She squirmed, a little more than absolutely necessary, but with her legs wrapped around him, she couldn’t make it. “You should have had me do that before you picked me up. And you’re going to need to send those pants out for cleaning after this is over.”
He laughed harder, letting her slip down until her feet touched the floor again. “You are the most unromantic woman I have ever met. Don’t make me laugh. Drilling you is serious business.” He pulled out the condom, holding it up for her.
“Drilling isn’t a romantic term.” She swiped a hand down his front. Yep, she’d messed him up. That’s what he got for turning her on. “And you can put that thing on yourself.”
Blue eyes sparkling, he ripped the package open. “Only if you undo my pants and take out my cock.”
“This is definitely not romantic.” But unzipping him was oh so hot.
He hardened even as she brushed him with the back of her hand, then reached into his briefs to pull him out. He filled her hand, warmed her flesh, sent an answering pulse to her nipples and her clitoris. He bent his blond head, working the condom on himself, then looked at her, the mirth still playing at his mouth and in his eyes.
“Put on your high heels.”
She smirked. “What for?”
“Do it.”
“Fine.” She huffed and bent for her shoes, slipping her feet into the impossibly tall heels. Ooh. She liked the feel of them, liked the way they made her legs feel stretched and taut.
“Turn around.”
“You are not doing me from behind.” She turned, put her hands along the outside edges of the door’s curtained window and spread her legs.
“That’s it, baby.” Instead of entering her, he stroked her from the front, gathering her moisture and caressing her clit.
Oh, oh. That was nice. So nice. Under her skirt, his knees slightly bent, he rubbed himself in the crease of her butt just as he had that morning.
“Now, where were we this morning?” he mused, as if he’d read her mind. “Ah yes, you were about to orgasm, but then you told me you’d rather wait so it would be even more explosive.”
Explosive was right. He circled her clitoris just a little faster and rubbed just a little harder than he had in bed. She started to see stars. “I ... didn’t ... tell you to wait.” She panted between each word.
“Did, too. Begged me to make this the most fucking fantastic orgasm.”
She let him dream on, because just then, he shifted, bent, put his legs between hers, and thrust up high and hard.
She almost screamed, almost came, but only a tiny little noise slipped out of her throat. “Ooh.”
“Christ, that’s what I’ve been waiting for.” He pumped, sharp, hard, on the edge.
“Ooh, ooh.” She gave him two in quick succession as a reward. For some weird reason, Witt loved that noise she made. It always sent him into orbit. Like now.
He had her flush up against the door, his body covering her, his finger miraculously working her clitoris, and his cock pile-driving into her. In her last moment of sanity, she reached over and flipped off the hall light so no one could see them silhouetted through the curtain. In the dark, he ground into her. Tears leaked from her eyes. So good, so good. His breath pounded at her ear. His heat warmed her inside and out. His scent enveloped her, the usual butterscotch candy coupled with his musky aftershave, and now the tang of hot relentless male.
Holding her still with the heel of his hand just above her mound, he covered her left hand with his on the door, spread her fingers and laced his through them. It was more intimate and terrifying that the feel of his body driving her relentlessly towards orgasm.
And it was the thing that sent her over the edge. The crush of his fingers around hers set off a spiral of sensation, circling down to her clitoris, then exploding out like a celestial nova.
“Witt, oh God, Witt.” She was dimly aware of her own voice shouting his name over and over as he forced her to ride out the orgasm. She couldn’t feel her fingers or her toes, only the unmerciful outpouring of sensation from her very center.
He spurted inside her, and her body spasmed around the hot throb. She came again, or maybe she’d never stopped.
They leaned against the door, Max’s face smashed against the curtain. Hot and sweaty and delicious, he covered her until she could breathe again, until his own erratic gasps became smooth breath.
She waited for him to ask. He didn’t.
Well, she wasn’t going to ask.
“So, was it fucking fantastic?” Damn. How had that slipped out of her mouth?
Laughter rumbled in the dark hall. “It was okay.”
Jeez. He was playing her own game against her. She elbowed him back, turning when she had enough room and pushing his chest. “Zip up your pants.”
Smiling, he did as he was told. Max straightened her skirt. “You took advantage of me. Don’t do that again.”
Damn him, he chuckled. “Yes, ma’am. I mean no, ma’am, I won’t take advantage.” His task done, he caught her chin in his big grip. “It wasn’t fucking. And it was fantastic.”