I can’t wait to get nipple clamps on her.
The muscles in her arms go rigid. She wants to let go of the headboard. She’s dying to let go. But she won’t. Already I know she won’t.
Skye Manning is a perfectionist. Her control will be her undoing, because her control requires perfection. I told her not to let go, so she won’t. To do so would be to fail. Skye won’t fail. I don’t know how I know this about her so soon, but I do. It’s written in every soft groan she makes, every tightening of her hands on the rungs.
And I find that beautiful.
“You’re beautiful,” I say after releasing her nipple. I move down her body, raining soft kisses on her belly and then her vulva. “I want to eat you again, but damn, I need to get inside that hot pussy. Fuck.” I move from the bed and return with a condom.
“Let me do that,” she says.
Her offer is tempting, but perfectionist or not, she still has much to learn about being in my bed.
I meet her gaze, my teeth clenched. “Don’t you fucking move.”
“Braden, I want to—”
“I said don’t move!”
She inhales sharply and looks up.
“I’m going to fuck you again, Skye, and this time, I’m going deep.”
God, so deep.
I put the condom on and maneuver her legs over my shoulders, opening her.
Then I thrust in.
She bites her lip as I tunnel all the way into her body. So tight and so welcoming. I wonder if I’ll ever get enough of her suction around me.
“That’s good,” I grit out. “Sweet pussy. Sweet Skye.”
Her shoulders are creamy, her lips glistening. I long to lower my head, kiss her mouth, her cheeks, her neck.
But that would require me to shift angles, and I don’t want to lose the depth I’m getting. God, she feels good around me. So fucking good.
Though I can tell she wants to, she doesn’t let go of the rungs.
She watches me, gazes into my eyes, and her pussy responds. Already I feel her walls clenching, her climax imminent.
“God, Braden!”
She grasps the rungs with white knuckles as I pound into her, grazing her clit, my balls slapping against her ass.
She moans.
She screams.
“That’s it, baby. Come. Come all over me. Come for me. Only me.”
I fuck her harder and harder.
She pulses around me, and a tingling intensity builds in my balls. I’m ready again.
“Fuck. Skye. Yes!” I roar as I thrust deeply and come, our climaxes in perfect tandem.
My God.
I’m in deep. Again, both frightening and exhilarating.
She meets my gaze.
I roll off her onto my back, one arm across my eyes.
Pure euphoria consumes me, and I lie immobile for several moments, trying to quiet the thoughts that jumble inside my mind. This first time was too good. Too damned good. Already I know I need more of her. The problem is—will I ever get enough?
Finally, I move off the bed, stand, and throw the condom in the trash. Then I bend down, pick up my pants, and take my phone out of my pocket to text Christopher.
Skye needs to leave. Now. I have a big day of meetings tomorrow. Important meetings. If she stays, I won’t get any sleep. I may not get any sleep anyway.
“Going to Instagram this, too?”
I regard her. Her eyes twinkle. She thinks she’s being funny. She has no idea I’m texting my driver to get her out of here. I don’t want to do it. I want her to stay. I want to spend the entire night fucking her into next week.
But I can’t. Already I know it’s too dangerous.
Still I say nothing as I finish my text. Then, “I just called Christopher. He’ll drive you home.”
She lets go of the headboard.
Without waiting for my permission.
Chapter Eleven
Christopher is on call at all times, and he’s paid very well to be. Still, when he needs time off, I give it to him. Tonight isn’t one of those times, and he texts me back quickly that he’s on his way.
I leave my clothes strewn where they are and stride slowly—a forced slowly—to my walk-in closet. I grab my black velour robe and wrap it around my body, knotting the belt.
I have to leave the bedroom. If I stay here, I’ll fuck her again. I’ll do things she’s not ready for, and that would be a mistake. A big mistake. She may even let me do those things, but then she’ll have regrets. I don’t want that to happen.
What’s truly frightening, though, is that I have the desire—fuck, it’s almost an urge—to lie with her. To wrap my arms around her and spend the night with her, here in my bed. That the urge is nearly as strong as my urge to fuck isn’t lost on me.
Which is why she’s leaving as soon as Christopher gets here.
And why I’m leaving the bedroom.
I clear my throat and hold up my phone. “I have an important message I need to respond to right away. Get dressed, and Christopher will meet you in the front room.”
I try not to look at the regret in her warm eyes as I walk out of the bedroom, closing the door behind me.
I try not to think about how she must be feeling. Probably a mixture of confusion and abandonment along with awe that she experienced an orgasm for the first time tonight. She’s no doubt thinking that whatever this is between us is over. That I’m done.
That’s okay. She can think that for now.
But she’s wrong.
This is far from over.
And I will make this up to her.
…
Sleep eludes me again for most of the night, and my cold shower this morning is like icicles piercing my flesh. Still, I’m up by six a.m. Only 1,440 minutes in each day, and I’ve learned never to waste one.
After dressing and grabbing a quick cup of coffee and the breakfast sandwich Marilyn prepared for me, I head to the office, where a new set of emergencies greets me. After I gather the resources to put out the necessary fires, it’s nearly lunchtime—my usual time to hit the gym and then grab a healthy meal.
Not today, though. Today I have lunch with my brother and father at the Oyster House. It’s a monthly date that I never break. I definitely won’t break it today, as I’m famished. Sure, I ate a small breakfast sandwich this morning, but I went without dinner last night because I couldn’t wait to get Skye in bed.