“I want it, I want it,” I whimper haltingly. “I want you.”
No points for subtlety.
But at least I can say I gave him one final out before we corrupt the walls of his office.
My fingers go to work on his belt buckle, unfastening it in a hurry and letting the heavy silver sag, wasting no time unbuttoning his pants and lowering the zipper. Oh my God. Oh my God—he’s huge. Thick and solid and long. Hard as nails. I rub my palm against the distended cotton of his briefs, watching his eyes grow dazed and molten at the same time. When I tug down the waistband of his underwear and stroke his bare flesh, his body gravitates closer as if compelled, his mouth slamming down over mine, our hands moving together in a vigorous motion, up and down the rigid stalk of his arousal.
“Keep that up while I get your panties off,” he says hoarsely, clamping his teeth down on my bottom lip, growling low in his throat while he shoves up my skirt and drags my basic black underwear down my thighs. It happens so fast. I’m so mesmerized by the flex of his forearms, the heaving breadth of his chest, that my hands stop moving and he begins to thrust into my fist instead. And if I was entranced before, that was nothing compared to now, because his hips move in such smooth pumps that my pulse begins to leap everywhere.
Especially there. Right there, between my legs, where I’m so wet. So wet without knowing how or when it happened, only that this man inspired it and there’s nothing like him. Nothing like the way we touch each other.
We converge like it was choreographed, his hips pressing in between my spread legs, his mouth on my neck, a big, male fist winding and winding in my hair.
“Are you going to scream?” he asks raggedly.
I shake my head rapidly. “No.”
“Good girl,” he grunts, slanting his mouth over mine. “Put me in. Put me all the way in.”
Am I crazy to feel those words resonating everywhere? As I guide his stiff sex to my entrance and press the tip inside me, both of us holding our breaths while he sinks and sinks, me gasping over the full, stretching sensation, I feel his words in the dead center of my chest. Put me all the way in. This is more than a physical invasion; he’s making himself known everywhere. In my bones. Into the organ leaping in my ribcage. When his shaft can’t push any further, there’s a catch in my throat and I exhale in a rush, gathering him to me. It’s involuntary. Wanting, needing him closer, closer, closer. “Aiden.”
“Stella,” he groans, wrapping his arms securely around me, smothering my face into his shoulder, our breath racing in and out, loudly to our ears, but drowned out by Christmas music to anyone outside of the door. And in that single use of my name, in the way he holds me like I’m priceless, I know he’s experiencing it, too. This sense of joining more than our bodies. It’s like there’s something waiting, eager to be unlocked inside of me, reaching out for the corresponding key in him.
He’s giving it. He holds me so tight and gives it.
Powerful hips rear back and drill forward—and I just barely manage to muffle my scream into his shoulder, my fingers this close to clawing the shirt right off his body.
Aiden laughs in my ear, sounding pained. “What happened to not screaming?”
“I didn’t expect it to feel that amazing,” I manage. Amazing is an understatement. He’s touching every forgotten corner of me, pressing tight and deep, his body wrapped around me, anchoring me, making me feel safe, needed, lusted for. “It n-never has.”
He looks at me with an unnamed emotion in his eyes. “Nothing in my life has felt as amazing as you, either. Nothing.” I have no time to process the weight and intensity of our exchange before he’s drawing me off the desk, keeping himself planted inside of my body while striding across the room. Toward another door. A filing room, I realize, when he brings me inside.
A second later he kicks the door shut behind us and my bottom hits the surface of a low filing cabinet. And then he’s bearing down on me. Hard. Downright rough. Positioning my legs open wide with his lower body and the occasional desperate hand, his hips punching back and slapping forward, my cries muffled by his shoulder, but in the closet we don’t have to try as hard to be quiet and that’s a good thing, because the filing cabinet is bumping against the wall, Aiden is chanting my name into my neck and I’m panting words like harder, faster, deeper.
“I know, sweetheart. I know you want that cock hard and dirty.” He kisses me until my mind is spinning, then presses our foreheads together tightly, his pace picking up, verging on wild. “And now you know. I can eat your pussy gentle and fuck you rough. Not so nice now, am I?”
“No!” God oh God, I’m ripping off his shirt. I’m watching my hands do this thing and have no control over them. I just want to see him. I want every inch of him to be in my memory bank. I resent the fact that I haven’t witnessed him naked, haven’t slid my nudity all over him and reveled in it. All of it, all of it. Now. I can’t stop touching and whimpering and I can’t wait for this torture to be over, but I also never want it to end. “Aiden, please.”
“It’s a good orgasm. That’s what’s coming. That’s what’s making you crazy. I know—I’m hurting, too. Hurting and feeling so goddamn hot at the same time. Do you know how tight you are?” He slams deep with a growl. “Jesus, it’s so fucking tight.”
He’s right about the buildup inside of me. It’s like nothing I’ve ever known. There’s no reservations between me and this man. Not right now. We’re giving everything to each other, selfish and generous in equal measure and we’re giving it physically, emotionally, and the turmoil is beautiful. So beautiful.
The flesh between my legs is seizing up around his pounding thickness in ominous waves. And when I finally succeed in opening several buttons of his shirt and the hard slabs of his pecs flex in the muted light, his long, guttural moan hitting my ears, a rush of sensation so violently perfect I can barely fathom it goes crashing through me, my sex pulsing one final time and quickening around him, hitting me with a turbulent knockout blow of relief.
“Shit. Shit. Been dying to feel that pussy go off for me. Squeezes even harder than I thought it would.” Aiden picks me up off the file cabinet mid-orgasm, wrapping me in a bear hug and grinding his hips up, up, up so deep into me that there really is no description of the sound I make into his hot, perspiring neck. A second climax follows the first, turning those tiny, intimate muscles instantly sore, but that doesn’t stop me from riding his stiffness, jerking my hips up and back and inviting him to follow me into the storm—and he does.
He drops a hand to my backside, clutching, drawing me roughly to his lap and he breaks apart, stumbling back in the small filing room until his back hits the wall, his warmth filling me while he groans my name, plowing his lower body upward over and over again, his shaft pulsing inside of me, jerking with every ounce he releases. “Jesus, Stella, Jesus. How is it so good? How are you so goddamn good for me, sweetheart? Move. Move just a little more. Ahhh, fuck. That’s it, right there. Take the last of it just like that.”
We just sort of collapse at the same time.