Page 33 of Saved By the CEO

I am definitely not complaining.

He strokes me slowly, deliberately, as if he’s testing every reaction. A quiet sigh slips out of me, and my eyes close for half a second. His other hand finds the outside of my thigh, then travels upward, slipping beneath my shirt before settling against my ribs.

He leans in until his mouth is close to my ear.

“Same as last time?”

I nod.

His hand leaves my side to undo the buttons of my shirt. It falls open, exposing my black lace bra. His gaze drops briefly. “Matching set?”

They’re not actually matching.

They’re just the same color.

“I’m guessing Josh is getting lucky tonight.”

I can’t help it. I laugh. “He wishes.”

Something shifts in his expression again. Gone almost as quickly as it appeared.

Andrew slips his hand beneath my bra and finds my nipple. I push the cup up and out of the way, giving him better access. His breath catches. Just barely, but I hear it.

He takes my breast in his hand and brushes his thumb over the peak, sending a sharp little spark through me. At the same time, his other hand moves my panties aside. He drags his finger through the evidence of exactly how affected I am, then pushes inside.

I grip the edge of the desk as he starts to move.

After a minute, he adds another finger, and I gasp. His thumb finds my clit, applying just enough pressure to make my thoughts scatter. I’m getting close, but I need more.

Always, always more.

“Andrew,” I say, and it comes out embarrassingly close to a whine. “I need?—”

The words stick in my throat.

His eyes lift to mine. “What do you need?”

More.Just more.

“I don’t know,” I breathe.

“I’ll take care of you,” he says, his voice low. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

Then he leans in and puts his mouth on my nipple, and every thought I have goes white at the edges. His mouth is hot, his tongue deliberate, and his hand between my legs doesn’t slow.

“Holy fuck,” I whisper.

I want him closer. I want him everywhere. I want things I absolutely cannot say out loud.

I bite down on my bottom lip.

Then I come.

Neither of us moves.

I’m still sitting on his desk, breathing like I just ran a marathon, my bra shoved up, my underwear twisted, and one sensible heel dangling from my foot.

Mr. Bennett is standing between my knees, one hand braced on the desk beside my thigh. His head is slightly lowered, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath.