Forbidden (Playing With Fire)

The sex with Michaela had been beyond satisfying. He had given her at least four orgasms that he knew of and he’d had two. They’d fallen asleep in a tangle of limp arms and legs, her head resting on his chest, his cheek on top of her head. Holding each other close, another thing he really didn’t enjoy post-coital.

But with Michaela, everything felt so damn right.

She’d snuck out of his bed, and he hadn’t even heard her. He’d reached for her upon wakening, found his bed empty and hell if his heart hadn’t felt empty too.

He was damn pitiful, mooning over a woman. He’d been lusting after her for so long he thought by finally having her it would get her out of his system.

It didn’t work. And he was fooling himself if he believed that was his true intention. He’d wanted her, and he knew once he had her he’d continue to want her.

And continue to have her. He was just enough of a cocky bastard to believe that.

Sending her the text message had been his plan to rile her up. It worked. The thought of her up in her office in some prim skirt suit like she usually wore with no panties on had his cock surging against the fly of his jeans. He should be spent, worn the hell out, yet all he could think about was getting inside Michaela.

Now he waited, and he hoped she was a little late. That way he could punish her, draw it out, drive her crazy, drive himself a little crazy too.

He had a feeling she’d like it. That she could take whatever he dished out. That maybe she wanted him to dish it out.

She was bad, his Michaela. Naughtier than he thought she would be. Or maybe he just brought it out in her. He had no clue.

He certainly wasn’t complaining.

At five minutes past twelve, he watched her exit the building, a harried expression on her face, the hot early afternoon wind blowing tendrils of hair all around her head. She wore a navy blue blazer and matching skirt with a pale yellow tank top beneath the blazer and she shrugged out of it, curling the jacket over her arm.

Oh, damn she looked good, the skimpy top skimming her slight curves, the cut of her skirt making her ass look amazing.

He couldn’t wait to get his hands on her.

She approached his side of the car and he rolled down the window, the blast of hot air smacking him in the face. “Sorry. Had to take a phone call.”

He cocked a brow, going for macho asshole. “You’re late.”

“I know.” She brushed the tangled hair away from her mouth. “I’m sorry.”

“Get in.”

Michaela rounded the car and got in on the passenger side, her scent filling the close confines of the car immediately. He breathed deep, held it in, savored her unique sweet scent and then he glanced down at her lap.

“Did you bring the panties?”

Nibbling on her lower lip she nodded, patted her right pocket. “I did.”

“Show me.”

Slowly she reached into the pocket and drew the flimsy material out until her hand was in front of him, the pale pink panties in a crumpled ball in the middle of her palm. He stared down at them, arousal smacking him swift and hard at the sudden vision that swam in his head of her completely bare beneath that skirt.

And that she was mere inches away from him. It would only take him five seconds to reach beneath the fabric and touch her silky hot flesh.

Austin took her panties, shoved them into the front pocket of his jeans before reaching for her, resting his hand on the inside of her thigh. Her skirt had slid up, revealing her slim thighs, and he allowed himself the pleasure of stroking her skin once, twice, his fingertips tingling.

A little whimper escaped her and he looked up into her face, saw the needy expression there. She was just as turned on as he was, maybe more so.

“You want me to touch you?”

She nodded, didn’t say a word.

“Want me to get you off with my fingers stroking your clit?”

Another muffled whimper, another furious nod of her head.