A low, guttural moan rumbled in his chest. “God, you’re going to be the death of me.”
Then, with a frantic movement, he shoved his pants and underwear to his thighs, freeing himself completely. The sight of him, fully exposed and hard with desire for me, sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through my core. My hand returned to him, my strokes growing bolder, more confident.
I started slow—a long, languid glide from root to tip, my thumb sweeping over the damp head to spread the bead of moisture that had gathered there. His breath hitched—a sharp,ragged inhale. I did it again, and again, establishing a rhythm that was both a question and an answer.
A low, continuous groan vibrated in his throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure being wrestled into silence. When I twisted my wrist slightly on the upstroke, his hips bucked off the chair, a helpless, involuntary thrust into my hand.
“Jesus,” he gasped, his voice strangled.
I tightened my grip, picking up the pace. The room filled with the soft, slick sound of my hand moving over him—a secret, sinful music beneath the distant hum of the party.
His control was fraying, and I was the one pulling the threads. His head was thrown back, the strong column of his throat working as he swallowed hard. His eyes were squeezed shut, his brow furrowed in concentration, as if all his willpower was being channeled into staying quiet.
“Look at me,” I whispered, the command leaving my lips before I could reconsider.
His eyes flew open, blazing with intensity, glazed with a pleasure so deep, it looked like pain. The connection was electric. Seeing the raw, naked need in his gaze as I pleasured him was more powerful than any touch.
A shudder wracked his frame, and his hand shot out, gripping my forearm. It was an anchor, a plea, a confirmation that he was as lost in this as I was.
He was murmuring my name now, a broken litany between panting breaths. “Please…yes…just like that…”
Each word was a surrender, a piece of the powerful man handed over to me. I felt the tension coiling tight in him, the muscles of his stomach clenching, the pulse in his length becoming a frantic, hammering beat against my palm. He was close, so close to the edge, and the power of it was a dizzying high.
But then he moved. In one fluid, decisive motion that shattered the moment, he pushed his chair back, the legs scraping harshly against the tile floor, dislodging my hand.
He stood, his erection jutting straight out, his pants a dark puddle around his powerful thighs. His eyes locked with mine. His voice was rough, raw with a command that brooked no argument.
“Come with me.”
4
GRADY
The conference room had a blind spot. I’d clocked it while Mollie was stroking me. The first step was to lock the door, but after that, I shoved a chair back into the corner, double-checked that we weren’t visible to anyone walking by, and took her hand, leading her over until she was seated.
She wore a sly smile as she settled onto the large, cushy chair. I wondered about that smile. I didn’t have to wonder long. She slid her hands behind my thighs and pulled me forward, parting her legs at the same time her lips separated and her gaze dropped to my cock.
Holy hell. This woman was going to be the death of me.
She took me deep, her mouth hot and tight around me, every pull a mix of pleasure and torture. My head fell back, fingers sinking into her hair as a raw sound tore out of me. For a few seconds, all I could feel was her—heat, pressure, perfection—until my knees almost gave out.
But I had to stop her. This wasn’t about me. Not tonight.
I gently pulled her away, my breath ragged. Her eyes, hazy with desire and a flicker of uncertainty, met mine.
“My turn,” I said, my voice rough.
I knelt between her legs, the tiles cold against my knees. I ran my hands up the smooth skin of her thighs, pushing her skirt higher and removing her panties before settling her more firmly on the edge of the chair.
She was trembling. I looked up, holding her gaze as I lowered my head and settled my mouth over her heat.
The first touch of my tongue to her clit made her gasp—a sharp, startled sound. Her head fell back, her long, dark hair draping behind her.
I licked her slowly, finding her rhythm, learning what made her moan. She tasted like salt and skin—hers alone. I pressed harder, circling and flicking, taking in every sound she made, every shift of her hips.
The bass from the party pounded through the wall, setting a rhythm we couldn’t escape. I felt her tighten around me, her breath shaky. When I slid a finger inside and curled it just right, the wave crested.
Her climax was a silent scream, her body bowing against my mouth, her inner muscles fluttering wildly around my finger. She collapsed back into the chair, boneless and breathing in ragged pants.
