Page 146 of My Three Billionaire Rockstars

My voice comes out as gravel. “Never better.”

She undoes one button, then another, her cool fingertips tracing the line of my collarbone. I can’t look away from her face. The slight furrow between her brows, the way she bites her lower lip in concentration. When her nails graze the sensitive skin below my navel, my breath catches audibly.

“Fuck, Willow…” The words escape before I can stop them, raw and honest in a way my poetry never seems to be.

She’s taking her time. My vision blurs at the edges when her tongue traces a path that makes my thighs tense involuntarily.

I grip the edge of the desk behind me, knuckles whitening. With Willow, I’ve never been the one setting the pace.

Her eyes lock onto mine as she sinks down. The sight of her lips stretching around me pulls a sound from my throat I barely recognize. My pulse jumps hard beneath my skin.

My fingers find her hair, tangling in the strands that slip silkily between them. The vibration of her moan travels through me as a current, shorting out rational thought. My breath catches, stumbles, stops altogether when she takes me deeper.

The muscles in my legs tremble. The room tilts. I lean harder against the desk, the edge digging into my palms.

She glances up through her lashes, a question in her eyes that makes my chest ache more than my body. This isn’t just her mouth on me, it’s Willow. It’s the notebook pages she’s seen. It’s everything I’ve kept locked away.

I brush my thumb across her cheekbone. She leans into the touch without breaking stride, and my heart cracks open.

Not yet. I’m not ready to let go.

My fingertips dig into the desk edge until they ache. My jaw clenches. I count backward from twenty, breathing through my nose. The sight of her lips stretched around me blurs as sweat drips into my eyes.

I blink it away, refusing to miss a second.

I grip her shoulders and pull her up. The sudden cool air makes me hiss between my teeth. Her mouth makes a soft, wet sound as it releases me and I crush my lips against hers, tasting myself on her tongue.

She stumbles backward as I walk her toward the wall. Her spine hits the wall with a soft thud, and I lift her by the hips, pinning her there with my weight. It must be cold against her back, but she only arches into me, her fingernails leaving half-moon indentations in my shoulders.

Pale light cuts across her exposed stomach when I push her shirt up. A sheen of sweat makes her skin glisten. Salt blooms on my tongue as I drag my teeth along her neck, leaving a mark that will still be there tomorrow.

She’ll have to wear a scarf.

Her nipple hardens against my tongue. Her gasp echoes in the empty office. A tremor runs through her thighs where they grip my waist.

“Gabe…”

I slide my hand between us, feeling dampness through cotton. My fingertips trace the elastic edge of her underwear.

“Patience,” I say, my voice unrecognizable even to myself.

Her skin burns against my fingertips. I trace the edge where cotton meets flesh, feeling her pulse quicken beneath my touch. Her hips rise to meet me, a silent demand. My thumb circles once, twice, and her teeth catch her lower lip, stifling a sound that vibrates through her chest.

“What do you want, Willow?”

The wall behind her catches strands of her hair as she arches.

“I want you. All of you.”

Cotton tears under my grip. The sound mingles with her quick intake of breath. Heat radiates from her center, drawing me in. My fingers slide through slickness, and the muscles in her thighs contract around my wrist.

Words escape me. Raw and unplanned. Her name, perhaps, or closer to worship.

She trembles when I press deeper. Her head falls back against, exposing the column of her throat. Sweat gathers in the hollow there. I count her heartbeats through the thin skin of her wrist, pinned beside her head.

“Gabe…” My name fragments on her tongue.

“Not yet,” I breathe against her ear.