becomes labored.
And then I stop: my hands, my tongue, my beard.
“Don’t stop!” Her head snaps up as I look at her from my perch between her thighs.
Now I’ve got her attention.
I kiss her ever so gently on her clit before sliding my beard over it as I watch her eyes widen and darken with desire. Her hair is a mess. Her lips are unpainted. She has creases from her pillow on her cheek. I’m between her thighs and her taste is on my tongue.
She’s never looked more beautiful.
“Stop talking, Harper. Stop thinking. Last night I let you take the lead. I know how much you need to feel in control and so I let you set the pace. Now it’s my turn. Now it’s my mouth on your pussy. My beard on your thighs. Work does not enter our bedroom. Figures do not matter. The only ass that’s going to happen to get beat in here is my hand smacking your beautiful one while I ride you from behind.” I dip down, take another lick of her addictive taste before I lift my face back up, no doubt with her juices on my beard. “This is you. This is me. And nothing else. So lie back. Relax. And let me enjoy the taste of your pussy. I dare you not to come.”
And with that––with her eyes wide and lips in the perfect shape of an O, I dive back in, challenge issued, and begin to work my magic while I watch her eyes slowly roll back into her head.
Chapter Fourteen
Harper
“Where’s your dartboard?”
His voice pulls on me to look but I’m so sexily satisfied that it’s hard for me to think of anything else than that tingling burn on my inner thighs, my abdomen, and my neck that is a subtle reminder of where Ryder’s been, what he’s done, and that he intends on coming back for more so I don’t forget.
Beard burn is a real thing.
And oh my God is it everything I wanted it to be and then some.
I turn my head to look over at him through the dawn-filled sky-lit room, where his face is snuggled in the pillow inches from mine, one eye hidden, the other looking as sleep-and-sex drugged as I seem, and the world feels right.
“My what?”
“Your full-size-poster dartboard of me that you use to get your aggression out.”
My laugh is soft. “I forgot to pack that one when I moved out here.”
“So you’re really here to stay?” There’s what sounds like hope in his voice and it does funny things to my insides, similar to what his tongue did to me earlier this morning.
“That’s my plan. Win the bid. Have reward sex. Find a place to live. You know, the usual.”
His laughter rumbles the sheets. “Have reward sex?”
“Yep.” And so I fill him in on my plan that first morning a couple days ago. It feels like yesterday and forever all at the same time.
“Reward sex. Huh. Then what was last night?”
“Reward sex,” I state with a definitive nod as I reach out and trace the lines of his tattoos that my tongue came close and intimate with last night. My body breaks out in chills at just the thought of it. “I think maybe I had my eye on the wrong prize.”
“So you finally got it right?”
“Yep. It took me thirteen years. A reward was definitely needed.”
He laughs again but this time the sheet slips off my bare breasts with its vibration, and I have a feeling that part was on purpose. His eyes slide down, stare at my pebbled nipples from the air of the room and the sudden want to have him again, before looking back up to mine with a mixture of desire and honesty.
“I never figured you for the blonde bombshell, Denton.” His words boost my ego in a way that’s unexpected. Like this was all supposed to happen this way. Like he appreciates me more now because he knew where I came from.
“And I never figured preppy boy Rodgers to be the tatted, bearded hottie from the security line that pushed every single erogenous button on my body.”
“Every one?” he asks with a lift of his eyebrows.
“Yep.”
“Hmm. I think there are a few we can find yet.”
“Is that a challenge?” I ask coyly.
“Isn’t that how we work together best?” All I can do is sigh at his words and nod my head. Look at my hand on his chest and smile at the truth in his words. “I looked for you the next day, you know.”
“What?” My voice remains even while my head shrieks the word. Is he saying what I think he’s saying?
“Yeah. It was like I’d always looked at you from afar––the girl hiding behind her shyness––and thought you were pretty.”
