“Please,” I whimpered.
He hooked his fingers under my thong and slipped it off my body. I was completely naked now, save for the high heels. He propped my feet up on the desk and stared down at me, as if he were taking a picture for safekeeping.
Then, his hands went to the button of his tuxedo pants. He slipped the zipper down to the base and then dropped his pants. His dick was bulging under his boxer briefs, and I ached to run my hand down it, to take it in my mouth, and to hear him make all those delicious noises all over again. But I could see in his eyes that he had other things on his mind.
He palmed his cock in his hand, found a condom, and slipped it on. Then, he strode back toward me. I hadn’t moved a muscle the whole time. My breathing was shallow as I imagined what was to come. But I couldn’t have prepared myself.
Without comment, he slid into me to the hilt in one thrust. I was practically dripping on his desk, but I still gasped in shock as he stretched me to the fullest.
My body felt alive.
Alive and euphoric.
He gripped my hips so tight that he left little indents in the skin, and I worried there might be bruising tomorrow. Yet I didn’t care one bit. Just a sexy-as-fuck mark to show that he had claimed me. And claimed me, he did.
He pulled out of me and then slammed back in harder than the last time. My body rocked back toward the end of his desk, but he held on, rocking into me over and over again. Keeping up a jarring, uneven, intensely erotic pace that I couldn’t hope to match. So, I let him take complete control and tried to keep from screaming so loud that the people one story up could hear me.
We didn’t last like last time. We didn’t stand a chance. We were both heated up from our time apart and desperate for another round. I wasn’t trying to take my time, and he had no intentions of allowing it. It was clear that rough, hard, and fast were the only options in this scenario.
My mind disconnected from my body as I came violently and blissfully. I soared away into the abyss of pleasure. Relegating myself to base emotions only. Allowing myself to relish in how perfect every moment had been. To feel so extravagantly, so intentionally, and so unabatedly that all else fell away.
I realized Jensen was resting forward over me as I came back to myself. My legs were trembling like a newborn lamb, and a light sheen of sweat caressed my skin. Jensen’s eyes glimmered with passion and elation. I knew that he could go again soon, but for now, there was only immense satisfaction.
He slid out of me and offered me the bathroom attached to his office. When I finished cleaning up, I came back to see that Jensen looked immaculate again. His tux was perfectly in place, and if I hadn’t just seen the raw and wild man beneath, I’d never have known that he’d just fucked my brains out.
“Do you have to go back to the party?” I asked, unable to keep the caution out of my voice. I reached for my dress and slid it back on, securing the zipper in place.
“I seem to be otherwise occupied,” he said.
He drew me into him, and for the first time all night, he planted an affectionate kiss on my lips. I fell into it, wanting nothing less than a thousand more of them.
“I like that,” I said.
“I think I’m going to have to take you out now.”
“Oh? Tacos?” I only half-joked.
“Probably something nicer than tacos after the week I’ve put you through,” he said.
“You don’t have to do that. I don’t need a fancy dinner as an apology. I liked our first date,” I told him truthfully. “It felt…real.”
He smiled down at me and captured another kiss. “It was.”
Chapter 18
Emery
“Emery!” Kimber yelled.
“Just a second,” I called back. I was putting the finishing touches on my hair, trying to make it do what Heidi had gotten it to do and failing miserably. I put the curling wand down and shrugged. It was better to go as myself than to try to be someone I wasn’t. And a girl who fixed her hair on the regular was definitely not me.
“Emery, now!” Kimber screamed.
My eyebrows rose, and I hurried out of the bathroom. “What is it? What’s going on?”
I found Kimber curled in the fetal position on the floor of her bedroom. She was breathing deeply and winced in pain.
“Oh my God!” I cried. “Are you having contractions? Are you in labor?”
“I don’t”—she cried out and then clenched down, as if bracing herself—“know. It could just be Braxton Hicks contractions.”