While his mouth is busy on my leg, one hand has slipped to my panties. He teases aside the thin, damp patch of material that forms a negligible crotch, then glides the pad of his thumb over me. He doesn’t penetrate, and my body clenches in protest against that denial of sensation.
His mouth moves closer to my core, and without any warning, he takes my legs and lifts me so that I slide down a bit on the table even as he hooks my knees over his shoulders so that his mouth is right there, and I am spread out on his work table, my skirt hiked up and my hands clenching the side of the desk in a futile defense against this assault on my senses.
I am still wearing my shoes—an expensive pair of heels that I bought on a recent shopping spree—and somehow that one detail drives home to me what it is we’re doing. And where exactly we’re doing it.
“Jackson—oh, god, Jackson, stop.” His tongue teases me along the band of my panties. “The walls—the glass. Anyone can see.”
“Let them.” His words are little more than a growl, and as soon as he’s spoken them his mouth is back on me. He uses his finger to pull the crotch aside and attack me with his tongue. I shiver with excitement—both from the way he is so wickedly teasing me and from the possibility of getting caught. Slim, I know, considering this floor is Jackson’s domain alone and isn’t even fully built out yet. But even had the floor been bustling, I don’t know that I could have moved away. Or that I would have wanted to. I’m too far gone. Too lost.
I don’t care about anything but having him. Submitting to him. To giving myself entirely to Jackson, this man who has always been able to take me where I never even knew I wanted to go … but never so far that I can’t find my way back to the familiar.
And now I am so sensitive and close that I hook my ankles together and pull him in, wanting him harder. Deeper.
He takes me right up to the edge—my mind swirling, my body writhing—and then he pulls gently away.
“Jackson—what—no. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
He chuckles, the sound very knowing and very sexy. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I have no intention of stopping.”
Gently, he moves my legs off his shoulders as he stands, then gestures for me to hook them again around his hips. I do, and am rewarded by the erotic sound of his zipper lowering.
“I have to be inside you.”
“Yes. Oh, yes.” I spread my legs, welcoming him. Needing him to fill me up. To complete me.
He is hard and thick, but I’m so damn wet he enters me easily. His hands are on my waist, and I push against him, then hook my arms around his neck so that my ass is against the edge of the table and my breasts rub provocatively against his chest as we move together in a wild and primitive rhythm.
He opens his mouth as if to say my name, but I don’t want words. I only want him, and I claim his mouth in a violent kiss, filling him with my tongue as he fills me with his cock.
I need this, and I know that he does too. This connection. This union. It’s power and strength and solidarity. It’s proof that we can get through everything that has and will happen. That we can weather the gathering storm.
It’s torment and treasure.
And I dread when this interlude will end and I must unleash another kind of tempest.
He is deep inside me, gravity working with his every thrust, and his thumb teasing my clit in time with his movements. I am lost—I am melting. Aware only of the way he makes me feel—wild and lost and so goddamned insatiable.