His finger drifts back and forth along my neckline, skimming over the top of my breasts. I feel myself get wet from his faint touch. Begging him for more, I push my chest out, but he still won’t give it to me.
Rory’s relentless teasing is going to be my undoing.
I groan in frustration, and Rory pulls his head back an inch. “Tell me what you need, Dream Girl. Say it and it’s yours.”
I can’t make the words come out of my mouth.
I hate that expressing my wants and needs is so difficult. I hate that sharing those things puts me in a vulnerable position. It opens me up to being rejected and judged.
“Hey,” Rory uses his hand to lift my chin, directing my gaze to his. “You can trust me. Let me take care of you.”
Trust is earned. People are supposed to work for it.
But with Rory, something in my soul tells me that I really can trust him, that I’m safe here. It’s abnormal for me, but I want to exist in this feeling.
My eyes dart to the window next to us, and Rory follows my glance.
“It’s a two-way mirror. No one can see in,” he explains before I can ask my question.
Gathering my courage, I give him my honest, vulnerable words. “I need you to make me feel good. Please.”
Rory’s smug satisfaction radiates from him. “Your wish is my command, Baby.”
He bends his knees, grabs me by my hips, and lifts me onto a clear spot on the desk. I yelp in surprise and grasp his shoulders for balance. He doesn’t strain to pick me up, and I find that I like him being able to manhandle me.
My knees spread as Rory steps in between my legs, which pushes the hem of my dress all the way up to my hips, and I kick off my heels to get a little more comfortable. He places his hands on my thighs and slides them up as he stares at my center. The coverage from my red lacy thong is minimal, making me blush, but Rory seems to be entranced by the sight. I only hope he can’t see how wet I am from the little we’ve done.
“So perfect,” he whispers reverently.
I squirm, needing more.
Rory drops down to his knees and plants a kiss on the inside of my knee. Then he trails his lips up my inner thigh. When he gets to my center, he drags his nose over the little slip of fabric covering my pussy, inhaling.
“Fuck, you smell like heaven.”
I whimper from his brief touch and attempt to close my legs, but his wide shoulders prevent me.
Rory pushes my dress up higher, exposing the thin straps of my thong. He kisses his way to my hips, then nips me, snagging the material between his teeth. I lift my hips, allowing him to drag my panties down my legs. Instead of tossing them to the side, he stuffs the red lace in his pocket.
The cool breeze against my warm center sends a chill through me that’s both nerve-racking and enticing.
When Rory’s eyes meet my exposed flesh, he groans deeply. “I need a taste, Savannah.” He doesn’t wait for me to respond as he shoves his face at the apex of my thighs. His tongue traces over my slit, forcing a moan from my throat.
With his hands, he pushes my legs wider as his tongue dips between my folds and licks at my opening. Then he glides up to my clit, circling it.
“I need you dripping on my desk, Dream Girl. I want to smell you in this room for days.” His dirty words ratchet up my desire.
“Oh my—” Another swipe of his tongue cuts me off, and I almost choke on my words, quite literally.
Rory feasts on my pussy like a starving man. His moans vibrate his tongue, making me cry out in pleasure. Pretty soon, a heat builds low in my belly, and I feel it begin to consume me.
I’ve orgasmed before. But self-induced orgasms are different from those given by a man worshipping my body.
Every muscle in my body locks up and tightens, and my thighs wrap around Rory’s head as I fall over the cliff into a euphoric abyss.
Rory’s tongue slows, guiding me through my orgasm. When I’m finally able to relax, I collapse backward onto my elbows.
Any attempt to catch my breath at this point would be futile. I don’t know if my heart will ever return to a normal rate.
