Page 87 of Wild Abandon

I step back.

My hands cross in front of my shirt, and I slowly raise my shirt over my head. I swallow down the emotions I feel from the sheer look of his eyes when I unclasp my lace bra and let it fall to the floor. They’re glazed over. The look is full of appreciation and love, and I have to remind myself to breathe.

I push my jeans down my legs and am left in nothing but lace panties. My skin is cold in the exposed air.

Nate’s pupils dilate as he takes in my body. Every curve, every inch.

“Beautiful,” he breathes.

His gaze is so heated that I instantly start to warm.

Nate removes his shirt. The perfectly defined chest and rippling torso are on display. What I’m surprised to see is clean, untouched skin. I assumed by the tattoo on his wrist that he’d be covered in ink beneath. Instead, it’s just golden, masculine Nate. I was too flustered yesterday to notice. Today, I can appraise all I want. I reach a hand forward to touch the velvety skin. Nate lets out a groan.

He reaches for me and places soft kisses along my neck. Goose bumps run up my back.

“I want to say the words,” his pained voice whispers into my hair. “Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

“Olive juice,” I breathe.

And his lips become harder, firmer on my skin.

With wild abandon, I run. Not from him. I run to him.

I throw my hands around his neck and kiss him with every ounce of fight and trepidation I have.

My legs wrap around his waist, and Nate walks me over to the desk, kicks the chair behind him, and sets me down. His denim-clad groin pushes against me, and I gasp when he brushes up against the sensitive core. He feels my response, and with his hand on my lower back, his other on my hip, and his mouth hard against mine, he grinds against me again and again, making me squirm.

When his hand rubs a palm against my breast, my nipples harden, and I nearly come out of my skin.

“Even better than my dreams,” he groans.

He uses two hands to pull and tug on my breasts, and he rubs against me. I cry out when his mouth bows down, his tongue nipping and sucking along the pebbled ridge.

He glides my panties down my legs and slides his hand between the folds. My hips twitch when his fingers hit my clit.

“Holy shit, that feels so good,” I cry when he inserts two fingers deep inside, filling me in a way I didn’t know I craved.

Nate growls, seriously growls, as he falls to his knees and takes my clit into his mouth. My knees tighten around his head.

With a free hand, he pushes them apart and sits back to look at me. “Oh my God, you’re perfect.” He dips down and runs his tongue up where his hand just was. “You taste like a miracle.” He takes another swipe, and I start to pant. “And you look like a fucking goddess. How did I get so lucky?” He dives back in and licks and nips and savors every teeny-tiny fiber of my swollen core.

My hips buck, and he holds me down. My climax building higher and higher, I can’t speak. I can’t breathe. I just inhale and inhale, and when the feeling is so intense, so exquisite, I come so hard on his mouth, and I scream so loud that I’m sure they can hear me in the Atlantic.

And he’s not stopping. Like a man caged for centuries, he is unleashed and continuing his assault on me. My body has never been abused in this way, and I hardly recognize the internal build again, the sensation and intoxication that comes with multiple orgasms. My control is pouring out of me, and my need for the man is so intense that I have to have him.

With my left foot, I push him into the chair behind him, causing the casters to wheel him back a few feet. I fall to my knees and unbutton his jeans. He lifts his hips as I guide his jeans and boxers down to his knees. His erection springs free, beautifully corded and swollen, ready to be taken.

So, I take him. In my mouth. Slick, wet, and deep.

“Crystal!”

My name from his mouth only pushes me to suck on him hard. I want to do nothing but bring pleasure to this man. I run my tongue along the vein and use my free hand to gently pump him where my mouth can’t reach.

“Fuck,” he cries.

But I’m soon realizing that it’s not out of pleasure. It’s in frustration.

I rise onto my knees when he takes my hands in his and kisses me.