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Ben’s switched into full-on business mode, introducing himself in that low, commanding voice. His gaze meets mine for a moment over thecomputer.
It’s alwaysyou.
This isn’t college anymore. Maybe he’s not in love with me, or the kind of man who’d rearrange his life for love anyway… but I’ve seen him be vulnerable. There are cracks in his armor, and I want to seemore.
Instead of opening the door, I flick thelock.
His attention snaps tome.
I cross back to him, one slow step afteranother.
When I sink to my knees, the desk blocks out his face so I miss hisresponse.
But as I crawl under his desk, placing a hand on each of his shins when I reach the other side and lifting my gaze, I’m struck byit.
Ben’s face is full of disbelief and admiration, plus a wanting to intense it might scorch me from the insideout.
The idea that he wants this as much as I do, more even, has my throat goingdry.
The other night I felt him inside me, but I didn’t get to taste him, to learn his shape with my lips andtongue.
Now, I getto.
Ben hits a key on his keyboard, presumably muting himself. “The fuck are youdoing?”
His voice is gravel, an octave lower than usual and twice asrough.
I answer without words, my palm stroking experimentally up the bulge in his dress pants. His cock twitches under my hand, but his gaze stays locked on the screen in front ofhim.
So I do itagain.
This time his thighs clench and his gaze flicks down to meet mine. It’s full of warning and challenge.Don’t youdare.
An illicit thrill races through me.Watchme.
I shift forward to trace my hands over him, the ridges and planes. His hand blocks my access to his belt and I lick my lips. His attention goes back to the screen, but he exhales hard enough I can hearit.
I rub him through his pants, slow strokes that make him shift forward in his chair for morefriction.
The next time I reach for his belt, he letsme.
I unfasten it with eager hands. The button on his pants is next, then thezipper.
Ben clears his throat and hits a button on his mic. “Yes, let’s discuss that item in moredetail.”
His gray boxer briefs are stretched tight, marked by a single wet spot that makes me suck in abreath.
The hand with the cut has stopped stinging, and I rest it on his knee as I wrap my other hand around him through the fabric. I pump him one, twice just to feel his thighs flex, before reaching into his shorts to pull himout.
Cocks are not, aesthetically speaking, the most beautiful sexorgan.
Ben’sis.
He’s long and hard, swollen as if he’s trying to escape his own skin. Knowing I made him like this steals mybreath.
“Fine,” Ben says in his business voice. “Thank you forelaborating.”
He hits a keystroke again, muting himself. He rests an elbow on the desk, his fist in front of his mouth, a seemingly casual gesture to block his lips from the screen. “You want to taste me so badly you couldn’twait?”
