Gasping, he pulled away only long enough to say, “Couldn’t wait anymore.”
Then his mouth was back at her folds, licking and sucking. Pleasure coursed through her, sharp and sweet. Her hips bucked just like his, only more eager now that she was primed. She couldn’t help it; she rocked against the lovely pressure, humping his face, though the low groans told her he didn’t mind much.
Sensation raced over her skin, heightened by her eagerness all day, her anger at those girls, her love for this man. She climbed a peak, propelled by clever fingers and a wicked tongue. Frantic sounds escaped her, unwilling to be held back even at the expense of discovery. She rocked and shuddered, and with the smooth, slick curl of his tongue against her clit, found completion in a soft rush and sated sigh.
He turned her around, bending her over the file cabinet. She grasped the sides, the metal cool and slick beneath her sweaty palms. She heard the condom wrapper tear, felt him nudge her from behind, felt her slick, swollen flesh part for the broad head of his cock. He didn’t waste time; as if his restraint had eroded, he pushed inside, smooth and fast. She gasped at the feeling of being full—too full, a pleasurable hum stretching into an ache deep inside. That small pain was the sweetest, a signal of his loss of control, a sign of his lust. She clenched her muscles, reveling in the low groan pulled from him. He set up a hard, swift rhythm, pulling almost all the way out before plunging to the hilt. She could only hold on, only cling to the hard metal surface with her mouth open in a silent cry until he froze and dug into her hips and throbbed inside her as he came.
For a moment, he curved his strong body over hers in repose and possession. His breath was harsh against the back of her neck, mingling with hers in the cool, dusty air. All too soon, he pulled out—more gently now, gingerly even.
She started to stand, but he pressed her lower back to keep her still.
“Let me clean you.” His voice was rough, an audible remnant of the passion they’d just shared. He tore a paper towel from the roll on a bookcase.
She squirmed at the rasp of paper on her tender flesh. She reached back to take it from him, but he stayed her hand.
“Let me,” he repeated.
Biting her lip, she remained still for his touch.
“It’s too bright in here,” she whispered. He could see every part of her this way. Bent over, she was exposed. Her cunt, her asshole—all of it on display. The corner of the cabinet was cutting into her belly now, more noticeable without the haze of arousal.
He trailed a finger through her inner lips up through the crease in her ass, wringing a shudder from her. “You’re beautiful here. Everywhere.”
It pained her that he meant it as a contrast to him, but she didn’t know how to comfort him without raising the issue herself. A kind word could turn the knife already inside him if she wasn’t careful. In the end, he solved the problem by bringing it up himself.
“You didn’t have to do it,” he said.
“Do what?”
“Have sex in my office because those girls insulted me.”
He spoke so flatly, without emotion, such a contrast to the warm joy that had filled his voice just seconds before that she felt the loss reverberate in her heart. So he’d heard them. And he’d known all along what had driven her—but he would interpret that as pity, not…well, what was it? Kindness? Love? She wanted him to be happy, not to worry, but the world would always judge him, would always mock and belittle him for the scars he’d earned protecting it.
She understood then why he kept her bent over for his admission. It was the veil of confession, distance and darkness allowing the words to come out. The fact that he’d admitted it at all cut her to the quick. He’d been willing to accept the sex he didn’t believe he deserved, but he would release her of any further obligation.
She turned, ignoring his damned divide, and framed his face in her hands. Both sides, one chiseled jaw gently bristled with hair, the other wavy and lacking in hair. Surprise flickered in his deep brown eyes.
“Damn you,” she said. “I had sex with you because I wanted to. Because I wanted you, and unless you want an argument on your hands, you damn well better not forget it.”
He blinked, taken aback. Well, she was too. A little shell-shocked, a little desperate. In some ways, they were close, intimate. Certainly the sex was amazing. But in other ways, she couldn’t break through. His scars were just the surface. He still suffered nightmares for what had happened there. He would always be chained by a past she couldn’t unlock.
“Just let me in,” she whispered, a breath away from his lips.
His eyes searched hers. “All of me, Erin. You already have all of me.”
Even while the sweet words sent joy through her heart, sadness weighed her down. This was all he could give her, he meant. And it would have to be enough, for now.
The sound of a friendly shout from down the hall pulled her attention to the present, the physical. She quickly arranged her clothes back into place. A rueful smile curved Blake’s lips as he did the same and tossed the paper towel into the trash.
She raised an eyebrow. “Do you always keep that handy for sex?”
He grinned, which looked charmingly crooked. In reality, it was the scars that tugged one side of his mouth, but that lopsided smile never failed to tighten her chest.
“Just cleaning up,” he said, resting on the edge of his desk. “It’s dusty in these offices.”
“I think it’s all that intellect,” she teased. “Can’t help but get a little full of yourselves.”
“Ah, but you’re the ones with the fresh ideas. We had our chance to change the world. Now it’s your turn.”