He grips me with both hands, lifting my hips higher so he can slide even deeper. It hurts a little. He’s so freaking big and thick and deep. It’s like he’s fully occupying everything about me.
He slows his movements. He’s listening to me, gauging every breath, every whimper. I’m not sure if I can come again, but his drives are measured and relentless. Rafe is reading my reactions as he plays my body, taking every quivering flutter to heart. With unequivocal insistence, he coaxes a rising surge. “Come for me, baby. I love the little sounds you make. Come for me, gorgeous Lexi. My gorgeous girl.”
“Rafe,” I moan, as his thick length rubs against a ridiculously sensitive trigger inside me.
Cocky, he pushes the pleasure deeper. I ride the tidal wave, shattering. I dig my nails into his back, as my inner muscles work his own orgasm with long, tight, silky pulls. He doesn’t try to pull out this time, and I don’t ask him to. It hardly seems to matter. We’re already bound.
You’ve totally lost your mind.
Yes. And there’s not a damn thing I—or you—can do about it.
After the waves calm, Rafe strokes my hair for a while. He kisses my face. Then he pulls gently out of me. He stands above me, all hulking and outrageous. Then, abruptly, he pauses, touching his fingers to my body. He looks appalled, almost furious, as he stares at his blood-stained fingers.
“Lexi. My God. You’re a virgin?”
Fuck.
I can’t believe I got so ridiculously carried away. Christ. I just fucked my new assistant.
The new assistant who’s still peacefully sleeping in my bed with me.
I meant to pull out, at least. But I was so fucking overcome with lust that I spent myself inside her. More than once. There was simply no way in hell I could have disengaged myself from that tight little heaven on earth.
Goddamn it all to hell. That has never, ever happened before. Not even close. It didn’t even occur to me to put on a condom. Or anything else. The minute that goddess walked into my office, with her sultry green eyes and her short skirt, practically oozing sexuality, my brain took flight and left the room. Leaving my goddamn cock in charge, which was never a good thing.
She’s so fucking young, with a pronounced vibe of complete and total innocence.
The sane part of my mind wants to wake her, to politely ask her to leave, to tell her I still have a few more people to interview and I’ll be in touch. I won’t call. I’ll send her some flowers and a gentlemanly note. Done and dusted. She’s not the most qualified for the job anyway, not by a longshot.
I watch her as she sleeps, surprised at myself for even bringing her here. I never bring women to my apartment. It’s a door I keep decisively closed. Until now, apparently.
Her sunny blond hair spills over the pillow in a silky cascade. Her pink lips are puffy from my greedy kisses, absurdly soft and tempting. The smooth skin of her jaw is reddened slightly from the stubble of my beard. I was rough with her. Too rough. I took her not only in my office—twice—but several times during the night, damning all consequences. And she’s a fucking virgin.
Or at least she was. Yesterday.
She must be twenty-one at least. Maybe twenty-two. What kind of girl waits that long? And why?
Her dark-blond eyelashes lay in graceful curves against her pale cheeks, dark at the roots and lightening to an almost white-blond at the tips. Her make-up is all but gone, aside from some light smudges on the pillowcase. I think of waking her, just so I can see that sea-green burn in her eyes.
The sheet lays low on her hips, drawing a line across the concave plane of her stomach, framed by the jut of her angular hipbones. Her breasts are a work of art—there’s no other way to describe them. Full and rounded, high and plush with youth. Her nipples are soft now, in sleep. And I can’t resist. I’m already harder than I’d ever been. Maybe equal to yesterday, or last night. I hardly care about the comparison. What I care about is the soft bud of her rosy skin, tightening even as she sleeps, under the glide of my tongue. She tastes like nothing I’ve ever experienced. Sweet, somehow. Floral. Like she stepped out of a garden at midnight, while eating sugary cake and blossoming into full-blown womanhood. I suck on her like I’m trying to draw that taste from her body. It’s perverse, almost, the greed and need I feel.
Little mews of pleasure come from her mouth. She writhes under the sheet, displacing it.
Fuck.
I’m a fucking goner. I’m whipped like nothing I’ve ever known. Just the sight of her is enough to blind me, once again, to every normal consideration. I’ve been a high-achieving, successful, responsible, Type-A paramour, sometimes more darkly than others, all my life. Every fucking second of my entire straight-A millionaire—actually, as of last month, billionaire—life.
But this. This girl. She disarms me. She makes me want to fuck everything up. I want to dirty myself, and her. Now I know what it feels like to not care about anything but the moment, because this moment will be so good, so incomparably fucking good that nothing else matters.
I lick my way down her body, but I don’t linger. I’m too frantic. Too needy. I let my tongue delve into her softness. Her willingness only compounds this overblown, excessive desire. Her hands are in my hair and she’s lifting herself to my mouth, pulling me closer. I play her with my tongue, easing two fingers inside her. I wait for her to relax into the invasion. I know she’s sore. I try to be gentle.
I wait for her to come to me, to beg for more. Gently, I zero in on the tender bud, licking and sucking her in soft pulls. Her moans and the clutch of her hands in my hair are driving me mad, but I remind myself who I am. A control freak. A successful, driven, disciplined man. A few soft moans of a willing woman should hardly undo me. But then it begins. Her hips sway in a back-and-forth rhythm. She cries out my name.
I’m mildly appalled with myself, with my reaction, how much I love that sound. Of her, calling to me. Saying my name in that dreamy exhale, like I’m some mythical god she can’t believe. Like I’m too good to be true.
I’m about to come whether I’m inside her or not. And there’s no question I’ll take her, fuck her, make love to her. The semantics hardly matter. All I know is that there’s nothing more sacred to me at this moment than being inside her. Her climax is starting. She’s starting to spasm as I slide my raging cock deep, driving into her and compounding her pleasure. If I cared about proving myself, of prolonging and lasting, the concern at that moment is inconsequential. That snug, pulsing embrace is so tight, so insistent, all my restraint is pulled from my body in silky, furtive tugs that leave me no choice. This is ecstasy in its purest form. The release is complete and total. I fall willingly, succumbing entirely to the perfect bliss of her, beautiful as sin, absolute as death.
It takes me a while to return to myself.
I can’t think. I can only feel.
One thing I know: this is bad.
Very, very bad.
This girl.
I’ve found my weakness.
And I am utterly, hopelessly addicted.