"Then here's what's going to happen." His fingers find my zipper, drag it down tooth by tooth, the sound obscene in the quiet loft. "I'm going to fuck you against every surface in this place. You're going to take everything I give you. And you'regoing to be loud about it so I know exactly how good I'm making you feel."
"Oh god."
"Is that a yes?"
"Yes. Yes, please, yes."
The dress pools at my feet. His hands skim my sides, barely touching, raising goosebumps everywhere.
"Look at you." He turns me to face him, eyes raking over my body in the plain cotton underwear that definitely doesn't match. "So fucking perfect."
"Holt—"
"No." His hand wraps around my throat, not squeezing, just holding, and my knees go liquid. "You don't talk unless I tell you to. Understand?"
I nod.
"Words, baby."
"I understand."
"Good." His thumb strokes the pulse hammering in my throat. "Color?"
"Green. So green."
He walks me backward until my legs hit the couch. "Turn around. Hands on the arm."
I do as he says, bending over the arm of the couch, and hear him moving behind me. The distinctive click of the prosthetic's release mechanism, then him setting it carefully against the wall. When his weight settles behind me, it's different—he braces himself with one hand on my hip, the other running up my inner thigh.
"This okay?" He asks quietly, and I understand he's asking about more than just the position.
"Yes. God, yes. All of you, any way you want."
His fingers hook in my underwear, dragging them down slowly. The first touch of his fingers between my legs makes us both groan.
"Fuck, you're soaked." He slides two fingers in without warning and my arms give out. "Been thinking about this?"
"Yes."
"How long?"
"Weeks. Since—ah—since that first night."
"Me too." He adds a third finger and the stretch burns perfect. "Thought about bending you over the hood of every car in the shop. Thought about you on your knees in the supply closet. Thought about waking you up with my mouth between your legs."
He pulls his fingers out and I actually whine, but then he's lowering himself carefully, gripping the couch for balance, and his mouth—fuck. He licks into me like he's been starving for this, tongue everywhere at once, then sucks my clit between his teeth hard enough to make my legs shake.
"Holt, I can't—"
"You can. You will."
He holds me still when I try to squirm away from the intensity, makes me take it, his tongue relentless until I'm coming with his name torn from my throat. He doesn't stop, keeps going until I come again, until my legs won't hold me.
He pulls himself up, and I hear his zipper. "Still green?"
"Yes, god yes."
"Look at me."
