He pushes into me with a guttural sound.
I whimper.
I’ve never done anything like this. Sex was never risky before Lincoln Burns, and I’m worried I’m already addicted.
I bump his desk gently as he drives into me—and then not gently at all.
His hips slap mine, each stroke coming harder than the last, hellbent on dragging my pleasure out of me, kicking and screaming.
It doesn’t take long.
I see pink and red and so much white. His fingers are still on my clit, rubbing me mad, pushing me to the edge so fast it’s almost blinding.
“Shit!” he whispers. “Listen to your pussy, sweetness. Listen to my thrusts. Let. Go.”
My mouth pops open. My core tightens like a coil made of fire.
I sink my teeth into his wrist, too awestruck to care about leaving teeth marks, the pleasure ripping me out of my body and—
Knock. Knock.
Oh, no.
There’s someone at the door and I’m coming uncontrollably, biting him, trapped in a red, red ecstasy that won’t let go.
“Yeah?” he calls behind me, his voice ragged.
I know he’s close. I’m clenching him so tight he doesn’t stop thrusting.
He can’t.
“New shipments are in from Europe, Mr. Burns,” a man’s voice says. “You said you wanted to know immediately. I tried calling but everything’s going to voicemail.”
Yikes.
If I wasn’t stuck in an orgasm that turns me inside out, I’d be horrified.
“Five minutes,” he growls back. “I’ll be right with you.”
“Great.” The doorknob clicks. “If you just want me to leave the spec sheets, I’ll—”
“No!” He roars, grabbing my hips, slamming in so deep my whole body thumps the desk. “Just. Fucking. Go.”
Fitting words because Lincoln is already gone.
For a hot second, his cock swells. I hear a frantic sound like he’s covering his own mouth as he grinds against my hips and releases.
Holy fuckamole.
Edgar Allan Poe could rise from the grave and walk in right now and neither of us could make ourselves care.
He’s groaning against his hand.
I’m leaving a full imprint on his wrist.
We’ve forgotten how to breathe.
And this fireball detonates through us for minutes that feel like years, storming our bodies with unrelenting bliss, making me feel him coming as much as I know he feels me.
When he finally pulls out, I think I need to be scraped off his desk.
“Linc. That was—God.” I have no words.
Honestly, he does a better job of summarizing it than me. I watch as he tosses the condom in the trash, tucks himself back in his pants, and hovers over me, brushing his lips so gently against mine.
“That was what you get when you trust me, Nevermore,” he whispers with a kiss. “If you’re a good girl, there’s a whole hell of a lot more to come.”
The next day, I knock on Eliza’s door with my elbow.
My hands are full, clutching my laptop and holding a small disposable cup of campfire coffee.
She opens the door with her eyes narrowed. “I knew I was being haunted. What brings you back to the land of the living, ghost girl?”
“I brought you a present to make up for being so busy.”
With a silly smile, she throws the door open.
“Come in! Why are you never home anymore? I almost thought you skipped out on me and moved.”
“I’m Lincoln Burns’ full-time fake bride. That means lots of time with my faux fiancé, taking pretty pictures.”
Ugh, I can’t hide anything. A rosy red blush betrays me and my mind instantly goes to the photo shoot a few days after the yacht cruise.
How sweetly Lincoln cradled me against his mile-wide chest.
How good he smelled, cologne and man distilled into the best scent.
How fast we raced back to his place, tearing at each other’s clothes before we even stepped off the elevator to his penthouse floor.
“Holy crap, lady. You and the bosshole?” Eliza looks dumbstruck.
I just hold out the small cup of coffee I brought along, courtesy of Wyatt after our latest cinnamon roll visit with him this morning.
Eliza takes it and turns it around slowly. She sniffs and jerks back.
“Wow, that’s strong! What is this stuff?”
“Lincoln’s friend, Wyatt, he makes this brew. I thought you might find it interesting—”
“Wait, Lincoln? You’re on a first-name basis now? Wow. You are spending quality time with the boss. Are you sure it’s just fake?”
“...I’m not sure what it is,” I answer honestly. The sex is truly the most intense experience of my life. My face goes hot at the thought. “That’s not my point, though. Wyatt brews this coffee over a campfire, and whatever he does, it always comes out with this smoky flavor. It’s pretty good when you add a little creamer to take the edge off. I started bringing my own after it choked me the first time. Try it!”
She sniffs the cup again and smiles.
“Maybe I will. But first, why are you blushing?”
“Blushing?”
I’m not sure why I bother playing dumb. She sees my scarlet face.