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“Charlotte,” he purred, the word more a warning than anything else. “I already imagine it enough. If I know what it feels like, I won’t be able to handle it.”
His tongue dragged across my nipple, sending little flames straight down between my thighs. I knew for damn sure that I was soaked already, but the way he spoke, the way he said my name, was enough to turn me into something I didn’t recognize. Someone that didn’t care about the consequences of their actions.
“I want you to know what it feels like,” I said, dipping my fingers below the waistline of his boxers. Short, groomed hairs tickled my fingertips, and as they reached low enough to brush against the start of his shaft, he let out a hefty groan. “And I don’t want you to be able to stop thinking about it.”
I wrapped my hand around his cock, tugging the boxers further down until his length sprang from it.
Fuck.
I hadn’t paid too much attention to how his cock looked back in Oahu. Tensions had been high, I’d been out of my mind, and all I’d been able to think about was having him inside of me. Now, though, I could see it in my hand. I could feel the weight of it, the tightness of his skin, the throbbing of his pulse, the way he curved upward just a little. He was rock hard, thick in all the right places, long enough to split me in two. Right at the end, on his swollen, red tip, a little drop of precum dripped.
My mouth watered.
I slid my thumb along the slit, collecting the tiny pool of liquid, and brought it to my mouth.
“Christ,” he breathed, eyes wide as saucers as he watched me.
I sucked every last bit off my thumb, genuinely enjoying the lightly salty, sweet taste. Almost as sweet as honey. “What?” Wrapping my fingers back around his shaft, I dragged them up and down, up and down, with the lightest of touches. He felt like warm silk beneath my touch. As much as I wanted him inside of me, the idea of teasing him, of getting him to picture this anytime he saw me, was like heroin to my brain. I needed it and I needed it badly.
“You’re too much,” he said. His fingers knotted themselves in the base of my hair, closing into a fist. “And I can’t tell if you should be punished for that or if I should let you do what you want with me.”
Punished. I wondered just how intensely he meant that. I’d dabbled in the darker things from time to time, and I wasn’t against them at all. I just didn’t know how far he’d go. “Either sounds like a challenge.”
He pulled on my hair, forcing my chin to rise. I watched him down the bridge of my nose, watched as his face twisted into something a little more sinister when my fingers tightened around his cock. “Are you testing me, sweetheart?”
Yes. “No.”
“Liar,” he hissed. “You’re too easy to read.”
He tightened his fist further, forcing little pinpricks of pain to bloom at the base of my skull. I sucked in air through my teeth, needing friction, needing pleasure to drown out the pain. As if on cue, his knee wedged further upward, pressing against my growing dampness.
“Grind,” he ordered. The word sounded so casual, so easy, though it was powerful enough to cause me to become a puddle on the floor.
I obliged.
Hooking my feet on the sides of his hard thighs gave me just enough leverage to be able to move my hips. Friction came instantly, the feel of his slacks against my clit igniting an inferno in my gut. Knowing that I was likely to leave a little wet spot that he’d have to walk around with made it all the more tantalizing.
“Fuck,” I sighed. I was losing the will to hold on to his cock, losing the will to tease him. I just wanted more of him.
“There you go, sweetheart,” he cooed, prying my fingers from his shaft with ease. “Attagirl.”
Footsteps echoed just beyond the door, a familiar click-clack of heels. My cheeks heated as I worked myself, gaze flickering between Hunter’s half-lidded eyes and the ceiling tiles. Just writhing beneath him in desperation would be enough to make me come if it had to be. Hell, the way he looked at me was likely enough. But I had to have more. I was starving for it.
“Please,” I breathed, grabbing at the back of his neck. I tried to pull him over me, tried to pry him from his position, but he stayed locked in place. “Please, Hunter.”
“Please, what?”
I glared at him. He knew damn well what I was asking for. “Fuck me, you idiot.”
His grip on my hair turned evil immediately. I sucked in air, moving my hips faster, harder, to cancel out the pain. “That’s not very nice, Charlotte.”
“You’re not very nice.”
“I’d argue that I’m being very nice to you right now,” he chuckled, low and down deep in his chest, almost menacing in its timbre. “I’m letting you grind your needy pussy against my knee. I don’t have to do that. I can take it away.”
I let out a squeal as his teeth closed down again on my nipple, tugging, pulling, lashing it with his tongue. The pain only brought more pleasure, rippling along every inch of my spine and pooling where my hips met his knee. “Please don’t.”
Within a second, he changed the game. I didn’t even have time to blink, to wonder, to fight to keep my upper hand. He removed his knee and spread my legs wide, his hips on the inner side of my thighs. Releasing my hair, he held me instead with one arm around my waist, keeping my rear on the desk and my back hovering.
