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I lean back onto his chest, enjoying the new position we’re fucking in. Now, his cock is slamming against my G-spot, and my knees threaten to give way every time a stab of ecstasy shoots through my body. With each thrust, the waves of pleasure get closer and closer together. When Cillian sinks his teeth into my exposed neck, lips vibrating against my pulse, the pleasure is almost too much.
But then Cillian wraps his free hand around my neck, holding me in place against his rigid body as he claims an orgasm of his own. He moans, throaty and raw, into my neck, filling my pussy with warm satisfaction.
He holds me there, against his chest. His heart slams against the back of my rib cage, strong and unrelenting, gradually slowing back to a normal rate.
When he releases me, I collapse against his desk, like Jell-O that hasn’t been in the fridge for long enough. The sex between my legs burns with unfinished business.
Behind me, Cillian creaks across the floorboard, and I hear the tug of his zipper.
“Get dressed,” he says softly. “And get out of my office. I have more work to do.”
Flustered and acutely aware of the hot, sticky cum dribbling down my thigh, I gather my pool of clothing and shove the sweater over my head, before stumbling back out into the only place hotter than my pussy right now: the tropical climate of the Garden of Eden.
Cillian
“Wren Humphrey is dead.”
“Who?”
“ChromoLove Dating.Did you do it?”
Scrubbing my eyes with the heel of my palm, I internally curse myself for answering a call at five a.m. Especially one from Lorcan Quinn.
“He didn’t piss me offthatmuch,” I groan, dragging myself out of bed and opening the curtains. “How’d he go?”
“Thrown from the window of his office. The news is reporting it as a suicide.”
Although only half-awake, I think back to being in Humphrey’s office.
“His office didn’t have windows, just glass walls. Not the type that opened.”
“I thought so.” A heavy sigh comes down the line. I can picture my old boss sitting in the Herman Miller chair in his study, dragging his fingers through his beard. “The Abruzzos must have had a hand in it. I called Flavio Abruzzo a few days ago tovery nicelyremind him of our treaty, and now this happens. You know what I also found out? He isn’t even the fucking Don anymore. Stepped down, bought a one-way ticket to Italy and gave his eldest son the position a month ago. Seemed like they forgot to let us know.”
Shrugging on a T-shirt, I cross into my office. “Luca Abruzzo? He’s a grade-A cunt.”
“So I’ve heard. Think he’s got more spunk in him than his old man and wants to assert his dominance by expanding his reach.”
“I sense a war coming.”
“No,” he says darkly. “I won’t let it get that far. He just needs to be shaken up a little.”
As I round into the office, I see Dahlia on the other side of the glass, sitting by the river, feet in the water, psychology textbook in hand.Why is she up so early?
I slept in the bedroom attached to the office last night, as much as I wanted to burst into the hut and fuck her brains out again. I had to prove to myself that my self-control is up to par, and I also thought she’d be on even better form with a good night’s sleep.
My moan bounces off the glass and reverberates around the office.
“What’d you say, kid?”
“Nothing. I have to go. You know how to reach me if you need me.” I stab the end call button and toss the cell on my desk, turning my attention back to Dahlia.
Fucking her was everything I’d imagined it’d be. More. The point of bringing her here was to satiate my desire, but my first time exploring her sweet holes has stoked the fire, instead of beginning to put it out.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, then talk to a God I couldn’t give a shit about, praying I’ll get over this obsession within a month.
Knowing there’s not a chance in hell I’m getting any admin work done today, I tap out a text to my accountant to reschedule our meeting, and stalk over to the glass wall.
Dahlia Fucking Rose. Sitting on the verge between my heliconias and monkey brush vines, both bred and cross-bred against to achieve the most vibrant shade of orange. She’s twirling her hair, chewing on the inside of her lip. Despite the humidity, she’s still wrapped up in my fucking sweater.
