Briggs (Carolina Reapers 7)

Her breath hitched.

“How glad I was that the water was cold so I wouldn’t get hard watching you work?” I pressed again, and she whimpered. “I wish it was just this body that turned me on, Bristol.” My lips found her neck, her collarbone, the swells of her breasts. “I wish it was just these incredible breasts, just the curve of your ass, or the swell of your hips that did it for me. But no.” I brought my gaze back to hers, and her nails dug into my shoulders as she held herself steady. “It’s your mind, and the way you lose yourself in your work that gets my cock even harder.”

“Cormac,” she pled, rolling her hips against my hand. “Please.”

I swept her thong to the side and stroked her, sliding my fingers through her pussy to her clit. “You’re slick and hot, just like I knew you would be. I could fuck you right here. You’re that ready for me, aren’t you?” My fingers swirled around her clit, but didn’t give her that friction she needed, just teased and tortured.

“Yes!” She cupped my neck and kissed me. “I spent all fucking day looking at you! Of course, I’m ready. I was ready hours ago just watching you. Now do something about it!” She rocked her hips and groaned.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” I stroked her clit with my thumb and slipped a finger inside her. She clenched me tight, and I gritted my teeth to keep from unzipping. This woman had haunted my dreams for years. I wasn’t about to fulfill those fantasies in her damned office. The first time I had her—and there would be a first—we’d be in a bed where I could take my time.

But that didn’t mean I couldn’t at least ease one of us right now.

“Oh, God,” she groaned, lifting her hips slightly and lowering them, riding my finger.

I sank in a second one and started stroking, curling my fingers at just the right spot as my thumb worked her clit. “So damned tight. So responsive.”

Her thighs clenched around mine, and her breath stuttered.

“You’re almost there, Bristol,” I whispered as I stroked her faster, my cock straining against the fabric of my pants.

“Cormac…” She swayed, and I wrapped my arm around her back to steady her.

“I’ve got you,” I promised, and at the first tremble of her muscles, I gave her the pressure she needed on her clit and sent her flying, kissing her to swallow her cries as she came, her body rippling in my arms.

Watching her come undone was easily the hottest moment of my entire life, and I still had my pants on. I stroked her down through the tremors, then withdrew my fingers as she went limp against me, her forehead resting against mine.

“Holy. Shit. What. Was. That?” she asked between breaths.

“I call that an orgasm.” I grinned and kissed her softly.

“No. I’ve had orgasms before. That was…” She shook her head. “Your fingers are magical or something.”

“My fingers have nothing on my tongue.” My cock twitched, and my skin prickled with heat at the effort it took to hold back.

Her lips parted, and her eyes grew hungry again as her fingers traced my tattoo, then skimmed down the line of my chest. “Your turn—”

The door to her office opened. “Go figure you’re working late on—What the actual fuck? And to think, I came all the way to New York just to make sure my little sister wasn’t lonely.”

My head snapped toward the doorway. “You have to be fucking kidding me.”

“Cross! Get out!” Bristol snapped.

Crossland McClaren—Bristol’s older brother—stood in the doorway with a bottle of champagne and a perplexed expression that would have been comical if my fingers hadn’t been inside Bristol about a minute ago. Then again, I hadn’t found the asshole funny since he’d traded me.

After all, this wasn’t the first time he’d walked in on us.

At least this time he couldn’t fuck my career over.

8

Bristol

“For a second,” Cormac whispered after Cross had shut the door behind him. “For a second, I forgot why this didn’t work out in the first place.” He shook his head, disappointment, pain, and hurt all churning in his eyes.

“Cormac—”

“Don’t,” he cut me off, shifting his hands on my hips and gently hauling me to my feet as he stood from the couch.

“Please,” I tried again as he yanked his shirt over his head and grabbed his bag. “I didn’t mean—”

“You never do,” he said, his voice gravely as he headed to my office door. He swung it open and paused. “Crossland,” Cormac said, never breaking my brother’s stare as he lingered just outside the door.

“Briggs,” Cross said, his tone light. He parted his lips like he’d say more but…

Cormac shook his head, and Cross stepped out of his way. He stalked out of the door, and angry tears welled in my eyes—I was so sick and tired of the view of his back, no matter how defined and delicious it was.