Again and again and again, she takes me, until sweat is running down my chest and my fingers are tangling, tugging, pulling at her hair.
Until I’m arching off the chair and muttering all kinds of dark, sexy, dirty things to her.
Until her lips are red and swollen, her cheeks flushed and hollowed out. And still it’s not enough. Still I want more.
I’m controlling the pace now, hips slamming back and forth like a metronome as I fuck her mouth, her throat. Harder, faster, deeper. There’s a roaring in my ears, a pounding in my blood, a throbbing in my dick that warns me I’m on the brink of losing the last little bit of my control.
Chloe must sense the same thing, because she pulls off for a second, nuzzles against my abdomen. Her mouth is hot against my burning skin, but the rest of her body is cool where it settles against me. It’s a small jolt, a pleasant shock that pulls me out of my head—out of the pleasure—just enough for me to regain a fingerhold on my control.
“Chloe, baby, I need you,” I tell her, hands stroking up and down her bare, silky back.
She’s shuddering now, shaking with the same need, raking fiery claws through my every nerve ending. “I need you, too.”
Giving up control to her isn’t easy for me, but I swear it’s all worth it when she’s climbing back on top of me, straddling me with her long, beautiful legs.
And then she’s wiggling against me, getting herself situated just right so that my dick is sliding against her pussy—not inside of her yet, but between her drenched folds. It feels amazing. She’s amazing. And when she starts moving her hips, swinging them back and forth to get the most friction between us, it takes everything I have not to just give in right then and there.
“I love you,” she murmurs, eyes closed and breath hot against my lips.
It’s the tipping point. My hands reach out, grab her hips before I make a conscious decision to move them, and then I’m pressing her down, increasing the pressure and the friction and the pleasure for both of us.
Chloe moans, a low, broken sound that ratchets up my own need even before she braces her hands on my shoulders and teases my mouth with her nipple. Thank God.
I pull it into my mouth, sucking gently before running my tongue in circles around her areola. She feels so good, tastes so good, that for long seconds I can’t think. Can’t breathe. All I can do is feel.
Then she calls my name, a high-pitched, painful sound that echoes through me as she arches her back and shudders brokenly. Her hips continue to rock back and forth against me, but it’s not enough anymore. Not enough for me and definitely not enough for her.
That’s how I know it’s time. I might have given her control, she might have taken it, but it’s not what either one of us really wants. Sure, being like this with her feels good—everything I do with Chloe feels good—but she’s growing more and more anxious, her body moving more and more restlessly against my own.
“I’ve got you, baby,” I murmur, lifting her up and then lowering her down so that my cock slides gently into her. She cries out as I enter her, head falling back, fingers digging into my shoulders. Already, I can feel a different kind of tension entering her, one that anticipates sexual satisfaction instead of one that fears not being able to find it.
I’m close myself, too close, but I’m determined that she comes before me. Sliding a hand between us, I find her clit with my thumb. I circle it once, twice, then again and again as I lean forward and bite gently at the curve where her neck meets her shoulder. Chloe cries out, jerks against me, then she’s coming, coming, coming. And so am I, emptying myself into her as ecstasy sweeps through me—overwhelming, omnipresent, all-encompassing.
It goes on and on and on, and if it wasn’t for Chloe, holding me, grounding me, I’m not sure I’d ever find my way back. Or want to.
When it’s over, when both of us have finally come down, Chloe sags against me. She presses kisses to my jaw, my throat and her favorite spot just under my chin. I tilt my head up to give her better access, and as she licks her way across my collarbone, I can’t help thinking about a second round.
Except the phone chooses that moment to ring. I’m not about to make a mad dash for it, not with Chloe still curled up, warm and soft and sexy, in my lap. It goes to voicemail, and seconds later, my cell phone buzzes with a text. My regular San Diego driver, Ben, has arrived.
And I’m a total mess.
Chloe giggles as she sees his text, then slowly peels herself off me. When I think about what I have to do today, what’s in store for both of us beyond the walls of this house, I want to hang on to her, to keep her sheltered against my body forever. But she’d kick my ass if I tried.
And so, reluctantly, I let her go, then watch as she gathers up her robe and slips it back on her shoulders. “I need to take a shower. I’m going to be late for work if
I don’t get a move on. And you…” She shakes her head and giggles when she looks at me. “I don’t know how you’re going to fix yourself and get out of here in time.”
“Obviously, I’m taking a shower with you.” I stand up and slide my pants the rest of the way down my legs. Then I follow my wife to the master bedroom, dressed in nothing but a half-buttoned dress shirt. If I wasn’t feeling so fucking fantastic from the phenomenal sex we’d just had, I’d probably feel like a freaking fool.
“Oh, no, I don’t think so.” Chloe shoots me a look over her shoulder as she grabs a set of lingerie out of the dresser I’d had moved in to hold her things. “I know what will happen if you get in that shower with me, and unlike you, I’m not the boss. I have to be at work on time, especially considering this is my first week back after quitting in the middle of my internship. I’m not taking any chances with pissing someone off.”
“You could piss them all off and they still wouldn’t fire you.”
It’s the wrong thing to say and I know it even as the words leave my mouth. But it was too late, there was no way to stop them, and now they’re just out there, hanging between us like a minefield.
I can tell by the look on her face that Chloe doesn’t know how to respond. I can see what she wants to say in the pissed off tilt of her chin and the defensive set of her shoulders. But I can also see her trying to reason the anger away, considering she knows as well as I do that no one is going to fire the boss’s wife.
“I’m sorry,” I try. “Your relationship with me has never had any bearing on your employment and it never will. You got the internship because of your brains, your grades and your innovative ideas. You’re going to keep it—even through the rocky start you had—for those same reasons. And while it’s true that they won’t fire my wife, it’s also true that you won’t take advantage of that nepotism. You’ll work your heart out for your bosses, for yourself and for me. I’m sorry if I made it sound like I thought any differently.”