Page 54 of Manhattan Bossholes

We both froze as his hardness grew between us. I hitched my hips against him, a silent invitation. Vincent’s eyes flashed as he slowly slid his hands up my hips and raised the t-shirt I was wearing.

“No panties?” he gasped in faux surprise, as if he hadn’t seen me put on a shirt I stole from his drawer—and nothing else—before going to sleep the previous night.

“Underwear is overrated,” I said with a wicked smile Vincent didn’t see as he focused on my body, his gaze darkening as he repositioned himself. I felt the soft press of his lips on my hipbones, each kiss sending sparks through me.

“Vincent…” I whispered.

I wanted to tell him that we needed to stop worshipping each other’s bodies and eat breakfast, but the words wouldn’t come. Each kiss stole the thought away, replaced by the overwhelming need to feel him closer.

His lips trailed lower, coaxing me to open my legs wider for him. Soon, he was poised between my thighs, so close I could feel the heat of his breath.

“What are you doing?” I whispered in a strangled voice.

“Torturing you,” he murmured as he leaned closer to graze my skin with the lightest of kisses. His lips were soft, teasing, driving me to the edge with nothing but the promise of what was coming.

I let out a shaky breath, arching closer to him as his tongue briefly pushed against me, the sensation sending a shockwave through my body.

“Stop,” I sighed as I arched closer to him.

He sat up. “You really want me to stop?”

“Stop torturing me,” I begged.

Instead of answering, he sealed his mouth on top of me and swirled his tongue in the most incredible ways. Licking, probing, sucking. All I could do was writhe against him. I threaded my fingers in his hair and couldn’t stop myself from fisting it. But Vincent didn’t mind. In fact, it made his efforts more focused.

I was on the edge, teetering closer to release with every stroke of his tongue. When he slid a finger inside of me, curling it just right, every nerve caught fire as the orgasm ripped through me with shocking intensity.

I arched and screamed out his name. Vincent didn’t stop—he didn’t let go until I was completely spent, trembling beneath his touch.

“I love the way you say my name when you come,” he murmured against my skin, his voice low and filled with satisfaction.

I could only nod, still trying to catch my breath. My mind was spinning, my body humming with the aftershocks. I heard him open a drawer in his nightstand, then the crinkle of a condom wrapper.

“Was I too loud?” I finally managed as the bed shifted beneath his weight.

“No such thing,” he assured me. “And I want to hear it again. I need to hear it.”

He flipped me over effortlessly, pulling me up onto my hands and knees. I arched into him as he positioned himself behind me. His hands ran down my back, pausing just long enough to make me shiver before he gripped my hips.

“Don’t make me beg,” I whimpered, my voice barely recognizable as he teased me with his tip, hovering just out of reach.

“As you wish.”

He slid inside me, and we sighed in unison. The fullness of him, the way he stretched and filled me…it was perfect. He paused to run his hand down my back, then he clasped my hips and started slowly undulating against me.

We were perfect together, moving in rhythm like dancers, flawlessly in sync.

Vincent gradually picked up his pace, his hands holding my waist tighter. Then he let go and grabbed my hair.

He wrapped it in his fist and pulled, ever so slightly.

“Is that okay?” he whispered, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

“Pull harder,” I rasped, my voice hoarse.

The command unlocked something in him. A ragged breath escaped him, and he tugged harder on my hair, the pressure sending another surge of pleasure through me. His other hand came down on my ass, the sharp impact surprising me but making me moan.

I whimpered, the mixture of sensations driving me wild. This was new for me, but I was very sure that I liked it.