Filthy Scrooge

“Go under your sweater,” he said raggedly. “Better yet, take it off.” His arms flexed as he held the back of his head tighter. “Please.”

I sat back on my feet for a moment before peeling my sweater over my head. I knew men were visual, but it felt a little like I was on display. But I did it because it was easier than going back to our original conversation. I didn’t want to give him any other reason to question me—or to think I was a freak.

“Jesus,” he said reverently.

The fuchsia pink of my demi-bra pushed my breasts up until they were nearly falling out of the cups. I usually wore matching panties and bra, but my white bra had given up the fight about five minutes before I was ready to go out the door.

Somehow I didn’t think Linc gave a shit.

I rose on my knees, my height at an advantage here. The head of his shaft bumped against the curve of my breast. I slid him across the pillowed mounds before lifting him to lick the underside of his cock. Then I took him deep, holding onto his hip as I bobbed over his length, taking him as deep as I could.

When I peeked up at him, he was staring up at the ceiling. The cords on either side of his neck were tight and his body was tense. I relaxed my jaw and throat until he filled every inch. He roared out a choked plea to God, then his fingers were tunneling into my hair.

I hummed around him and sucked.

“Kay,” he said brokenly.

I pulled him free, my hand stroking with the wetness from my mouth. “Let me,” I said softly. I didn’t give him much choice. I took him deep again and pumped him as I sucked. His cock swelled in my mouth and the first taste of him hit the back of my tongue. His entire body shook as a strangled groan climbed out of him.

He sounded like a wounded animal and when I drank the last of him down, his head was bowed and his shoulders heaved like he’d run miles. I sat back on my feet, my body buzzy in a way I’d never felt before. Pride burst through my chest as I wiped my mouth.

There was no relief on his face.

I frowned. “Linc?”

“Was there a reason we were racing?” His voice was like gravel.

I licked my lips. “N-no. I’m sorry.”

He zipped his jeans and turned away from me.

My elation for pleasing him turned to a prick of tears. I sucked at this sex thing. So much. It was laughable really, even if I didn’t feel like laughing right then.

He turned around and dragged me up off the floor. “I don’t want sorry. I wanted to make sure this was amazing for you. And then you… God, Kay. I don’t even have words.” He cupped my jaw, his fingers curling to massage my nape.

I closed my eyes and simply enjoyed for a moment. There was nothing quite like getting my hair played with.

“See. This is what I’m talking about. You’re starved for touch. I can see it as you practically purr for me.”

I stiffened.

“Then you do that.”

“Starved is a strong word.”

“Yeah, well, everything between us feels strong in ways I can’t figure out. From last night on the dance floor to you in my office—there’s been no letting up.”

“I’m sorry?” I didn’t know what to say to that. It was too scary to agree. Every part of him seemed too big, too intense, and too dangerous to my peace of mind. I wanted this to be a simple one-weekend-stand. I couldn’t even do that right.

“Stop fucking apologizing.” He lifted me off my feet and curled my legs around his waist with a groan.

“Holy shit.” Not only was I too tall for most men to pick me up, but he was hard already. That wasn’t normal, was it? My li

mited scope with the opposite sex usually ended with my date, or boyfriend, or whomever ready to sleep and leave me alone.

It was so much easier than the guy trying to get me off and getting more frustrated the more I tensed.

He knelt on the bed, pushing me to the top where pillows left me inclined before his arms slid free from me. He rolled my skirt down my hips and whispered out a curse as my soaked panties were revealed.