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Feeling playful and warmer, I tease his pulse point with the tip of my tongue. His body tenses beneath mine, and his hands tighten around my ribcage.
“Fuck.”
The soft curse gets carried away on the breeze.
I pepper delicate little kisses all over his neck. Every inch I can reach. He lifts his chin, giving me more room, more access. It’s not lost on me what a vulnerable position he’s in, with me on top of him, his throat exposed. And that trust winds my lust into a truly heady combination, making me feel powerful and desirable.
When I lift my head and he pegs me with molten eyes, I sit up straighter, pressing tighter to his lap.
“You have no idea how I’ve longed for this. All those sexy little pencil skirts you wear to the board meetings drive me mad, Princess.” It’s his turn to rain kisses across my neck. “Do you know how many times I’ve had to stay behind so I don’t walk out of that room with a tent in my pants?”
“How many?” I breathe the words.
“Too many.” He nips my earlobe, and I shiver. “Too damn many.”
“Is that why you always act like someone peed in your coffee?”
His jaw flexes, and I get a tiny thrill. This explains so much. The brooding looks, clipped sentences. Not everything. There would likely be tension between us if I was wearing a garbage bag, but it’s pretty exciting to know that he’s sitting in those meetings as bothered by me as I am by him.
I slide my hands to his chest and lean in close until my lips are at his right ear. “Want to know a secret?”
He nods.
I bite my lower lip and then let boldness take hold. . . the real me I so often stamp down like a pesky ember trying to reignite a campfire.
“Those pencil skirts. . . I sit across from you at that table, clenching my thighs.”
“I say again—fuck.” He sounds exquisitely needy.
“Here?” My left brow quirks upward, and he laughs.
The sky is darker now, and the path lights at the corners of the outdoor room glow a soft, cozy yellow. All the times I wandered through this labyrinth of shrubs, high on hormones and romantic comedies, feeling all my typical teenage angsty feels, wishing for a boyfriend, for someone to chase me through the maze and, more importantly, to catch me. Find me. Follow me. Come for me.
If only that younger self could see me right now.
Straddling a man, utterly and happily losing myself in his arms. She wouldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t believe that a girl with horrid teenage acne could ever land the attention of a cocky tech tycoon.
His hips give a slow roll, driving his cock against my clit. My lashes flutter shut, and I moan, pressing myself against him shamelessly. The need to come is so strong that all other thoughts leave my head.
“That’s it.” One palm coasts down, closing over my hip, guiding me against him. Urging me to keep rolling my hips against his length. The other molds my breast, thumb flicking over my aching nipple.
My mind splinters, unable to concentrate on all the pleasure. I press myself into his hand, silently begging for more, and he immediately obliges. A finger joins the mix, tugging the cup of my bra down and then he pinches the hardened tip, gently at first. Then harder, until I moan. Harder still, and I convulse in his lap.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, his voice soft like it’s a secret for our ears only. His praise means everything, reaching down into the parts of me that have been neglected. Dormant.
He makes me feel like I’m more than my last name.
My connections.
My job and degree and bank account.
With a happy sigh, I lean forward and kiss him again. His hips lift, propelling his cock against me, and I chase him. Needing that connection. That sweet, sweet friction.
His hands sync, pinching my nipple, driving my hips down until I’m moving against him like a perfect wave, climbing the mountain to the peak of pleasure, chasing that high.
Need it. Need to come and free myself from the lust burning through my brain.
“That’s it. Come for me, Princess.”
