“Asshole,” I whimper against his lips.
He pulls back enough to meet my gaze, but still close enough to feel his breath against my lips. “And here I was, thinking youlikedit when I was mean to you,” he rasps. He closes the distance just long enough to nip at my lower lip, dragging his teeth over it before he pulls back again. “It riled you up enough to send those texts, did it not?”
“That was anaccident?—”
“It got you to send me that fuckingscandalousphoto of you in your room,” he interrupts, his eyes darkening as his gaze lingers over the lingerie again. “That wasn’t an accident, April.”
I swallow. “No. It wasn’t.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he says, his thumb stroking again, a little closer, so close it makes me whimper. I can feel the exact moment he’s no longer just touching skin, butgliding. I know damn well he’s felt exactly what he does to me. His breath catches just a little, but it’s enough for me to notice. “I’m pretty sure the day you sent those first texts; I’d walked in on you staring off into space after I’d explicitly told you to rewrite your draft.” His hand leaves the back of my neck and hooks on the front of my corset, right beside the metal clasps. “What were you thinking about when I walked in?” My hand flies to the front of his shirt, grasping at the fabric like it’ll stop him.
“Were you imagining what you so eloquently wrote out in your texts?” he asks, smirking down at me before he lowers his mouth to my ear. The heat of his breath makes me shiver. “Were you playing out exactly what I ended up giving you?”
“No,” I say, the lie coming too quickly, too easily.
“I think you’re lying to me, princess,” he murmurs. He brushes his thumb along the mesh gusset of my thong, directly over the place I’m aching for him to touch. I’mdripping, and the whine it pulls from me is so needy that I hate myself for it. “You’re averybad liar,” he says.
Abruptly, he pulls hard at the front of my corset. The metal gives too easily, and it breaks open. I wince because I don’t know if pieces will go flying and because mybreastsare on full display. Oh mygod, oh my god, this is real?—
“Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck.”
He kisses me again, but it’s different this time, almost frustrated in its ferocity. His thumb strokes me while his other hand tugs on what's left of the broken corset, pulling the stiff boning and sheer panels out from under me. He cups my left breast, then squeezes gently. I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’tfocus on what would be such minimal stimulation from anyone else. From him, it feels like too much, like it’s everything at once.
He breaks our kiss, nudging my chin with his nose, and I tilt my head back, my neck arching to give him what he’s asking for. Teeth scrape against the sensitive spot beneath my ear, and it’s as though a bolt of lightning rushes through me. Reminding me that I, too, have hands that can do things and can give myself the things I’ve been craving.
Starting withseeinghim.
My clumsy fingers work at his shirt buttons. The temptation to just rip it off of him, as he did to me, is right there. I don’t share the same flippancy with money as he does, and I knowexactlyhow much his Voss & Bartley shirt costs to produce, so I don’t.
I undo them one by one, and he makes approving noises, rewarding me by rubbing his thumbs against my nipple or thong. When I pull the tails from where they’re tucked into his slacks, he closes his mouth over the peak of my breast and with his teeth pulls the garment off entirely.
My god. His chest. He’s strong, ridiculously strong. Obviously, I knew he was built, but this is different. I run my hands over his pecs and arms.Christ, it’s like he’s built to tempt me. He’s a torture device for me specifically. The coarse silver hair that dusts his chest, leading down to the V of his hips and disappearing beneath his belt, makes me moan with anticipation. Or maybe it’s the way his tongue swirlsjust rightover my nipple.
“You’re staring,” he murmurs, smug and smirking. His breath fans across my breast.
“Shut up,” I say. “You were staring, too.”
His free hand rises, palm forward, in surrender. “Touché.”
He doesn’t give me time to relish in that small victory. He trails his thumb over the gusset of my thong, hooking on theedge of the fabric and peeling it an inch away from my damp skin. He’ssoclose,so?—
“Did you like how I touched you before?”
My response is a single puff of air, broken and breathy. “Yes.”
His fingers slip beneath the soaked cotton, gently spreading, and I nearly lose my mind the moment one sinksbetweenmy lips, gliding over my clit with wicked, easy precision. “I can make you feel so muchbetterthan I did in my office.” His teeth nip once at my nipple, but it’s enough to draw a shaking gasp from me.
Yes. Please.
His fingers sink lower, reaching my entrance. I’m absolutely positive he slipstwofingers inside me. The sensation is overwhelming and sends me right back to his desk, when my skirt was hiked and his fingers were inside me. It makes my head spin, and I know damn well that he’s only just getting started.
“Look at you,” he murmurs against my breast. His voice is thick with satisfaction. “Still so ready for me. Do I turn you on that much?” I want to snap back with something witty, something that’ll put me back in control, but all I can manage is a breathy moan when his thumb circles my clitjust right. My back arches and forces my body closer to his. His fingers curl inside me, hitting the spot that makes me whine.
It’s as if his touch alone makes me lose all goddamn sense.
“Anthony,” I whimper, my nails digging into his shoulders, my heart beating out of my chest.
“Hmm?” he hums against my skin, lifting his head just enough to meet my gaze. The tease sparkles in his eyes before it even leaves his mouth. “What is it, princess? Too much for you? Want me to stop?”
