His tongue curled around my head.
Then a forefinger slipped past my pucker.
“Oh, fuck,” I said, my head banging against the door.
He pushed deeper inside me.
My body resisted at first. Then muscle memory took over, and my ass relaxed, giving him permission to do his worst.
I felt his knuckle slip in.
Then the rest of his finger.
He pulled out . . . slowly . . . then slid in again.
“Bloody damn fucking hell.”
His chuckle was muffled but unmistakable.
Then a second finger joined the first, and words fled.
I released his hair and reached back, searching for purchase or anything to grip, but the door was bare. There was nothing to grab.
Chase’s head bobbed. His finger slid in and out.
My back arched.
“God, I want you to fuck me.”
Dick in mouth, fingers in ass, Chase froze.
I clamped my lips shut, eyes wide.
He looked up and let my cock fall free.
“You want me to fuck you?”
I didn’t think. Couldn’t. “Yes. God, yes.”
“In this office? With all those people out there?”
“Are you going to make me beg?”
Chase smirked again.
I nearly yelped as his fingers slid out. He pressed his palms against the door and pushed himself upright. His hands gripped both sides of my face, and our lips met again. This time, the kiss was tender and soft, more emotion than act. I felt its warmth travel through every artery and vein, a river of passionflooding through me. I feltChaseflood through me.
Then he pulled our lips apart, stared into my eyes, and said, “No.”
I was stunned.
Utterly, completely stunned.
“No?”
“No.” He shook his head. When he spoke again, his voice was low but no longer raspy. Heat had been replaced with something more raw, more honest. “Finn, I’ve had my share of hookups. I’m not too good to sleep around. But you . . . you’re not a hookup.”
“I’m not?”
