Hung

I admire her priorities. Better yet, she slaps her hands down on the wall behind the desk, pinning my head between her palms. This is new. I take a second to appreciate my position. Usually I’m on top and in charge, but I’m willing to let her hold the reins for a moment. It helps that she’s looking at me like I’m the center of her universe, and she’s in a mood to explore.

Sure enough, she eliminates all remaining distance between us, pulling us closer together until there’s not an inch of space left. I can’t help groaning, which makes her smile. Naughty girls get what they have coming to them, and I have plans for Ms. I-Started-This Sarah Jo. Needing to touch her, to feel her hair, her skin, down her back, and over the soft crease of her hip, I reach for her. Behaving myself is no longer an option.

“See?” Her eyes light up with humor even as her fingers find my shoulders and squeeze. I squeeze back, but since my hands are on her spectacular ass, it’s her turn to groan. “Talking’s over-rated.”

The lady is always right. Have I mentioned how much I believe that? She follows up the groan with a whimpering sound as I touch her more. Running my palms over her perfect curves. Pulling her closer, sliding my fingers beneath the hem of her shirt because I need bare skin, now.

She’s hungry for me, too. The gentle shoulder squeeze turns dirty, her hands sliding slowly lower, yanking me close. She’s not tall. She has to tip her head back to make eye contact, but we’ve got enough light, even with the door shut, that I can see her clearly. She gives my face another once over, and then smiles. Her hands move. Skim over my shoulders. Down my arms until her fingers tangle with mine.

She makes me feel… Christ, I’ve never deliberately set a fire outside working hours, but I suddenly know how an arsonist must feel. It feels so goddamned good to go up in flames, to make her burn.

“I’m right here.” My voice sounds rough. “Right where you put me, babe.”

She grins. “I’ll make sure you don’t mind.”

Mission. Accomplished. She sends her hands roaming over my body like she wants it all right now. Over my shoulders and down my chest, yanking up my T-shirt and smoothing her fingers over my abdomen. Slowly because Sarah Jo’s a masterful tease. Yeah, it’s that good. She pulls me into her embrace and then our lips meet and we’re devouring each other, hungry and urgent.

Turns out Sarah Jo doesn’t take orders. Or directions, suggestions, or hints. Her tongue strokes mine boldly, taking my mouth exactly as she pleases while her hands go on a wicked, wicked walkabout. I have no complaints, but no way I get mine before she does. It’s that gentlemanly code of conduct I can’t quite seem to shake. Fortunately, although I’m not more determined, I am both bigger and stronger. I flip her around, laying her back on the table in one smooth move, pinning her hands.

“Kisses first,” I whisper roughly.

“Pick.” She gasps my name, trying to reach for me. I’d like to give in, give her what we both want, but I have to make this the most amazing fucking first time ever because I already know I want a second and a third chance. Is a million too ambitious? Because I can’t imagine not wanting more Sarah Jo over and over.

So I hold her hands over her head. “Ladies first.”

Before she can protest, I let go and drop to my knees in front of her. If she wants kisses, I’ll give her kisses.

Chapter Seven

Sarah Jo

Pick kisses his way down my body, a hotshot on a mission. God, I could watch him for hours—and not just because he’s sporting a most impressive erection. His new position—going down on me, be still my quivering hooha—lets me appreciate the downright enormous ridge beneath his jeans as he drops lower. It’s my good fortune that the man’s built to scale. The hard length presses first against my belly, my thigh, then is gone all together. Well crap. Now that he’s let go, I try to steer him with my hands, wanting his face back within kissing distance, but he gently brushes me away.

“Let me make this good,” he says. I’m dying, and he’s laughing.

“It’s your job to put out fires,” I point out, sounding downright freaking virtuous. “Chop chop.”