Beautiful Bastard (Beautiful Bastard 1)

I couldn’t even be horrified by the loud moan I let out—he felt better than anything.

“What’s that?” he hissed through clenched teeth, his hips slapping against my thighs, driving him deep inside. “Never been f**ked like this before, have you? You wouldn’t be such a tease if you were being properly f**ked.”

Who did he think he was? And why the hell did it turn me on so much that he was right? I had never had sex anywhere but on a bed, and it never felt like this.

“I’ve had better,” I taunted.

He laughed, a quiet mocking sound. “Look at me.”

“No.”

He pulled out just as I was about to come. At first I thought he was actually going to leave me this way, until he grabbed my arms and yanked me up off the table, lips and tongue pressing against mine.

“Look at me,” he said again. And, finally, with him no longer inside me, I could. He blinked once, slowly, long dark lashes brushing against his cheek, and then said, “Ask me to make you come.”

His tone was all wrong. It was almost a question, but his words were just like him—all bastard. I did want him to make me come. More than anything. But I’d be damned if I’d ever ask him for anything.

I dropped my voice and stared back at him. “You’re an ass**le, Mr. Ryan.”

His smile told me that whatever he’d needed from me, he got. I wanted to slam my knees up into his balls, but then I wouldn’t get more of what I really wanted.

“Say please, Miss Mills.”

“Please, go f**k yourself.”

The next thing I felt was the cold window against my br**sts, and I groaned at the intense contrast in temperature between it and his skin. I was on fire; every part of me wanted to feel his rough touch.

“At least you’re consistent,” he snarled into my ear before biting my shoulder. He kicked at my feet. “Spread your legs.”

I parted my legs and without hesitation he pulled my hips back and reached between us before thrusting forward into me.

“You like the cold?”

“Yes.”

“Devious, filthy girl. You like being watched, don’t you?” he murmured, taking my earlobe between his teeth. “You love that all of Chicago can look up here and see you getting f**ked, and you loving every minute of it with your pretty tits pressed against the glass.”

“Stop talking, you’re ruining it.” Though he wasn’t. Not even close. His gravelly voice was doing wicked things to me.

But he just laughed in my ear and probably noticed the way I shivered at the sound. “You want them to see you come?”

I groaned in response, unable to form words with each repeated thrust into me, pressing me further against the glass.

“Say it. You want to come, Miss Mills? Answer me or I’ll stop and make you suck me off instead,” he hissed, driving himself deeper and deeper inside me with every thrust.

The part of me that hated him was dissolving like sugar on my tongue, and the part that wanted everything he had to give me was growing, hot and demanding.

“Just tell me.” He leaned forward, sucked my earlobe between his lips and then gave it a sharp bite. “I promise I’ll give it to you.”

“Please,” I said, closing my eyes to shut out everything else and just feel him. “Please. Yes.”

He reached around, moving his fingertips across my clit with the perfect pressure, the perfect rhythm. I could feel his smile press into the back of my neck, and when he opened his mouth and pressed his teeth to my skin, I was done for. Warmth spread down my spine, around my hips, and between my legs, jerking me back into him. My hands slammed against the glass, my entire body quaking from the orgasm that was rushing over me, leaving me gasping for air. When it finally subsided, he pulled out and spun me around to face him, ducking his head to suck my neck, my jaw, my lower lip.

“Say thank you,” he whispered.

I dug my hands into his hair and tugged hard, hoping I could get some reaction out of him, wanting to see if he was in control or delusional. What are we doing?

He groaned, leaning into my hands and kissing up and down my neck, pressing his erection into my stomach. “Now make me feel good.”

I released one hand and brought it down to his c**k and began stroking him. He was heavy, and long, and perfect in my palm. I wanted to tell him, but I’d be damned if I ever let him know how amazing he felt. Instead, I pulled away from his lips, staring at him with hooded eyes.

“I’m going to make you come so hard you forget that you’re supposed to be the world’s biggest ass**le,” I growled, sliding down the glass before slowly taking his entire c**k in my mouth and back against my throat. He tensed and let out a deep moan. I looked up at him, his palms and forehead resting on the glass, his eyes closed tight. He looked vulnerable, and he looked gorgeous in his abandon.

But he wasn’t vulnerable. He was the biggest jerk on the planet and I was on my knees in front of him. No f**king way.

So instead of giving him what I knew he wanted, I stood up, pulled my skirt back down, and met his eyes. It was easier now, without him touching me and making me feel things he had no business doing.

The seconds ticked by, neither of us looking away.

“What the f**k do you think you’re doing?” he rasped. “Get on your knees and open your mouth.”

“Not a chance.”

I pulled the front of my buttonless shirt together and walked out, praying my shaky legs wouldn’t betray me.

Grabbing my purse from my desk, I threw my blazer on, trying desperately to fasten the button with my trembling fingers. Mr. Ryan still hadn’t come out, and I ran to the elevator praying to God it would get there before I had to face him again.