Page 17 of Devil In A Suit, Vol. 2

No art on the walls, no tchotchkes atop tables or counters. It looks for all the world like a rental. The only thing that lets me know it’s his is how clean and straight and controlled it looks. That’s just like him.

He plants one final, firm kiss on my lips, his arms wrapped tightly around my waist as he holds me to him from the small of my back. Then he leads me to the back of the apartment, through a door and into his bedroom. It’s empty, save for a king sized bed with pristine white linens and a few fluffy white pillows, and a pair of reclaimed barn wood end tables. The floor-to-ceiling windows are bare, giving views of the dark water of the Boston Harbor, the lights off the harbor islands glittering in the distance.

I stand, rooted to the wood floor, and he comes around in front of me, his eyes roaming the length of me, hungry. He takes a step towards me so there’s barely a breath of air between our bodies.

“This isn’t some kind of family heirloom, is it?” he asks, his eyes flicking down to the H&M button up I’m wearing.

“No,” I reply, the word catching on all the lust in my throat.

“Good.” He reaches his hands up, but instead of starting work on the buttons, instead he slides his fingers into the gab, grips, and pulls. The shirt gives way with barely any effort, buttons skittering across the bare floor and disappearing to places unknown. I’m wearing the bra he bought me, not because I expected him to see it, but because it makes me feel sexy and confident. And from the way his eyes widen as he takes in the sheer fabric straining over my full breasts, I can tell he’s pleased to see it.

“Is this mine?” he asks. He reaches up and cups my breasts, one in each hand, then runs his thumbs over the hardness of my nipples. I gasp in a breath.

“Yes,” I hiss, barely able to keep from melting to the floor. I want him so bad.

“Good. Then I can do what I like with it.” He ducks his head and takes a nipple into his mouth through the fabric, running his teeth gently along my skin. I can feel the wetness between my thighs growing, ready for him, needing him. And then I feel the fabric catch between his teeth. He pulls, hard and quick, tearing a neat hole in the sheer fabric. I feel a burst of cool air on my damp skin, and I have to reach up and grasp his hips to keep myself from falling to the floor.

“Oh god,” I sigh, my fingers walking up to the buttons on his shirt, making quick work of each until I have free access to his chest. I run my fingers across the lines and hardness of his abs. I reach up and shrug the shirt off his shoulders, and he lets go of my breasts long enough for it to flutter to the floor before returning to playing with my nipples.

I know I should go slow. I know I should enjoy it, but I want him so bad I swear I could mount him like a stallion right here, right now. My hands go immediately to his pants, where I feel his growing erection. He’s rock hard and nearly full grown. I wrap my hand around him through his pants and give him a squeeze, releasing and animal-like growl from the depths of his throat.

“Don’t make me wait,” I say as I flick my tongue along his ear. “Please.”

He pulls back, his eyes dark yet still sparkling, his lips quirked into a devious grin. “I like it when you beg.”

“I’ll do anything to get you inside me,” I tell him, and I mean it sincerely.

He reaches around behind me and gently lowers the zipper of my skirt, a delicate act in comparison to what he’s done to my shirt and bra so far. It drops off my hips, revealing the last pair of sexy underwear I own (after what he did to the others), a fire engine red lace thong.

“Jesus, Quinn. Did you know I’d be getting you naked tonight?” He steps back to take in the sight of me, his hands on my hips turning me so he can get a good view of my ass.

“Just lucky I guess,” I murmur, feeling the fabric between my legs grow wetter by the second.

“Fuck,” he moans, then turns me to face him as he walks me backwards towards the bed. My knees hit the edge and I tumble backwards. He stands over me, reaching for his belt. Within seconds, his pants are dropping to the floor, and I see that there’s nothing between him and his thousand dollar Gucci suit pants. I swear, my mouth waters at the sight of his cock, long and hard, and it’s all I can do to stay where I am and wait for him.

He reaches down hand hooks his thumbs into the waist of my panties, peeling them down slowly. When he bends down to pull them past my toes, he ducks his head, his tongue dipping between my folds. I cry out, reaching down to thread my hands into his hair, holding him to me. His tongue delves into me, then travels back up to my clit, circling until I feel like I might explode, but he pulls back.

“Not yet,” he says, crawling over me, all muscle and heat. He bends down to kiss me, hard, his cock brushing against the place where his tongue had just been. I arch my back into him. His lips leave mine, traveling down my neck and onto my collarbone, his hand sweeping down my chest and hips, coming to rest behind my knees. He gives a slight pull, and I part my legs, opening for him. He settles between my legs, his cock grasped in one hand. I’m so close, both to having him and to coming. I hear myself whimper, I want him so bad.

His eyes come up to meet mine, a look of intensity that seems to ask, Are you ready?

For a moment, there’s hesitation—this is it.

Am I really ready for this?

But I know that I am, despite my lack of experience. Despite the fact that he’s absolutely enormous, hard and forbidding, and I’m not sure how badly it will hurt when he goes inside me for the first time.

He seems to sense my millisecond hesitancy, and his eyes narrow. “Quinn,” he says softly.

“Yes,” I say, before he can try and take anything back.

I nod, and without taking his eyes off mine, he slides in.

I close my eyes and feel a tremendous pressure, and I bite my lip, inhaling sharply.

He draws back, as if sensing my reluctance.

“I want it,” I whisper, eyes still closed.