"Tell me what you want," he murmurs against my skin.
"You," I breathe. "I want you."
"Be specific." His teeth graze my nipple and I whimper. "Tell me."
"I want—" My brain is short-circuiting. "I want you inside me. Please."
His hands slide down to work on my jeans, and I'm trying to help but I'm shaking too hard. He gets them open and shoves them down along with my underwear in one movement.
And then I'm naked and he's still got his slacks on and that feels obscene somehow. Hot.
I reach for his belt but he catches my hands, pins them above my head with one of his.
"Garth—"
His other hand slides between my legs and I forget how to speak. He's not gentle, not tentative. His fingers find exactly where I need them and I'm already so wet it's embarrassing.
"Fuck," he breathes against my neck. "You're—"
He doesn't finish the thought, just works me with his fingers until I'm gasping, squirming, getting close way too fast. When he slides two fingers inside me, his thumb still circling, I actually cry out.
"That's it," he murmurs, watching my face. "Let me hear you."
I'm too far gone to be self-conscious. My hips are moving with his hand, chasing it, and when he curls his fingers just right I shatter.
I come hard, clenching around his fingers. He works me through it, gentler now, until I'm boneless against the door.
Before I can move he's lifting me. I wrap my legs around his waist automatically and he carries me the few steps, both of us falling onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs.
Garrett, my freaking sexy, silver foxboss, hovers over me for just a second, looking at me with an intensity that makes my breath catch. He kisses me deep and thorough while working off the rest of his clothes. When he finally settles between my thighs, we're both shaking.
He's big and I'm tight and it's almost too much but not quite enough. He goes slow, watching my face, giving me time.
"Okay?" His voice is strained. He fucks me slow at first, each thrust deliberate, and oh God, the angle is perfect. I wrap my legs around him, changing it slightly.
"More," I gasp. "Harder."
"No." He keeps the pace slow, torturous. "Want to feel every inch of you."
I whimper in frustration, trying to move my hips faster, but he pins them down with his hands. "Be patient."
"I don't want to be patient. You've made me wait fourteen months."
He almost smiles. "Fair point."
Then he pulls almost all the way out and thrusts back in hard, and oh—
"Yes," I moan. "Like that."
He sets a rhythm that's hard and deep and exactly what I need. Every thrust hits that spot inside me, and I'm climbing again already, wound tight.
"Touch yourself," he tells me, his voice commanding.
"What?"
"Touch yourself. I want to feel you come on my cock."
The words combined with his tone makes me clench around him. I slide my hand between us, finding my clit, and the added sensation is almost too much.
