He suckled me, making me feel wild—making me feel aware. So that I seemed to know every hair, every nerve ending, every tiny burst of sensation in my body.
“You’re so ready for me,” he murmured.
“I was ready the first moment I saw you. That night at the party, when I saw you walking toward me, I wanted you so desperately it was almost painful.” I turned my head away, not wanting him to see my eyes, suddenly afraid that I’d revealed too much.
He cupped my cheek and eased my head back so that there was no escaping his gaze. “Yes,” he said, and that simple word seemed to hold a world of meaning.
I sighed. “You do something to me, Tyler. I look at you and …”
“And what?”
“And I want.”
His smile was slow and painfully sexy. “What do you want, Sloane?”
You. “Exactly what you’re doing,” I said instead.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he said. “You’re like oxygen. I crave you, I need you, I can’t live without you.”
“Oxygen’s explosive,” I teased.
“It most definitely is,” he said as he lifted me. I hooked my legs around him, and he carried me to his desk. “Lay back,” he ordered, and I complied without argument.
“Oh, yes,” he said, his voice filled with heat and appreciation. “I like the way you look. Stretched out, naked and flush, like an offering to a god.”
“Would that be you?”
He chuckled. “It might be.”
“What are you going to do?” I couldn’t help my whisper, or the hint of anticipation that stole into my voice.
“I could just stand here and look at you. Your skin is so pale that I see every subtle change, every flush when you become aroused. I like knowing how much you want me. How much you like me looking at you. Me wanting you.”
He slowly stroked his hands up my legs. “And this is the rest. Touching you. Feeling the way your muscles tremble. Hearing how you draw breath when my fingers graze ever so gently over your skin.” As if in illustration, he drew a lazy fingertip over my thigh. “Turn over now,” he said.
I turned, lying flat on the desktop, my legs together, my head turned to one side.
“No,” he said, “Ease down. Feet on the floor. Legs spread. Bend over and hold on.”
I moved as he spoke, then realized I was biting my lip, a reflection of both nerves and excitement.
Slowly, he stroked his hand over my back, tracing the curve of my spine, the swell of my rear. “Yes,” he said, in a voice heavy with lust and heat. “You’re perfect, Sloane, so fucking perfect.”
I said nothing. I wasn’t perfect—not by a long shot. But in that moment, I felt like I was.
He leaned over, his clothes brushing my naked flesh in a way that made me shiver almost as much as his words. “I’m going to fuck you, Sloane. Fast and hard. I’m going to lose myself inside you, and I’m going to hold tight as I feel you explode.”
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move. I could only wait in breathless anticipation as he took off his jacket, then folded it and gently placed it between my belly and the edge of the desk.
I drew in a breath—Tyler’s hands, his touch, his words all made me wet with longing. But that one tiny courtesy had me close to crumpling with desire and respect and something that, in another place and time, just might be love.
He touched me, using his fingers to open me wide, make me even more aroused, so that I was whimpering with need by the time I heard the distinctive sound of his zipper.
And then—oh, thank god—I felt the thick head of his cock push against me, gentle at first, teasing me, and then with one solid thrust he buried himself inside me, and I cried out as the warmth of his body pressed up against my ass, trapping me between him and the desk.