“Fuck,” I breathe against her mouth, “I’ve missed you.”
“Show me,” she demands, her voice rough with need. “Show me how much.”
I don’t need to be told twice. My mouth trails down her throat, finding the spot that makes her arch against me with a soft cry. Her hands tangle in my hair, holding me against her as I work my way lower, tasting the salt of her skin.
She fumbles with the hem of my shirt, pulling it up and over my head with impatient efficiency. Her palms flatten against my chest, fingernails scraping lightly over old scars in a way that sends fire straight to my cock.
“Bed,” I growl against her collarbone. “Now.”
But she shakes her head, pressing me back against the opposite wall with surprising strength. “Here. Right here.”
Before I can ask what she means, she’s dropping to her knees in front of me, her hands already working at the fastenings of my pants.
“Lithia—”
“Shut up,” she says, looking up at me with eyes gone dark with lust. “I need this.”
Who am I to deny a lady her desires?
My brain shorts out as she frees my cock from my pants, wrapping her fingers around my length with a grip that’s firm and sure. The first stroke nearly brings me to my knees, the pleasure so intense it borders on pain.
“Fuck,” I gasp, my head falling back against the wall.
She smiles—actually smiles—and leans forward to run her tongue along the underside of my shaft from base to tip. The sensation is indescribable, wet heat and soft pressure that has my vision blurring at the edges.
When she takes me into her mouth, I nearly come on the spot.
My hands find her face immediately, palms cupping her cheeks as she works. One thumb traces the sharp line of her cheekbone while the other smooths over the bristled softness of her shaved scalp. The sensation is new, intimate—nothing between my touch and her skin, no hair to hide behind.
She’s not tentative or careful—she takes me deep, her tongue working against me with devastating skill while her hand strokes what she can’t fit. It’s too much and not nearly enough, pleasure building at the base of my spine with alarming speed.
“Eyes on me,” I growl, my voice rough with need. “I need to see you. Need you to see me.”
Her pale blue gaze flicks up to meet mine, and the sight of her—lips stretched around my cock, eyes burning with determination and desire—nearly destroys what’s left of my control.
“That’s it,” I breathe, my thumbs stroking over her cheeks. “Fuck, you’re perfect. So fucking perfect.”
My grip tightens slightly, not controlling but grounding, needing the connection as much as the pleasure.
“Lithia, I’m—fuck, if you don’t stop I’m going to?—”
She pulls back just long enough to look at me, her lipsswollen and slick. “Good,” she says simply, then takes me deeper than before.
The orgasm hits like a freight train, pleasure exploding through every nerve ending as I come hard in her mouth. She doesn’t pull away, doesn’t flinch, just takes everything I give her with the same fierce determination she applies to everything else.
When the last tremors fade, she sits back on her heels, licking her lips with a satisfaction that nearly has me hard again already.
“Now,” she says, rising gracefully to her feet, “we’re even.”
Before I can form a coherent response, she’s straightening her clothes and moving toward the door.
“Wait,” I manage, still struggling to think past the haze of post-orgasmic bliss. “Where are you going?”
“Back to my quarters.” She pauses with her hand on the door handle. “I have early meetings tomorrow.”
“That’s it? You’re just leaving?”
She turns back to face me, a devilish expression on her face. “Yep.”
