“Avery.” His voice dropped low, rough, charged. “What are you really asking for?”
I lifted my eyes to him, lashes heavy. “I’m asking you to show me the Christmas decorations in your office, Mr. Ashbrook. Is that a problem?”
“Not even a little.” His fingers intertwined with mine, and he tugged me toward the door. “Come on, Mrs. Ashbrook. Let me show you just how festive my office is.”
We passed the break room and the developer desks, my senses sharpened to the heat between us. The door closed behind us with a soft click, locking out the rest of the world.
The decorations were pretty—white lights along the windows, a small tree in the corner—but I wasn’t looking at them. I was looking at him. At the way he was watching me. And I knew, without a single word, we were thinking the exact same thing.
“So,” he murmured, stepping closer, the air thick around us. “What do you think?”
I traced my hand to his belt. “I think we should test how sturdy your desk is.”
His breath hitched, a sharp, ragged sound that was pure music. My fingers made quick work of the buckle, the metallicclink stark in the quiet room. I dragged the zipper down, the sound rough and promising, and pushed his trousers and boxers over his hips. They fell to his ankles as I sank to my knees.
The first touch of my tongue made his entire body jolt. I licked a slow, teasing line from root to tip before taking him deep into my mouth, my lips stretching to accommodate him. He groaned—a low, guttural sound of pure pleasure—and his hand settled on that Santa hat on my head.
I loved that sound—the one that told me I had obliterated his control. My own pulse was a wild drum in my ears, competing with the soft, wet sounds of my mouth on him and the low, guttural moans he couldn’t suppress.
“God, Avery,” he rasped, his voice strained. “You look so fucking hot in that hat.”
I stared up at him through my lashes, my movements never slowing, taking him deep until he groaned again.
“I want to see you in it,” he panted, “and nothing else. Just the hat.”
A slow smile spread across my lips. I released him with a soft pop and rose on trembling legs. His eyes, dark and heavy with lust, devoured me as I reached for the hem of my dress. I pulled it over my head in one slow, deliberate motion, letting it fall to the plush carpet.
His gaze was a physical caress as I unclasped my bra, letting it join the dress, and then hooked my thumbs into the sides of my panties, sliding them down my hips. I stood before him, completely bare save for the ridiculous red velvet hat, my pregnant belly a smooth curve between us.
His dick twitched, standing proud and eager against his stomach. The raw hunger in his eyes was a potent aphrodisiac.
Then, with a boldness that still surprised me, I turned and hopped up onto his massive oak desk, the cool surface a shockagainst my heated skin. I crossed my legs, a picture of feigned nonchalance.
“Your turn,” I challenged, my voice husky. “I want to watch you.”
A slow, wicked grin spread across his face as he obeyed, shucking his sweater and shirt in quick, efficient movements. His chest was a masterpiece of sculpted muscle and dark ink—a testament to the power that lay coiled beneath his skin. He toed off his shoes, shoved his pants and boxers down his powerful legs, and kicked them aside, never breaking eye contact.
As he stood gloriously naked before me, I let one hand drift up. I lazily ran a fingertip over one peaked nipple, then the other, watching his jaw tighten. A low growl rumbled in his chest. Emboldened, I slowly, slowly parted my knees. I let my hand trail down over the extreme curve of my belly and settled my fingers on my clit.
I closed my eyes, savoring the electric sensation, the building pressure. I knew he was watching, could feel the intensity of his gaze like a brand. I also knew the sight of me touching myself, so exposed and wanting, was making him even harder.
I felt him approach—a shift in the air, a wave of his heat. My eyes popped open just as he reached the desk.
“Here,” he whispered, his voice rough with need. “Let me finish that for you.”
His hands were on my thighs, strong and sure, parting them further as he knelt between them. He didn’t hesitate. He lowered his head, and his tongue found me—a slow, languid stroke that made me cry out. I slapped a hand over my own mouth, muffling the sound.
He chuckled against me, the vibration exquisite, before setting a relentless, devastating rhythm. His tongue was a wicked instrument of pleasure, licking and sucking until I wasclutching at his hair, my hips bucking against his face. I was panting, little desperate gasps that I tried to swallow.
The world narrowed to the feel of his mouth on me, the scent of our shared arousal, and the frantic need coiling tight in my core. When I came, it was with a silent, shuddering scream, my body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed over me.
I was still floating, boneless and spent, when he stood. He loomed over me, his expression one of pure, male satisfaction. He gripped my hips, pulling me to the very edge of the desk.
“You’re so beautiful when you come,” he breathed, and then he was sliding into me, filling me in one deep, perfect thrust.
A broken moan escaped my lips. He leaned over me, one hand braced on the desk by my head, the other finding my sensitive clit again, his thumb circling with just the right pressure.
“I don’t think I can…” I whimpered, but the words died in my throat.
