Page 139 of The Difference Between

While I rock.

With zero shame, I lap his taste of salt and sin right up. His few days’ worth of scruff hits my tongue like a sheet of rusty metal, and I want to feel it everywhere. My face. My chest. Between my thighs until I scream or get tetanus.

He mutters the sexiest “fuck” I’ve ever heard, and I lick him again.

I can’t stop licking him.

Tasting him.

My mouth is on his neck and his hands are groping my skin and we’re moving so much the paperweight next to me topples with a clatter against the stainless steel.

“I need you inside me,” I manage between gasps as I fumble to unhook his belt.

He rounds his spine to take my breast in his mouth. “So impatient.”

Before I can get his pants unbuttoned, he presses two fingers between my thighs and I nearly scream. I’m on a hair trigger and don’t even care.

“Goddamn, Reese.” His voice might have traveled through a ball of hot glass to get to me. “You’re soaked.”

I grip his shirt, his finger moving in the best kind of way.

Touching . . .

Stroking . . .

. . . It’s gone.

Gone?

My eyes fly open, fighting words on my lips until I spot the glass teardrop in his hand and a wicked smile on his fuckable face.

Here. We. Go.

Eyes open and faces close, Gavin rubs the smooth, wide end of the piece against me.

There.

“See,” he says right in my ear, “I knew you liked the glass.”

My whimpering tells him exactly how much.

I respond with a grind.

On a piece of glass.

He pushes the fabric of my underwear to the side to slide and glide. Circles and strokes and pressure until he’s at my entrance, teasing me with it. I might regret it later, but right now I’d let him fuck me with anything in this building. This glass. Broken glass. A hot pipe dripping with molten glass.

My “I’m close” comes out like a whine.

I don’t stop grinding his glass—I can’t—and he responds by pulling my dress down one arm and biting into my shoulder. With his fingers, mouth, and his glass on my skin, Gavin coaxes pleasure out of me until my broken whines turn to constant pleas with every move harder and faster and deeper and—oh, God!

Like fine china thrown against a brick wall, I shatter with a scream. Obliterate. A million pieces of me fly through the air and into space, never to be whole again.

Just when I think Gavin can’t get any hotter, with his eyes locked on mine, he brings my new favorite piece of art to his mouth, licks the end covered in me—slowly—then sets it on the table. My pleasure spent body reignites with heat, and he sees, chuckling as he wraps his arms around me then puts his filthy mouth on mine.

“If I would have known you could do that,” I say between kisses and shallow breaths, “I would’ve skipped playing hard to get.”

He makes an amused sound, brushing hair out of my face. Twinkles from the lights dance in his eyes. “I like you playing hard to get.” He kisses my jaw, my throat. “And if I would have known how much glass did it for you, I would have dragged you in here the first day.”