I step between her legs, my body pressing against hers. I look down at her, at the woman who has invaded my thoughts, my dreams. My life.
I reach for the hem of her sweater. She raises her arms above her head, allowing me to pull it off.
She's wearing a simple bra underneath. Nothing fancy. But on her, it's the most erotic thing I've ever seen.
My gaze traces the line of her collarbone, the swell of her breasts, the flat plane of her stomach.
I want to memorize every inch of her. To worship her with my hands, my mouth.
My hands find the waistband of her jeans. The sound of the zipper loud in the quiet room.
My gaze never leaves hers as I slide them down her hips along with her panties.
I am a man who takes what he wants. And I want her.
Her hands are on my chest again, but this time they are not resting. They are pushing. Not away. Under my jacket, seeking the heat of my skin. Her touch is a brand.
I capture her lips again, a kiss that is meant to punish and to praise.
Her fingers fumble with the buttons of my shirt. I'm not helping her. I'm letting her do it. Letting her undress me.
My jacket falls to the floor. Then my shirt. Her hands explore my chest, my shoulders, my back.
I reach behind her and unhook her bra. It falls away, and I have to stop. Just look at her.
Perfect.
I dip my head and take a nipple in my mouth. She arches against me, her fingers digging into my shoulders. Her breathhitches on a sob of pleasure.
I move to the other breast, giving it the same attention.
Her hands are on my belt now, undoing the buckle. Then the button of my trousers.
My control is gone. Shattered. Now there is only need.
I pull her to the edge of the desk, my hands gripping her hips. I enter her in one smooth stroke.
She cries out, her head falling back.
I'm still for a moment, buried inside her. This feeling. This rightness. I've never felt it with anyone else.
She moves her hips, a silent plea for more.
I give her what she wants. I give her what we both need.
My movements are hard, fast. Taking. Claiming.
The desk rocks with each thrust. The papers on the floor are forgotten. The world outside this room is forgotten.
There is only us. Only this moment.
Only the heat, the friction, the desperate need for more.
Her hands are everywhere. On my back, my chest, tangled in my hair.
Her name is a prayer on my lips. A curse.
I feel her tightening around me, her body arching as she shoots up and over the edge quickly. She calls out my name, nearly dragging me over with her, but I hold out. Gritting my teeth, I keep moving, thrusting into her over and over.
