I chuckle, pressing into her so hard that she jerks on the table. "I'm trying," I say.
"Let me come, Saint." She tightens around me, and I want to finish her, so I can finish myself. But we have business to conclude before we can get to the rest of the pleasure.
I grin. "Tell me about the warehouse."
"You're insane."
I pull out, thrusting in slowly.
"You love it."
She does. I can feel it in the way she's gripping me, the way her breath comes faster when I make her work for it.
This has been our routine since we started this. Planning operations. Executing them. Fucking each other senseless in every available location—my office, our bedroom, the back of the car, against the wall in the hallway when we couldn't wait to get to a room.
She even let me fuck her in a dressing room as I watched her shop for lingerie.
It's been the best month of my life, sex wise. And honestly, business wise as well. We've enjoyed a fruitful partnership.
Adrian is paranoid and desperate. The Neros are hemorrhaging money and credibility. And I have a partner who's brilliant, ruthless, and takes my cock like she was made for it.
"The warehouse," I prompt, still moving inside her. Slow. Torturous.
"Single floor. High ceilings. Shipping containers, fuck, Saint, please." She's practically howling. I've edged her so well, I know I just need to hit one small spot, and she'll explode.
"Please what?"
"Let me come. I'll tell you anything." I look up at the mirror. Tears are shining in her eyes.
"I know you will." I grip her hips, start moving her faster. Harder. But not giving her what she needs. "But I want to hear about the security first."
She releases a sob, but she continues. "Motion sensors on the main floor. But the office level—" She's close. I can feel her fluttering as she tries to hold off. "Office level is clear after midnight."
"Good girl." I thrust up hard, angle changed to hit that spot that makes her scream. I add a finger to her back passage, something I've learned she enjoys, and she howls. "Come."
She does, clenching around me, crying out my name. I follow seconds later, spilling inside her with a groan.
We sit there for a moment, both breathing hard. Her forehead rests against the desk, and I press a kiss against her throat before pulling out.
"You're an asshole," she says, but there's no heat in it. Her muscles shake.
"You're the one who came to my office wearing that dress."
"You texted me to come here."
"Didn't tell you to wear this." I run my hands up her thighs, bringing the silky fabric with me. "Practically an invitation."
She grabs tissues from my desk and cleans herself up while I tuck myself back in.
"So, Tuesday night?" she asks, pulling her dress down. It's all silk and lace, making her look like a virgin sacrifice. The sight immediately got me hard when she walked inside, and even now, I want to get on my knees and worship her flesh.
"Tuesday night." I stand, move around the desk.
"I want to come."
"No."
We've been over this. And over it. And over it. And frankly, I'm getting fucking annoyed by it.
