Page 93 of Her Rival

She came down soft. Hair fanning out. Body still loose from the bath. The towel still on the floor somewhere across the room. I came down over her on the rug and kissed her, slow, the way I hadn't kissed her on Saturday because Saturday had been about taking, and this was not about taking. This was about something else.

She kissed me back.

She kissed me back the way you kiss somebody when you've decided.

The instant I slid back into her, her back arched. I felt her stop caring how she looked. Felt her stop caring how she sounded. I hooked her legs over my shoulders, opened her up underneath me, pinned her to the rug, and the slow languid kiss became a thing with more teeth in it, and the not-taking became a slow precise taking I'd been calibrating all weekend without meaning to. Every drag of me out of her and back into her was deliberate. I wanted her to feel each one land. I wanted her to feel chosen, one slow inch at a time, by a man who had nowhere else in the world he'd rather be than buried in her on a rug he'd never had a use for until her.

"Holy fuck, Jett," she moaned. "Just like that. So deep. So deep. My God."

Her words spurred me on. I felt her body jolt with the effort of my hips. The sound of wet skin against wet skin filled the space between us, and her pleasure climbed the walls of the room, and as I drove into her I heard myself growl with the effort.

"Fucking. Hell. Hartley."

She whimpered at the next thrust, the one that came with my name out of her, and she wove her legs around me, clinging the way she hadn't clung Saturday night, and her hand tugged my hair and her face came up against the crook of my neck.

"That's it. Cling to me."

She threw her arms around my neck. Raked her nails down my back. I kept a pace that left her breathless, panting, eyes rolling back, her body fitting itself against mine the way a thing finds the thing it's been looking for its whole life.

I'd have died right there. I'd have happily died on top of her on a shag rug at eight forty-five in the evening on a Tuesday in November, and I would not have minded.

"Oh my god," she cried out as another orgasm caught her by surprise.

"Oooh, fuck," I hissed as I buried myself deep. "That's it. Massage that cock. Make me mold to you."

She raked her nails up my back. She did not want this to end. I felt it. I felt the wanting in her like a current running up into my own body.

"Please. Just one more."

I growled as my cock slid out of her. "Only if you insist, Hartley."

I grabbed her ankles. I flipped her over. The small squeal that came out of her was a sound I was going to remember for the rest of my life. I pulled her hips up. I dove back into her body. I did not give her a second to breathe, because she hadn't asked for one, and because the version of her that lived underneath the version that had been polite for two and a half weeks in my conference room was a version that did not want a second.

She gripped the rug beneath us as her body absorbed me. Her hands clawed into the cream pile. I pressed her ass back against me. She met me thrust for thrust. The sounds I pulled from her sent goosebumps up the backs of my arms.

"That's it, take this dick," I grunted, gripping her hips. "Look at you. Such a whimpering mess. Opening up this body for me. Spreading those folds. Streaking my cock. Hartley, you should see how you look right now."

"Jett, please."

I gripped her hair and pulled her forehead up off the rug. "Please what."

"Please let me come again. Oh fuck. I'm so close. Just. just a bit harder."

I kept my hand in her hair. "Like this?"

I pulled all the way out to the tip and slammed back in, and that was all it took.

"Jett!"

"That's it," I growled, pounding her through it, "let the neighbors know my name."

"Jett. Oh god. Right there. Right there. Right there."

I snarled and dropped her head and swiped my hand beneath her. She rutted back against me, no longer caring how she looked. The instant my fingers found her swollen clit, her body shivered. Her legs quaked. Her breasts damn near touched the rug as the animal inside of me, the one I'd been keeping in a closet for nine years, came out and stretched its whole length.

"Spank me," she said breathlessly, before I think she even knew she'd said it.

The resounding crack against her ass jumped her walls around me.