I want to see your cock.
The words, so blunt and out of place in the corporate quiet of the SUV, sent a jolt of pure lightning to my groin. My fingers, usually so steady during multi-billion-dollar negotiations, fumbled for a second with the button of my slacks.
The metallic rasp of the zipper coming down was obscenely loud in the hush surrounding us. Her small, cool hands were there, not just helping, but taking, shoving the expensive fabric down my hips.
And then I was free. My cock sprang heavy and thick into the space between us, the air cool against my fevered skin. Her eyes widened as she stared at it.
My turn.
Her blouse was a damn minefield of tiny buttons, each one testing my patience. Every time I got one loose, more of her skin appeared—smooth, warm, impossible not to touch. I shoved theblouse and her jacket open, my breath catching when I saw the lace bra beneath.
Simple. Sexy as hell. Her breasts strained against it, and when I eased the cups, the sight nearly wrecked me. They were full and perfect—tits that make my chest ache just looking at them.
“God, Avery,” I breathed, the words ragged. “You’re even more perfect than I imagined.”
I ran my thumbs over her nipples, and they tightened into hard, desperate peaks under my touch. A soft, broken sound escaped her lips—a whimper that was all surrender.
That was when her hand closed around me.
The first stroke of her fingers—tentative, then firm—up the length of my shaft, nearly undid me. A shudder wracked my frame, and my head fell back against the seat with a soft thud. I forced my eyes open, needing to see, needing to brand this image on my soul.
God, the sight of her. Her skirt was a bunched mess of fabric around her hips, her shirt and jacket hung open, framing that incredible, bared torso.
She looked wrecked in the best way—hair mussed, clothes half off. The kind of beautiful that made my pulse hammer. A powerful woman completely undone, and all because of me.
She started to move against me, slow and deliberate, her hips rolling, her hand still wrapped around my cock. Her eyes stayed on mine, dark and sure. She wasn’t asking—she was taking. And I let her. Hell, I wanted her to. Every breath I dragged in was a plea for more.
“I need to be inside you, Avery,” I gritted out. “Now. I need to feel how wet you are for me.”
She didn’t hesitate. A wicked, knowing smile touched her swollen lips as she rose on her knees, her body a breathtaking, shadowed silhouette against the tinted window. Her handguided me to her entrance, slick and hot, and then she was sinking down, taking me inside her with a slow, deliberate pressure that made us both gasp.
I felt it the moment she pushed past the initial barrier—a tight, searing resistance that made her flinch and her breath catch in a sharp, beautiful little “oh.” I held her hips, my thumbs stroking her skin, my own body screaming at me to thrust, to bury myself to the hilt.
“Easy,” I said, my voice strained with the effort of my control. “Easy, baby. Just breathe. Take all of me.”
She did, her breath catching as she sank onto me, slow and trembling, until I was buried all the way inside her. The feeling hit like a freight train—tight, hot, wet, every inch of her gripping me hard enough to steal my breath. It was too much and not enough all at once. The kind of pleasure that wrecks a man and makes him grateful for it.
My gaze dropped to where we were joined, a sight so primal it sent a jolt of pure lust straight through me. I wanted to touch her there again, to feel her clit swell under my thumb as I moved inside her.
But a darker, more possessive thought took hold. I wanted to see her do it. I wanted to watch this powerful, controlled woman make herself come on my cock.
I cupped her heavy breasts in my hands, the weight of them a perfect, decadent handful. My thumbs brushed her nipples again as I looked up into her dazed, lust-hooded eyes.
“You touch yourself,” I said. “Show me how you like it. Make yourself come for me.”
Her eyes widened in brief, startled surprise. A blush spread across her chest, a beautiful stain of heat. For a heartbeat, I thought she might refuse, the professional woman reasserting herself. But then, her gaze never leaving mine, her hand slidfrom my shoulder to her body, moving down her stomach and toward that tight, wet pussy.
Her fingers found her clit, and a low, guttural moan ripped from her throat. The sound, the sight—were my undoing. My control frayed another critical inch. I could feel the tension coiling deep in my gut, a spring wound too tight.
I leaned forward and took one taut nipple into my mouth, licking and sucking as she began to move above me. Her hips established a slow, rolling rhythm, and the soft, wet, slick sounds of our joining filled the car. The lewd soundtrack threatened to drive me over the edge.
I alternated between her breasts, lavishing attention on each nipple, trying to shut out the irresistible sight of her hand working her own clit in frantic circles, of her face contorted in a mask of pleasure. But I couldn’t. It was all I could see, all I could feel.
“That’s it,” I growled, my voice thick. “Look at you. So fucking sexy when you’re desperate. You feel that? That’s my cock. And you’re going to come all over it.”
Her breathing hitched, becoming sharp, frantic little pants. “Kyle…I’m…oh god, I’m so close…”
“Come for me, Avery,” I commanded, my own climax a live wire sparking at the base of my spine. I could feel the pressure building, a tidal wave gathering force. “Let go. I want to feel you come. Squeeze my cock with that perfect, tight pussy. Do it.”
