“On the pill?” She nods. “Yes.”
“I’m clean.” Excitement builds within me. I’ve never had sex without a condom. I may have been a dumb kid, but I never forgot to suit up. A big mistake like that could screw you up forever.
“So am I,” she whispers as I start to stroke her again. She closes her eyes, seemingly overcome. “I want to know what it feels like. With no barriers.”
Christ. So do I.
She turns her head toward mine, her cheek resting against my hair, and we remain like that, my hand furiously working her pussy, our accelerated breaths mingling. She’s trembling on my lap, my cock is poking against her ass, and when I whisper in her ear, “Come,” she shatters, my name falling from her lips accompanied by a sob.
I wonder not for the first time if this woman was made for me. She’s so responsive. Feisty. Smart as hell. Sweet. Sexy. Filthy when I demand her to be.
I’m an addict, but she’s the only one that I crave. The only thing that makes me feel good. That makes me feel whole and like I have a purpose in life. The scary thing about addiction, though?
It takes over your life. Becomes the only thing you can focus on, the only thing that takes the pain away. If I keep this up, it’ll become more and more difficult for me to walk away.
And I should walk away.
She knows it.
I know it.
Doesn’t mean I’ll do it, though.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Violet
I’m lying on top of Ryder’s desk, my dress hiked up to my waist, my panties lying on the floor, my legs spread wide with Ryder standing in between them while he pushes his thick cock inside of me again and again. He grips my ankles, his fingers curved tight, thumbs skimming over the patterned stockings I wore just for him.
I knew he’d like them.
In a daze, I watch him. Admire him. His dark hair is a riotous mess from me running my fingers through it only minutes ago. He shed his jacket but he’s wearing one of his usual crisp white shirts and a black silk tie, everything perfectly in place above the waist. His pants are bunched around his knees along with his charcoal boxer briefs, but that doesn’t hinder him in his ability to fuck me into oblivion.
Nothing keeps my man down.
I close my eyes and savor the thrust of his cock inside my body. In. Out. Faster. Deeper. His hands move away from my ankles and he’s gripping my hips, holding me in place as he increases his thrusts even faster. I wrap my legs around his waist, moaning with every slap of his balls against my ass. Reach out and grip his wrists to ground me as I feel the orgasm build and sway. It teases me, offering me a glimpse of its intensity, and I chase after it, close my eyes tight, concentrate on reaching that pinnacle. If I could just grasp hold of it and not let go …
The rippling sensation washes over me and I cry out, my eyes popping open to take him in as he stills, his expression one of shocked, blissful agony. One hard buck of his hips and his semen fills me as he comes, his entire body wracked with shudders.
Feeling his flesh sink into mine with no latex barriers … my God. It makes everything that much better. Like, mind-bogglingly better.
“Fuck, that was unbelievable,” he mutters, sounding overcome. He grabs hold of my hands and pulls me into a sitting position, his cock still imbedded in my body. I tilt my head back just as he kisses me, his lips soft and damp, his tongue teasing against my lower lip. I part my lips on a sigh and slide my tongue against his, and the kiss turns lazy and sweet. I tighten my grip on his hands, our fingers intertwined, and I realize I’ve never felt so content.
Ridiculous. Most of the time he confuses me. My feelings for him confuse me. He can be so indifferent sometimes. Mysterious. Standoffish. And other times, he’s passionate and all-consuming. Intense, and even a little … cruel. But a delicious sort of cruel that makes me want more.
Then he looks at me in a certain way and says something dirty while he touches me like I’m a possession and he owns me. And all I want to do is fall into his arms and let him do whatever he wants to me.
I’m giving him too much power. I’ve been in this position before and I’ve always felt held back, especially with Zachary. There’s something about handing the power over to Ryder, though, that’s different. I feel both cherished and liberated. Taken care of yet free.
“I should go,” I whisper against his lips, reluctant to break the spell he’s woven over me.
“Why?” He runs his fingers over my hair, pushing it back into place.
This entire charade we’re participating in is beyond frustrating. “If I stay locked up in your office for too long, people will get suspicious.”
“We’re in a meeting.” He kisses me again. Softly. Sweetly. I could kiss him all day. All night. “Discussing packaging for your cosmetics line.”
“That excuse will hold up for only so long.” I touch his face, feeling closer to him now than I ever have. It’s so silly. We just had sex on his desk, but it felt … different somehow.
“Mmm.” His low hum vibrates through me, making me warm, and then he’s gone. As he withdraws from my body, I feel his semen drip out of me and I frown. He bends down and snatches my panties off the floor, pressing them against my sex so he can clean me up as best he can. “Sorry,” he whispers as he crumples up my panties in his fist and strides around his desk to shove them in his top drawer.
“Don’t forget those,” I tell him. I’d be mortified if he opened his drawer one day in front of someone and there lay my panties. Not that anyone would know they’re mine, but still …