But he doesn’t tease.
He takes.
He takes all of me in seconds, drawing me to the back of his mouth until I am lodged in his throat. It’s miraculous how fantastic it feels.
I hiss, my hips shooting up as desire ricochets through me. Tightens in me instantly, a storm of lust brewing in the base of my spine as I sink into the bliss of contact, of desire, of touch.
It’s been so long.
But this is like riding a bike.
And I let go of the handlebars, flying downhill.
I let go of all my stress, let go of everything else in the world. I give in to the delicious torture, to the mind-bending blur of the twin sensations of him tugging on my balls as he swirls his tongue all along my shaft.
I give myself over to the foreign feeling of this.
This thing I haven’t indulged in for so long—pleasure with another person.
And now, I want to indulge in everything. Want to have every ounce of ecstasy, of lust.
Most of all, I want to come.
I want to come in his throat.
Want to watch his lips suck my dick hard.
Want to see his eyes roll back in his head as I fuck his sinful mouth.
I snap my eyes open, savoring the sight in front of me, the rock star between my legs, devouring my cock. His right hand slides up and down my thigh, and his left plays with my balls while his lips are stretched wide around my shaft.
All of me so damn deep in his mouth.
It’s filthy, the way he sucks me to the root. Filthy and beautiful as he rocks his mouth up and down my dick. My hands curl tighter around his head, gripping him, driving him deeper onto my shaft as lust crackles along my spine, builds in a fury, and then explodes.
Savagely.
I shove in farther as my body sizzles, and I warn him of my release. “Coming. Coming now.”
I toss my head back, grunting, growling.
Losing all my control as I climax down his throat.
My world spins off its axis as I pant, moan, and shake. Everything is black and beautiful, and I am so far gone I can’t think, can’t speak.
All I can do is groan over and over.
I can’t even stop when he lets go of me with a loud, wet pop.
I can’t stop when he climbs back up on me, straddling me again.
Or when he wraps his arms around my neck, threads his fingers through my hair, and brushes a tender, sexy kiss to my lips.
I can taste myself on him.
Most of all, I can taste pleasure again.
I know I should stop. But I’m not thinking when my hands roam around his hips and back to his jeans, the lure of his ass too powerful for me.
I want it.
I want him.
I want to bury myself in his body and let the pleasure wash over me. Let it drag me under.
Because this is the antidote to the last two years.
To the pain, the numbness, the stress.
But if I sleep with him tonight, I’ll come in two minutes instead of one.
And I can’t have that. I can’t add my current short fuck-fuse to the equation. I’m going to need to build up my endurance again before I go there.
Go there?
What the hell?
I’m not going there.
I cannot be seriously thinking about taking my boss to bed.
I can’t. I won’t. I’ll stop.
I have to.
Blow jobs are one thing.
Sex is another matter entirely.
Endurance or no endurance, sex isn’t something I should do with him.
But then again, this night does exist in its own parallel universe.
It’s a one-time-only space.
And there are plenty of other things to do besides fuck.
I clear my throat, my voice hoarse when I speak. “So, was that about ninety seconds?”
He laughs. “Give or take.”
I smirk. “Round two.” I grip his ass. Hard. Firm. “Need to take you to your suite. Get these clothes off. Want to finger you, jerk you off, make you come.”
He hums, like that’s the most delicious thing anyone’s ever said to him. “Under one condition.”
“Yeah?” I arch a brow. “What’s that?”
He bends his face to my ear and licks the shell. I gasp, shocked at how good it feels. “That I get to make you come again too.”
Maybe I’m a selfish bastard, but that was always part of my plan. So I say yes.
12
Jackson
The door shuts, and I am on Stone. Grabbing him. Pushing him. Manhandling him.
He’s up against the wall, and I slam my pelvis against his, grinding and pressing.
We’re both ready again after waiting at the VIP check-in, and waiting in the elevator, and waiting during the walk down the hall.
I am ravenous, and I’ve barely begun having him again.
We kiss furiously, hands ripping at shirts, fingers tearing at buckles. Breaking the kiss, I tug his T-shirt over his head, and then blink at the sight. I’ve seen him shirtless often, but never like this. Never for me.
I drag my hands up and down his hard body, over his strong arms, tracing the swirls of ink that travel over his muscles, then the stars that trail over his abs.
“Mmm. I want to lick all your tats,” I murmur.
Stone wiggles his brows. “I won’t stop you. Especially when you see the one on my ass.”
I tremble. Everywhere. “Shut up. You tease.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
I grab his jeans, tugging at the waistband, yanking him away from the wall. “Need you in bed. Need to see you all hot and bothered for me.”
“Consider it done,” he says, slinking out of my grip and sauntering over to the king-size bed.
Sauntering being the operative word. Stone knows how to work a room, work a crowd, work millions.
And he knows how to work me.
When he reaches the bed, he turns around, kicks off his shoes, and undoes the snap on his jeans, then the zipper.
My breath goes harsh with anticipation.
With the thrill of him undressing for me.
With the sheer wrongness of my employer taking off his clothes for me after midnight in a seductive striptease.
The wrongness of my own give-no-fucks attitude right now, especially when he pushes the jeans down over his hips.
I’m nothing but red-hot lust as I stalk closer, stopping a few feet away to take in the Stone show.
He works me into a frenzy as he slides the jeans down and finally his cock springs free.
Mine thumps hard in my pants, just aches as I stare at him.
At how hard he is. How thick he is. How much he wants me.
He pushes his jeans all the way down, his boxer-briefs too, then kicks them off. He grips his cock, rough and savage, his fist curling around his length, running down, then back up, showing me what he has in store for me.
My throat is dry. My pulse pounds mercilessly everywhere inside me.
And I have to have him.
“Get on the bed. Lie down. Let me look at you,” I command.
With a naughty grin, he spreads his arms out wide like a badass rebel angel and flops onto the mattress like that.
He scoots up, sinking into the pillows, then eyes me up and down, his green irises salacious. “Why are you dressed? Get your clothes off, man. Get them off now.”
“Maybe I like it when you’re the only one naked,” I say, toeing off my shoes and climbing on the bed, crawling over him.