Page 92 of Elevator Pitch

“Tell me you missed me, too, Vee.” His finger teases me, taunting an area that has missed him. No one has every touched me like Ross is. Reverent. Curious. Eager.

“I’ve missed you, too.” My voice isn’t more than a whisper.

Suddenly, he’s cupping my backside, like a precious chalice, and lifting me just the slightest bit to better angle me to be licked and sipped, gloriously swiping his tongue across tender skin and teasing that precious nub. I clutch at the armrest with one hand while my other lands on Ross’s head, holding him against me as my hips rock in short, sharp thrusts, begging his mouth for everything.

“Missed you,” Ross mutters. Then swipes over my wet center. “Missed this.” Then he’s diving in again. Tongue on a mission. Mouth humming loud and proud as he devours me. His hearty noises make it known he’s enjoying his feast and I feel myself dripping.

“Ross,” I groan at the mess I’m certain to be making, and the stain he’ll imprint on my heart. Because there is no doubt Ross Davis has marked me. A permanent scar. A lasting bruise.

Yet I don’t want him to stop. I massage his scalp and Ross tightens his hold on my backside. With his fast-paced flicking tongue, I too quickly fall apart.

His name is again a strangled cry as he draws out the release, relentlessly licking me while I melt into the chair, dripping like candle wax, lazy and warm. Only he has made me feel this way. Bright, and hot, and seeking more.

When I’ve had enough, I give his head a gentle press and Ross pulls back, running his mouth against my inner thigh, his beard tickling me, while I slouch back into the chair.

“Oh my God,” I mutter, blinking a few times. “I think I almost passed out.”

Ross chuckles while his eyes flame. “So your question was how do I feel about that?” He trails a finger up my thigh and circles my sensitive area, taunting the skin that still tingles with aftershocks.

“As I told you on the phone, it’s a powerful position to be in. Knowing I’m giving you pleasure. Knowing you want it from me.” He pauses a second. “Because you want me, sweetheart.”

While stating the obvious, there’s a vulnerability beneath the confident voice. More a question of if he’s correct in his assessment.

“I want you, Ross,” I admit.

He smiles, wide and large, illuminating his face in a new way. “All the power.” He teases over my center, tickling tender flesh. “And you make me so hard.”

My gaze drops where the thick outline of him cannot be missed in the thin material of those suit pants.

“I like the taste of you, Vee. And the sounds you make when I taste you.”

My face heats, a touch embarrassed that I make noise. “Am I too loud?”

Ross’s expression sobers a little, disgruntled almost. Like he knows without asking that someone once complained. That finger of his, toying with me, thrusts inward and I gasp.

“Fuck loud,” Ross counters. He works his finger in and out, producing a new sound between us. “I like how your body reacts to my touch. How you chase my finger like you don’t want me to leave your body.”

Oh God, this should be incredibly embarrassing, and yet I’m mesmerized by how open he is. How direct as he concentrates on where he’s touching me, watching his finger disappear inside me.

“Tell me you don’t want me to leave.” Again, his voice is strong, but something deeper underlies his question.

“I don’t want you to leave,” I whisper, and I’m rewarded with a second finger, both rushing into me, filling me. My breath hitches again.

“You fit me, sweetheart.” His gaze lifts to meet my eyes. “And I fit you.”

There’s something even deeper in that declaration, but my thoughts are scrambling as his fingers work within me. My back arches, thighs attempting to clench when one remains over the armrest and the other is trapped by Ross’s broad body. He’s building me up again. Winding me like a music box before released to sing.

“Ross,” I whimper, shocked at the sudden rush up my center. My legs quiver once more.

“That’s it, sweetheart. One more time.”

I glance between us, catching briefly what he’s doing to me before tipping back my head, closing my eyes, and falling into the moment.

Ross on his knees. His fingers inside me.

I hear him shift, feel his warm breath breezing over my slick skin. His thumb presses against that trigger spot and I unravel again. A piece of string, pulled and pulled and pulled, until the original material is nothing but a pile of loose thread.

I sag back on the chair, one leg dangling over the armrest, the other outstretched, while I stare at Ross who stares back at me. A smattering of heartbeats passes.