"I guarantee Roman has the same thoughts about his fiancée as I have about you. Except, unlike him, I have a private office here that I intend to use thoroughly."
We enter his office, and Damien slams the door loudly, walking with me in his arms toward the couch.
I see my heels left by Damien's chair, but I forget about them when my husband sits down with me in his lap on the couch.
His hand goes into my hair, and I can't help but kiss him. He tastes like whiskey, leather, and musk—a taste I've apparently become addicted to, because there's nothing reserved about the way I consume him right now.
A guttural sound escapes Damien when my hand positions itself on his neck and I deepen the kiss.
His erection presses against my center, and because I remember he hid the whole Marco story from me, I decide a little torture will be good as a lesson.
I start moving my hips, and when I find a rhythm that satisfies me, I put all my ambition into maintaining it. I know my underwear is soaked and it would be so easy to satisfy this need, but no.
"Roxanne, I need to be inside you and I need to do it now," he tells me, almost breathless, with dark eyes.
A smile takes over my entire face and without taking my eyes off him, I speed up my movements. I'm so close, so close, and I know he sees it by the way he clenches his jaw.
"You're not going to come on my jeans, Roxanne," he tells me through gritted teeth, but I don't think he realizes his hands are gripping me harder, following the rhythm I set, actually helping me grind against him.
Because no matter how conflicted he is, no matter what threats he makes, his body will always choose my pleasure before his own.
I feel my back growing slightly sweaty beneath my dress, feel my thighs starting to tremble with the effort and the building pleasure. The pulsations start becoming more and more accelerated, my breathing turning ragged.
I bring my lips close to his, hovering just out of reach.
"Next time you keep a secret," I whisper against his mouth, "remember how it feels to watch me like this when you could be inside me right now, feeling me squeeze you."
His eyes gain a gleam, satisfaction.
"Oh, baby, you think this is punishment?" he asks, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that makes my stomach flip. "Let me help you."
Before I can respond, before I can process what he means, two of his fingers push the soaked fabric of my underwear aside and penetrate me in the same rhythm I set. Deep and sure and exactly where I need him.
My mouth opens involuntarily and a sharp gasp escapes between my teeth. The sudden fullness, the way his fingers curl to hit that perfect spot, steals whatever smart retort I had prepared.
"This is torture," he tells me, his voice rough and strained. "Feeling my fingers inside you, feeling how warm you are, how fucking wet you are for me, and not being able to do anything else. You want me to come in my jeans for you? Want to feel me lose control?"
His fingers don't stop for even a second, pumping in and out with practiced precision. And I don't make any move to stop himeither, don't even pretend to resist, because I'm right there. So close I can taste it.
"Yes," I answer with an innocent smile.
His mouth captures mine, and I don't even know my own name anymore when his tongue makes contact with mine.
Within moments we're both breathing hard, and my body starts trembling when the orgasm hits me suddenly.
When I manage to catch my breath, I look down at the wet spot on his jeans and his satisfied smile.
"Happy?" he asks.
"A little," I answer, but my smile says otherwise.
"Just a little? Hmm, that won't do. What do I need to do to make you completely happy?"
"I have a few ideas that involve your desk," I answer, laughing, and for a split second this happiness scares me.
Because I'm not used to feeling this much warmth in my chest, feeling like I could explode with love. But all I can do is pray this isn't the calm before the storm.
Chapter 55
