Hottest Mess (SIN 2)

But I can't say it. Hell, I can barely think it. He has completely undone me, and right now I am nothing but sensation and need and desire.

"That's it, baby," he says, and I realize that I'm grinding my hips, trying to find release as he teases me so intimately. "Do you like this?"

"Yes."

"Then beg for it."

"Please. Please, Dallas, make me come."

He's touching and stroking and teasing, and I'm so close. I shift, trying to find release, but it's always just a little bit off, just a little bit further away. I'm so turned on and so frustrated, and all I want is for him to take me the rest of the way, fast and hard and wild.

"Tell me you're mine," he urges. "Tell me you understand that it's only you. That it's only ever been you."

"I do," I say. "I understand."

"No," he says, as he spins me around and then presses my back against the glass. "I really don't think you do."

I'm breathing hard, and so is he. I'm wet, and so wildly turned on, and the sensation thrills me. I'm completely out of control--I've surrendered everything to him--and I'm okay. I'm okay.

"Dallas." I hear the plea in my voice. "Make me. Make me understand."

One of his hands is against my shoulder, pinning me back against the glass. The ferocity--the hunger--is so clear on his face that I expect him to take everything I'm offering and more. And I want it. Oh, dear god, I want it.

I'm breathing hard, and I feel the perspiration bead at the back of my neck, on my upper lip, between my legs. I'm nervous with wanting, fired with anticipation. I'm ready. I'm so, so ready.

I lick my lips, and that simple gesture seems to spur him to action. He looks back over his shoulder toward the desk, and I feel a wildness circle inside me, remembering my earlier fantasy about him taking me on that very desktop.

I expect him to jerk me toward him. To force me to bend over the desk.

I imagine him spreading my legs wide and holding my head down while he spanks me, then teases and strokes me with his cock before thrusting deep into me with his fingers.

Or maybe this is it--maybe this is what he needs--and I'll finally feel him slamming hard into me. His cock filling me. His fingers clutching my shoulders so hard he marks me as he takes me fully and completely.

I want it--and at the same time I hate myself for wanting it because I know it might not happen. But the passion--the wildness--that I know is coming.

I really cannot wait.

And so I'm more than a little befuddled when his gaze shifts back to me, and the feral look is gone, subjugated to a slow-burn of passion and the face of a warrior who's just fought the battle of his life.

I shake my head slowly, not wanting to understand, but I do. I get it, because I get him.

And I don't like it.

"Dallas--"

"Shhh, baby." His forefinger presses against my lips, quieting me, as he moves closer, then presses his hands lightly over my breasts before trailing his fingertips down my body, the contact making me tremble with a desire that is significantly more tame, but no less real. His fingers move lower, teasing the fold of skin between my thigh and my torso, stroking the soft skin of my vulva. Driving me deliciously wild because he is taking such care to completely avoid my clit.

With his other hand, he cups one breast, his thumb playing lightly over my nipple even as he bends forward and closes his mouth over the other.

I gasp, my body shaking with desire. With need. I feel as though I am on fire, like every millimeter of my skin is a sensual playground.

He has reined himself in, but the effect on me is no less dramatic. His touch is a garden of sensual delights, but when he pulls back, his teeth grazing my nipple in the process, I open my eyes and look at him. That's when I see that his soft caresses are belied by the fire in his eyes.

He wants more, damn him. And yet he's holding back, cheating us both.

"Dallas," I say again.

"What, baby?"