I slide my other hand over my skin, the way I imagine him doing it, slowly, torturing me. I touch my breast, roll my nipple between my fingers, and moan, long and low.
My hips roll against my own hand as I circle my clit faster.
"Yes," I whisper to the empty room.
I know it's wrong. I know I shouldn't be doing this.
It's so damn unprofessional.
But I am desperate.
And it feels so good.
I push two fingers inside myself, imagining it's him. Imagining his long, elegant fingers stretching me, filling me.
I slide them in and out, faster and faster.
My other hand pinches my nipple, harder this time, and I cry out.
I am so close, but my fingers aren't his fingers. They aren't long enough or thick enough.
It isn't enough.
It's not enough to get me there.
I pull my fingers out of myself and continue rubbing my clit, the ache in me so sharp and intense it's making my teeth ache.
I need to come.
I need this to stop.
I need it to be over.
I close my eyes and conjure him again. His dark, knowing eyes. The shape of his mouth. The way he smells.
His lips move down my neck, and he bites me.
Not hard enough to break the skin, just enough to leave a mark. Just enough to make me gasp.
"I am going to eat you for breakfast, Ms. Murray," he whispers in my ear. "And then I am going to do it again for lunch."
Then his dark head is between my thighs, and I am on the verge of coming.
His tongue is flat and hot against my clit while I'm splayed out on his desk, completely naked. My legs are spread, and he's watching me with those eyes that seem to see everything.
He licks me with long, slow strokes, and I know I am not going to last.
I am not going to be able to stop myself.
I am going to come all over his face.
I push my hips up, grinding against my own hand.
"Don't stop," I beg into the darkness of my bedroom, my voice breathy and desperate. "Oh, Mario. Yes. Just like that."
He chuckles, the vibration of it against me sending a new wave of pleasure through me.
He closes his lips around my clit and sucks, hard.
