I wasn’t expecting her to say that.
I had been losing my mind for the last couple of hours, knowing she was meeting my friend, Jennifer, about her case. I was worried mostly because of her divorce case, and… because Paige was wearing a tight pencil skirt and a silk blouse that hugged her tits perfectly.
Having her in my lap, kissing me and grinding on my growing bulge made me lose my goddamn mind.
Her thighs were spread over mine, grinding slowly while we devoured each other’s mouths. My tie was already loose, and her fingers were buried in my hair, tugging hard enough to make me growl into her hot mouth.
The air in my office felt heavy with lust and tension as we kept making out like we were teenagers.
Every roll of her hips dragged her wet heat right across my cock, and I was two seconds from ripping the seam of her skirt.
“Up,” I said, standing up. Her legs wrapped around me, and I lifted her with ease, like she weighed nothing.
One sweep of my arm sent files, pens, and a crystal paperweight crashing to the carpet. I would take care of it later. I had far more important things in mind.
I set her ass on the edge of the mahogany desk and stepped between her legs.
“Did you lock the door?” I whispered against her throat, kissing her pulse.
“Yes,” she breathed, yanking my tie off and attacking my belt. The metal clinked, and I took a sharp breath when she lowered the zipper.
Her hazel eyes were hooded and cheeks flushed when she slipped her hand inside my boxers. I cursed when she wrapped her palm around me and pumped me slowly in a way that made my vision blur.
My hand tightened on the desk as I swore, “Fuck, Paige.”
“I didn’t know you’d be so—oh, fucking thankful,” I whispered, my voice low and smoky.
“No?” She smirked, and she looked so gorgeous and wonderful, I could have come in my pants right then and there.
“No.”
Her eyes went dark as she licked her lips and said, “Then let me show you exactly how grateful I am, Mister Peterson.”
Fucking hell.
I couldn’t hold back. I shoved her skirt up to her waist and hooked my finger on the lace of her panties and dragged it aside.
She was drenched and glistening. Yanking my dick out of its constraints, I gave myself two lazy pumps before pushing at her swollen entrance. She was so fucking slick and ready that I drove in with one slow thrust.
We both groaned because it wasn’t slow and gentle like that night. No, this was raw and desperate sex. Not even sex. Just fucking. With her legs locked around my hips, heels digging into my ass and urging me deeper.
The desk rocked beneath us, with wood creaking and drawers rattling. I gripped her thighs hard enough to bruise and pounded into her like I was trying to brand myself inside her body.
I wished I fucking could.
But she had scolded me for the hickey on her neck, and I had promised her I would behave.
“Harder,” she gasped, nails raking down my back through my shirt. “Please, Derek, fuck me harder.”
How the fuck could I not oblige?
I pulled out just to roll her over. Her palms slapped on the desk when I bent her over with her perfect ass in the air. With a gentle hand, I curled my fingers in her hair as I guided my cock back home. I slammed in again, deeper this time, and watched her take every inch like she was made for it.
Paige cried out loud, and it was filthy as fuck. My palm clamped over her mouth, muffling her moans.
“Shh, Paige. The whole floor’s gonna know I’m balls-deep in this sweet pussy if you don’t quiet down,” I growled, keeping my pace steady. I didn’t slow down. If anything, I fucked her harder with my hips snapping as the wet squelches and skin slapping echoed in my office.
My free hand snaked beneath her, fingers finding her clit and rubbing tight and fast circles.
