“You’re too careful,” I mumble. “If you want to sign clients, you need to give them an offer they can’t refuse.”
“Maybe that’s why Dylan’s biting my head off. I haven’t met my quota.” Damon shifts in his seat as he laughs. His throat bobs when he does, and damn. I want to lick it. I want to lick every inch of his skin.Again.“I think I’m one of the more under-performing agents in the company right now.” He flashes me a grin. “I lost three clients recently. One retired, and the other decided to go with another agent. The other one was reassigned to you.”
“Hey!” I retort, pushing him. “It’s not like I poached him! Perez came to me.”
“All right, all right,” he says, smirking.
I pout. “Why do you always act like you hate me?”
Damon smirks. He fuckingsmirks. “There you go saying I hate you again. Did it seem like I hated you when I sucked your dick last night?”
My mouth snaps open.
And I know we both said last night that it wasn’t going to happen again, but when he says shit like that—well, fuck, I simply don’t have the willpower. Like last night, we both move at the same time. I grab the stupid banana bread from his hand and toss it aside, and Damon grabs me by the front of my shirt. He yanks me toward him, then it’s hands flying everywhere and clothes getting thrown around.
“I don’t hate you,” he says. His hands are warm against my face, and he holds me in place as he speaks, his breath warm against my mouth. “I don’t agree with your methods, but I don’t hate you. Besides, your clients love you. Maybe I was just angry about being proved wrong.”
He needs to stop sweet-talking me. It’s going to make me catchfeelings.
As if I haven’t already.
“Fuck me,” I snap, because that’s always the easier thing to say. Distract me, make me come, order me around. Make me forget what a lonely asshole I am.
And even if I don’t say those words out loud, Damon gives it all to me as if he heard them anyway. I’m about to get on my knees—which is how we’ve always done it—when Damon lets out a sigh.
“Can’t I see your face this time?” he asks.
My heart falls into pieces. I swear it does. I blink at him slowly, my face heating up.
“Or not,” he says, shrugging a shoulder. “We can do it your way.”
I run a hand up his arm, fingers drifting over taut muscles. His eyes widen when I grasp his hair and pull him to me, leaning back, my chest to his chest. Not on my knees. “Should probably switch it up, anyway,” I say. It’s a lame excuse, but who cares?
Certainly not Damon because a huge smile covers his face as if I just said something way more romantic. He laughs as he crawls over me and pushes me back by the shoulder, my back hitting the mattress.
He watches me as he fucks me, eyes studying me too closely. The intensity in his eyes rattles me. It’s not unpleasant, but it’s a kind of ache that itches at the loneliness in me. I can’t bear the way he looks at me, so I close my eyes tight.
“No. Look at me,” he says sternly, grasping my jaw. His thrusts slow down, and I let out a cry as he stops pegging that spot inside me. He starts to pull out and an unreasonable, panicked part of me cries out, and I grab him by the hips.
I pull him closer, pushing my hips against his and taking him deeper. I make a sound that I swear isn’t a whimper. I fucking swear it isn’t.
“Look at me,” he says again, much softer this time.
And I do. Slowly, I open my eyes and meet his. My breath catches in my throat, and heat radiates in my chest when Damon gives me a warm, wide smile. God, he’s so fucking hot. And so sweet. And protective, and caring, and—he’s probably a good kisser. I can practically feel myself getting worked up about it. I want to know how he kisses. I want it.
But that’s a line I can’t cross.
“Move faster,” I demand instead, and he lets out a startled laugh.
He starts thrusting in a more intense pace, dragging his cock in me. I let out a loud groan and throw my head back.
It doesn’t take long for his movements to become more erratic. As evidence has shown, I’m not above begging, and that’s exactlywhat I do. I’m practically sobbing as I ask him to touch me, and he doesn’t hesitate. Damon wraps his fingers around me.
He comes groaning my name, stroking me, and I choke on a moan as I follow him soon after. Damon pants, slowing down, his eyes drifting down my torso to the sticky mess I made on my chest and stomach.
He’s about to get off to get something to clean us both up—I know because he does the same thing every time—when I make a disgruntled sound and yank him down beside me. He yelps, falling on his back, and I lay a palm flat on his chest.
“Relax,” I tell him. “It’s just a little mess. It can wait.”
