“God, Andy,” he groaned, his grip tightening on my hips as he began to move. “You feel incredible.”
“Funny,” I gasped between thrusts, meeting his movements with my own, “I was just thinking the same about your performance review.”
His laugh turned into a groan as I clenched around him deliberately. “Always with the witty comebacks.”
“What can I say?” I moaned as he hit that perfect spot inside me that made me see stars. “You bring out my best material—oh God, right there!”
Each thrust was perfect, the edge of the countertop pressing against my ass as Matt drove into me with increasing urgency. His movements became more desperate as pleasure built between us, our bodies moving together in a dance we’dperfected over time. My legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper with each thrust as the pressure built again, coiling tight in my belly.
The world had narrowed down to the relentless rhythm of Matt’s thrusts, each stroke sending waves of pleasure crashing through me. He was like a man possessed, his urgency matching my desperate need. And then, with a growl that would’ve put any alpha predator to shame, he lifted me clean off the countertop.
Suddenly airborne, I clung to him like a koala discovering its favorite eucalyptus tree. My legs wrapped tight around his waist, arms locked behind his neck as he somehow managed to keep pounding into me without missing a beat.
“Show-off,” I gasped against his mouth. “Is this what they teach in CEO fitness class?”
His chuckle rumbled through both our bodies. “Special training. Had to maintain my strength for particularly demanding situations.”
We kissed like we were stealing oxygen from each other’s lungs, our tongues matching the frantic rhythm of our bodies. Matt maneuvered us across the kitchen with the same precision he probably used in boardroom takeovers, and before I could crack another joke about his multitasking abilities, I found myself sprawled across the dining table.
He hoisted one of my legs over his shoulder, displaying flexibility I didn’t know I possessed. “Look at you,” he growled, eyes dark with hunger. “Spread out on my table like the finest feast.”
“Breakfast of champions?” I managed to quip before he drove into me again, the angle making me see entire constellations.
There I was, displayed like the catch of the day at a five-star restaurant—only much more scandalous. Matt’s thrusts were relentless, hitting that sweet spot inside me with unerringaccuracy. My body writhed under his assault, each thrust sending another shooting star across my vision.
My cock was straining and quivering, begging for attention. Matt, ever the attentive lover, wrapped his hand around it with the same precision he probably used signing million-dollar contracts.
“Oh God,” I choked out as the dual sensations threatened to short-circuit my brain. “Matt— I can’t— It’s too much!”
“Too much?” He squeezed just right, timing it perfectly with a particularly deep thrust. “Or not enough?”
The pleasure built to impossible heights, coiling tighter and tighter until I thought I might explode. And then I did—spectacularly. Once… twice… three times my release painted the polished wood in stark white streaks. But Matt wasn’t done with me yet.
He pounded into me with an intensity that had my head spinning like a drunk compass, each thrust pushing me higher despite thinking I had nothing left to give. When my fourth orgasm hit, it was like being struck by lightning—every nerve ending firing at once as I cried out his name.
Finally, with a guttural sound that might have been my name or a prayer to every deity in existence, Matt followed me over the edge. His release filled me as he clutched me close, our bodies slick with sweat and satisfaction.
He pulled me into his arms, claiming my lips in a kiss that somehow managed to be both tender and possessive. As we both floated in our post-orgasmic haze, he murmured against my lips, “Now that was what I call a power breakfast.”
I laughed breathlessly, still trembling from aftershocks. “Mmm, is the CEO ready for his morning meetings, or should we schedule another performance review?”
His answering smirk was pure sin. “I think my calendar just mysteriously cleared for the next hour.”
“Only an hour?” I teased, trailing my fingers down his chest. “Getting slow in your old age?”
“Watch it,” he growled playfully, nipping at my lower lip. “Or I’ll have to demonstrate my stamina all over again.”
“Promises, promises,” I sighed dramatically, even as I felt him stirring to life inside me again. “Though I have to warn you—your cleaning staff might quit when they see what we’ve done to this table.”
Matt’s laugh echoed through the kitchen as he scooped me up again. “Then maybe we should take this performance review to the bedroom.”
As he carried me off for round two—or was it three?—I couldn’t help but think that some mornings were definitely worth getting up early for.
Forty
MATT
The Cosmopolitan’s executive boardroom gleamed like a jewel box, all chrome and glass suspended forty stories above the Strip. Matt surveyed the faces around the mahogany table—seven of Vegas’ most influential players, plus one very irritated Xavier Kingsley. Behind them, hotel staff moved silently, refilling water glasses and adjusting the temperature at the slightest gesture.
