“No,” Leslie whispered raggedly, not really meaning it. His mouth was on her neck, kissing her in that sweet spot just below her ear that was so sensitive. She grabbed at her control and fought against the intense arousal coursing through her.
Peter thrust a heavy thigh between her legs and pushed them apart, one hand pinning both of hers above her head, the other streaking boldly, possessively over her hips. “No more games, princess. You want this. You know you do.”
So help her, she did.
His lips scalded her neck and Leslie let her head fall back, moaned when his tongue slowly tasted her, teased her sensitive flesh. Through the door she could see the lights were back on down the hall, but her office was still dark. It only served to excite her more, being in the semi-dark with Peter. The feel of his hard, unforgiving body pressed against hers made her knees weak.
“We can’t do this.” The words sounded hollow even to her ears. One of his hands stroked down her leg until it reached her knee and gathered the fabric of her skirt, pushing it aside. Then his jean-clad thigh was rubbing against her crotch and he was taking her mouth in a hungry kiss. Tongue and teeth and primal, aroused male. Never had she been kissed like this, not with this much unbridled passion.
It pushed the last of her resistance right out of her mind.
On a moan of surrender, Leslie opened to him and began kissing him back with matching heat. She tugged her captive hands, but he held her steady, ground out, “Not yet,” his voice rough with need.
His hand skimmed up her bare thigh and when Peter reached her panties he yanked them to the side and slid a finger in between her slick lips. “Fuck, Leslie,” he growled. “You’re so wet for me.”
Always. She was always wet for him. “Yes,” was all she could say because his thumb had found her clit and was rubbing it, driving her closer and closer to orgasm.
“Come,” he demanded. “Come now.”
Like she was a puppet and he was her master, Leslie came. The orgasm tore through her with almost violent force and she cried out, “Peter!”
“Again,” was all he demanded, his fingers taking no mercy on her as he drove her straight into another orgasm, blowing her mind.
“Why?” Leslie whispered raggedly when the second orgasm began to subside.
Peter trailed kisses over her jaw, searching for her mouth and when he found it he kissed her slowly. “Because you coming is the most beautiful sound in the world,” he breathed against her lips, devastating her.
Her heart flung wide open and tears stung the back of her eyes as love and arousal coursed through her. The rush of emotion that overcame her had her gasping and clinging to him.
“Touch me,” she breathed. His hands on her were what she needed, what she craved most. Every stroke was charged with emotion; so much of what he couldn’t say was communicated through his fingertips.
Needing to feel him, needing to know his heart, Leslie captured his lips with hers in a lingering kiss and moaned when she felt his sexual energy change from aggressive to fluid and erotic. She was suddenly swimming in an ocean of sensuality that verged on dark and decadent. If she’d let him, he would pull her under. And it was so, so tempting.
But she needed to know his feelings first. “Put your hands on me.” Leslie couldn’t tell if it was a command or if he was begging, and she didn’t care. All that mattered was getting his hands on her now.
And she got them. Peter released her captive wrists and ran his hand down the length of her arm, across her breast and over her rib cage, with a touch that was confident and possessive and oh-so-hungry. “I want more,” he said against her mouth. “More of you coming for me, panting my name.”
She wanted that too. But because she wanted to hear him say it, Leslie ran a freed hand down his flat, chiseled stomach and didn’t stop until she was holding his straining erection in her palm.
“Why so needy?” she whispered as she stroked him through his jeans, loving the feel of him, hard and thick with desire for her. He sucked in a sharp breath and moaned softly.
Then he reached out with a hand and flung the door shut, flicked on a nearby lamp, and looked at her with eyes that melted into her soul. His voice was rough and gravelly against her neck when he growled, his hands stroking boldly up her bare thighs. “Because princess, I’ve come so many times for you, you don’t even know. Now it’s your turn.”
A mental image of Peter touching himself over her, stroking himself off, had her going so achy with sexual hunger that it overrode all her senses, and all she could do was moan helplessly, overwhelmed with the knowledge that he’d wanted her like this all along.
Then her hands were all over him, ripping at his shirt, tugging at his jeans. Peter naked was all she wanted—everything she could need. When his shirt got caught at his chin, he laughed and yanked it the rest of the way off.
“Better?” he said, eyes hot and hazy with passion. She was about to respond when he snagged two fingers into the front of her bodice and tugged hard. Her breasts sprang free and he grinned wickedly. “No, this is better.”
A laugh bubbled loose and she tossed back her head just as his mouth captured one of her nipples and sucked gently. Then she groaned and grabbed for his zipper, yanking it down. As soon as he was free, she wrapped her hand around him and smiled victoriously when his hands dug into her hips hard and he hissed between his teeth. His forehead fell to hers and he closed his eyes, panting. “Jesus.”
Her thumb slipped over the head of his penis, traced the plump ridge and he shuddered, swore. It drove her crazy. Stealing a peek down her body, Leslie moaned softly at the sight of her hand wrapped around his thick shaft, stroking. Her fingers circled the base, and when she moved them down the impressive length of him she noticed it.
Peter’s tattoo.
And she suddenly burst out laughing. “Oh God, you really do have one! I was so drunk that night I thought I’d imagined that!”
But she hadn’t. There, right where the base of his cock met his groin in stylized black script was his THANK YOU FOR RIDING tattoo.
Still laughing, Peter nipped her skin playfully and growled against her neck as he spun her around and moved her to the desk, “What’s so funny?”
Her ass was on the flat surface and his large hands were moving up her thighs under her skirt again, making her breathless. “What your tattoo says.”
He pulled back and grinned devilishly. “Well it’s true, princess. I’m thankful every damn time.”
The way he said it had her head falling back as she laughed. He really did make giving thanks dirty. Bless his heart.
When she lifted her head again and saw his eyes intense with emotion, her heart rolled slowly, helplessly. She was so in love with him it was scary. Completely terrifying.
It must have shown in her eyes because Peter took one look at her and took her mouth in a brutal, passionate kiss. “Fuck, Leslie.” Then he was pushing at her skirts, hiking them up around her waist. He covered himself with a condom in record time and gripped her hips. “Look at me,” he commanded, his voice harsh with sexual desire and something more. Something unfiltered from somewhere deep inside him.
It made her wild.
The plump head of his penis pushed into her as she looked into his blue eyes totally glazed with passion, and he growled possessively. “Mine.”
Yes, his.
“Say it.” He panted and pushed into her a little more, making her moan with need.
Because she knew in her heart he was right, Leslie wrapped her legs around his waist and dove her hands into his hair, fisting there. “Yours, Peter.”
His whole body shuddered and he thrust into her deep on a ragged groan. “Mine,” he said again, this time softly. “Always mine.”