“Spread your legs for me. Let me show you just how badly I want you.”
I opened for him without thinking. He slid a second finger inside, stretching me. I cried out, clutching the back of his neck as my hips bucked into his hand. He curled his fingers deep, stroking that perfect spot until my vision blurred at the edges.
Then a melody started playing.
Pleasure still fogged my brain. For a hazy second, I couldn’t even place the sound. It cut through everything, sharp and out of place while Brock’s fingers stayed buried deep inside me, stroking that perfect spot. Then it clicked: it was Avery’s ringtone.
I reached for it on instinct. Brock caught my wrist, grip firm and warm.
“Don’t answer it.”
“Brock, it’s my boss?—”
He eased his fingers out of me with a slow, wet sound that pulled a sharp gasp from my throat. Then he reached over, grabbed the phone off the nightstand, and tossed it across the room. It landed on the carpet with a dull thud, cutting off the ringtone.
“Brock—”
“You spend every goddamn day letting them tell you what to do,” he said, voice low and rough. “Not right now. You’re on my time.”
He moved over me, settling heavy between my spread legs. His hand caught both my wrists and pinned them to the mattress above my head. He held them easily, firm but notrough. His chest pressed warm against mine, rising and falling fast.
“This okay?” he asked.
My heart pounded too loud to think. I was so wet it was almost embarrassing.
“Yes,” I breathed. “It’s okay.”
“Good. Because I’m gonna bury myself so deep in you, you’ll feel me the whole damn flight home.”
I imagined it: the stretch, the heavy weight of him, so deep I’d still feel him for days. My hips bucked on their own.
A low sound caught in his throat. He let go of my wrists just long enough to grab a condom from the nightstand, rip it open, and roll it on. Then he pinned me again, hands above my head, and lined himself up. He pushed in slow, letting me feel every thick inch as my body opened around him.
I gasped, back arching off the bed.
He dropped his forehead to mine and groaned. “Fuck… that’s it.”
He started moving in short, shallow thrusts, barely pulling out before sliding back in. Each stroke dragged right against the spot he’d already worked with his fingers, over and over, until I was moaning under him.
He slowed, staying buried deep. A thin strip of morning light slipped through the curtains and fell across my chest. His eyes followed it until he met my gaze.
“Don’t stop,” I begged. “Please.”
“Not going to. I’m gonna let your wrists go. Grab the headboard for me, Starlin’.”
I wrapped my fingers around the wooden slats. They were cool and solid under my palms. I pulled hard, stretching my arms, lifting my chest toward him.
He let out a low, appreciative rumble. “Now lift those hips for me, darlin’.”
That rough sound of his drawl did something to me.
I planted my feet and pushed up, lifting my ass off the bed. The new angle let him slide in so deep I gasped. His hands gripped my hips, thumbs digging into my soft skin.
He started thrusting hard. Every stroke punched a moan out of me while the headboard slammed against the wall.
“Fuck, that’s so good,” he groaned. “Keep them up for me.”
I kept one hand wrapped around the headboard and slid the other down my body to rub my clit. His rhythm broke.
