Suddenly His

“What?” I breathe, reeling. “I can’t. I can’t.”

“You better.”

I moan in my throat.

Two minutes? With nothing but the use of my fingers?

My mind is indignant, but my body is alive.

I don’t understand why I love this, why arousal is cascading down, down inside me, snaring me in its inferno, but my fingers gravitate toward the apex of my thighs. A man walks by the glass door, faceless. Another group stops a mere three feet away, their bodies angled toward the office, and the fact that I’m doing something to explicit, so bad, makes my heart pound, makes my flesh slippery and I begin to rub my clit, a mewling sound kindling in my throat.

“I knew it,” Jack breathes in my ear. “I didn’t imagine how hard you rode my cock in front of that crowd on Friday night, you closet exhibitionist.” His mouth suctions to the side of my neck, drawing on me, scraping me with his teeth. “I’m not letting you hide from it, Maisy. From what you need. I’m not that nice. One more minute.”

“No,” I cry softly, my middle and ring finger rubbing my clit in quick, light circles, my breath sawing in and out of my throat. Please. Please. There’s sensation gathering in my middle, but it’s too slow. It’s only the early signals of the storm.

“Christ, I can hear how fucking wet you are,” Jack mutters in my ear, his hands closing around my breasts, massaging them slowly, then chafing my nipples with his palms, making me cry out, propelling me further toward the finish line. Far enough? Fast enough? I don’t know. “Thirty seconds, angel. If your come isn’t dripping onto my carpet by then, this whole office is going to know what a horny brat you are. Strutting in here dressed to make dicks hard, pulling your panties down for their boss. Shame on you.”

The word shame makes my thighs tremble and I stroke myself faster, my bottom lip caught between my teeth, lust and need and excitement electrifying me. “Daddy,” I whine, pressing my forehead to the glass, fingers rubbing, rubbing. “Please!”

What am I begging for? I don’t know. Only that the pleasure is almost too searing, bearing down on me too fast, that I can’t handle it alone. Oh God, oh God.

“Ten seconds.” Jack groans, his fingers moving to hover over the switch. “Maybe you want to be caught fingering your pretty pink pussy.”

“No!” I gasp.

“Five, four…”

I hold my breath and close my eyes, caught between the confusing excitement and fear of the unknown—and the dam breaks. I scream behind my clenched teeth, held in the authority of an earthquake that won’t let me free. Won’t stop shaking me. My sex draws in tightly, releases and does it over and over and over until I’m about to scream “make it stop.” Moisture slides down my fingers, my inner thighs and I’m blind. I see nothing. Only feel.

When I almost drop to my knees, Jack’s arm bands around my waist and hoists me up, his free hand covering mine and helping to stroke me through the climax, his touch grinding down, prolonging the tempest. “That’s a good little girl, Maisy,” he croons in my ear. “But you’re not done.”

I’m so caught up in the roller coaster of sensations, I barely register Jack spinning me around again until my bare back presses to the cool glass. And he kneels, throwing one of my knees over his shoulder, and rakes the tip of his tongue up and back between my thighs.

“Jack!” I twist my fingers in his hair, no idea whether I should pull him closer or push him away. I’m already too raw, too strung out on pleasure, but he leans into the barriers I start to erect and shoulders past them, his tongue bathing my swollen clit, the thumb of his left hand strumming my nipples firmly, with ownership, his mouth relentless. Relentless.

This time, the orgasm is a knock out blow.

I have no control, no recourse against it and I’m pitched into oblivion, babbling and crying and working my flesh against his hard mouth. Riding it shamelessly. Just trying to survive while Jack groans, laps at me, pins my hips to the glass so he can get closer, closer, until finally I lose power of my legs. My awareness of our surroundings goes blank and when I regain it, I’m being carried in Jack’s arms toward a leather couch on the far end of the office.

He lays my body down there and sits beside me, brushing my hair back to scrutinize me.

All I can do is stare back at the powder keg that is Jack Lincoln.

There’s affection in his gaze, yes, but it’s surrounded by hunger. Intense, male hunger. It seethes out of him. It’s etched in every line of his body, from his heaving chest to the erection spearing up from his lap to the shaking hand he rakes down between my breasts. “I’m not a good man,” he rasps in between breaths. “But I can be very good at giving you what you need. Give me a chance to prove it.”