“Wow,” he whispered, slowly lifting his hand.
“Oh, God,” she croaked, mortified. “Did I…make a noise?”
“Oh, yeah. Big-time. Hold on a sec.” He pulled away, wrenched the door open. Nell’s legs snapped together as a blade of cold light sliced into the room and assaulted her eyes. Duncan poked his head out the door, peered around, and closed it, plunging them into darkness again. “They’re gone,” he said, and she heard the click of the door lock engaging. “Not a sound. But just in case. Since you’re a screamer.”
A thread of cold unfurled in her belly. She slid off the table. tugged her skirt over her legs, and found him in front of her. “Oh, no. Don’t panic on me now.” There was an edge of pleading in his voice.
“I just…the locked door, it, ah…”
“I’ll unlock it, if you want. I just don’t want surprise visitors.” His hands slid under her skirt and gripped the tops of her thighs, slid slowly up to her groin. “Making you come is not a spectator sport.”
“Uh, no, of course not. But I—”
“Shhh,” he shushed her, and he seized her again, and they were off, kissing wildly. She gripped his arms and drank him in. Their mouths melded with the sensual sureness of well-matched dancing partners. It was as if they’d known how to kiss each other senseless since time began, with all the excitement of novelty, all the grace and ease of familiarity. She wanted to claw his shirt off, to discover every detail of that big, solid torso, to smell his sweat, to feel the texture of his chest hair, the shape of his nipples, the contours of his muscles.
And his cock. She wanted to grip it, test it, pet it. She reached down, pressed her hand against his flat belly and slid it down over his belt. His hand covered hers and pressed it against the bulge in his crotch. He stroked the gusset of her panties. A murmur of satisfaction rumbled against her shoulder as he found her wet. Very wet.
He kissed her again, his tongue venturing into her mouth to twine lazily around hers, and both of them moaned as he explored her tender folds with a gentle finger, circling and pressing, sliding into her slick opening. She clenched around him, gasping in shocked delight.
“Oh, God,” he muttered. “I think my hand is going to come.”
“You think you’ve got problems,” she said jerkily.
Then, no more talking. Just deep, ravenous kissing while his finger delved and her hand stroked that massive, hot bulge. Her legs twined around his thighs for balance, and they shuddered and gasped together, tongues twining, wrapped in a tight, trembling knot of desire. Tension rose, until the sweet, keening ache of anticipation shattered.
Pulses of hot delight jolted through her body.
She sagged against him, shimmering and soft. Made of liquid, glimmering with moonlight. He’d undone the fastenings of her garters at some point and was tugging her panties off her legs. She was too limp to react. She hung on to handfuls of his shirtfront and tried to form words with her mouth. “What…ah, what are you going to…?”
“I don’t have latex,” he said. “So I’ll do this.”
He dropped to his knees and put his mouth to her.
She almost screamed, the sensation was so intense. He felt the flinch and murmured soothing, incomprehensible things against her groin as he rubbed his cheek against her thigh, petting her. His breath felt so soft, like a brush of fine silk, and his fingers were so skillful, parting her, and then his tongue, warm and soft, swirling and fluttering, and the pleasure grew too intense to differentiate sensations.
She collapsed back onto the table, and a tiny part of her brain stood apart for a moment, astonished at how her life had upended itself. Last night, celibate, and crushed out on an unattainable man. Today, spread-eagled and pantiless in his conference room, getting marvellously tongue-lashed by that same unattainable guy.
Yeah, and if she didn’t attain him all the way, she was going to collapse into a screaming, writhing human black hole, the hunger bit so deep and hard. She pushed his face away. He looked up in silent question, wiping his mouth. She saw his grin flash in the dimness.
“Mmm,” he murmured. “Good. More?”
“What about you?”
His soft laughter tickled her pubis. “I’ll live.” He paused for a moment, and added, “Somehow.” He pressed his lips to her, fluttering his tongue around her clit in a way that sent her spinning into a dizzying vortex. The man was amazing. And her body was a fire gone wild in a fireworks factory. She pushed his face away, struggled up onto her elbows. “Please,” she whispered. “Make love to me.”
He stared at her, and she wished she hadn’t used a silly romantic euphemism. It made her vulnerabilities so obvious. She should have just said, “Fuck me.” It would have been clearer, more honest. They’d both know where they stood. Or sprawled, as the case may be.
But she couldn’t. Such a blunt, crude phrase would not come out of her mouth. Romantic, old-fashioned idiot that she was.
He gripped her hips, fingers digging in. “No latex,” he repeated.
She gulped in air and exposed herself still further. “I have some.”
He froze. “No fucking way.”
“Um, actually, yes. In my purse. My co-worker bought them for me today, as a joke. She was roasting me. I never thought I’d—”
“Where’s your purse?”
“On the chair, I think, on the other side of the—”
He’d already yanked it open and flung its contents onto the table. He found the box, and seconds later he was back, opening his belt and opening the shrink-wrap in a show of manual dexterity that would be dazzling if she’d been in any condition to appreciate it. She caught a glimpse of his big, thick phallus as he sheathed it, and then he pushed her back down onto the table and folded her legs up high.
The bulb at the end of his cock seemed impossibly big, pressing against her. He slid it tenderly up and down the length of her labia, caressing her with it until he was wet, and she was squirming against him, in silent pleading. And he drove slowly inside.
Duncan counted back from ten, holding his breath. Please, God, not yet. He breathed the climax carefully down, but the second he opened his eyes and looked at her again, spread out beneath him, he was in trouble again.
So beautiful. Fuck. His body shook with excitement. The jealous, eager grip of her pussy was an agonizing torment. Each stroke was another torturous lick of the lash.
He was glad he’d gotten her good and wet, or he’d never have gotten inside. As it was, each stroke was slow, pushing against the hot, plushy resistance of her body that enveloped him, throbbing with the heavy beat of her heart.
Again…and again, and finally the tight, careful strokes relaxed and they found their rhythm of deep, swirling, rocking thrusts, punctuated by wet slaps of contact, his labored breathing, her breathless gasps. She was working up to another climax. And now his own orgasm was crashing down on him like a falling meteor, the sky was in flames, but God knew how, he held it off…until she took flight.
They soared together, through that inner nowhere. Fused.
He collapsed over her, panting. His mind wiped clean. He’d never imagined feeling so close. Feeling the essence of her, in the heart of that burning, twisting glow. So beautiful.
His eyes fluttered open. He was pinning her soft body onto the hard table with all the weight of his torso. He lifted himself hastily up.
Her face was turned away. He felt shy, humbled. He didn’t know if she’d felt what he’d felt. The postcoital crash chilled him with doubts. He pulled out of the excellent, tight clutch of her body.
The condom was a problem. No way in hell was he leaving it in the trash can in the conference room. He rummaged on the table for the drugstore bag the box had been in. Peeled the condom off, sealed it up. Tongue-tied as a thirteen-year-old boy who’d just had his first lay. He hastened to shove his still-turgid dick back into his pants, and fasten them, with some discomfort, over the bulge, before he even dared to look at her.
She’d straightened her clothing in the meantime, too. She’d pulled her panties back on. Her stockings were up, skirt tugged down. She was fastening her garters. Waiting for him to speak first.