His fingers slipped under the thin material, sliding up my slick cleft, moving over my clit without the barrier, a sensation that made my inner thighs tremble.
"Fuck," he hissed, pulling away from me.
And, suddenly, his hand was grabbing my panties, yanking them down as his other pulled up the skirt of my dress. Then he was lowering down in front of me, grabbing my leg, carefully pushing it over his shoulder before his mouth was on me.
The shock of it almost made me orgasm right then and there, the foreignness of a tongue gliding over me after so long.
My hand slapped down on the back of his head, holding him to me as though he had any intention of pulling away as his tongue traced slow, patient circles around my clit, driving me up slowly, making my breathing get deep and slow, every inch of my body feeling tight, tense, as I got closer and closer.
Two of his fingers moved between my thighs, pressing inside of me, thrusting lazily as his tongue got faster, more insistent.
"Come, baby," he demanded, looking up at me with hooded eyes as my walls started to tighten, then ducking his head, sucking my clit into his mouth, making the orgasm crash through my system, stealing my breath, my voice, and any and all strength I might have had in my body, leaving me folded forward, hands slammed down on his back for balance as the waves crashed, as the pleasure flowed.
"Good girl," Rush murmured, pressing a kiss to my inner thigh before slowly folding upward, pulling my leg off his shoulder, but hooking it around his hip as he got to his feet.
His hands sank back into my ass, yanking upward, forcing my other leg to fold around his lower back, carrying me as he made his way toward the bed, turning, and dropping down off the edge with me on his lap, feeling the proof of his desire pressing against me through his slacks.
My eyes fluttered open, feeling heavy even after a release of some of the pressure that had been building inside, even if I knew that it wouldn't dissipate completely until I had him inside me, until I could feel his weight pressing me into a mattress, hear his voice whispering dirty things in my ear, demanding I come with him.
My lips found his as my hungry hands pushed his jacket off his shoulders, tossed it to the side, then set to work on his buttons.
I'd worried, in quiet moments before sleep when my anxieties always had a chance to slip in, that I might be unsure and awkward with Rush in bed, that I would mumble and fumble and feel too nervous to truly enjoy the experience.
No one was more surprised as I was that my fingers didn't shake, that they boldly pushed each button through the eyelets, exposing slivers of skin as I went, his body heat warming my cool hands.
Finished, my hands moved back up, pushing the material off his shoulders, all but forgotten when my gaze slipped down, taking in his bare chest and stomach. Even seated, I could make out the indents of his abdominal muscles.
Curious, my hand moved out, fingers gliding over the taught outlines of his muscles, feeling them contract under the inspection, something that made my stomach flip-flop.
Embolden by his reaction to my touch, I leaned forward, pressing my lips into his throat, feeling his pulse, the hard swallow as my tongue moved out, tracing downward.
Shifting back on his lap, my mouth continued its exploration downward, between his pecs, down the center line of his stomach as I pushed off his lap entirely, sliding down on the floor between his legs as my hands snagged his pants button, undoing it, then the zipper.
His breath sucked inward as my fingertips grazed over the head of his cock through his tight boxer briefs, making a shiver move down my spine.
I'd never felt confident with sex before, no matter how many humiliating books I'd read on the topic, teaching women how to give a blowjob like a gay man, other books about how to please men, about how to make sex mutually satisfying with certain positions and breathing patterns.
I'd put in the work, but always felt uncertain in the moment, not confident enough to really use what I'd learned, or to enjoy the experience the way I knew I was supposed to.
There seemed to be none of that shyness as my hands pulled down the waistband of his boxer briefs, freeing his throbbing cock. My hand closed around it, a thrill moving through me at the velvety smooth hardness, the promise of fulfillment.
But not yet.
First, I wanted to give him some of what he'd given to me.
My head ducked, my tongue tentatively sliding over the head. The shudder that moved through him, the way this hand slammed down on the back of my neck, it spurred me on, making my lips open, taking him in, sucking him deep.
"Do you have any idea how many times I sat on that phone, thinking about your lips around my cock?" he asked, voice tense as his fingertips crushed into my skull.
I worked him tentatively at first, realizing that he knew a lot more about my preferences sexually than I knew about his.
But that was okay.
Because I was enjoying figuring it out firsthand.
His hissing breath let me know he liked it when I moved faster, when I ran my tongue over the head every couple of strokes.
It wasn't long before his fingers were curling in my hair, holding on at first, but then yanking back, pulling until I released him, his thumb moving out to stroke over my lower lip.
"Come here," he demanded softly, pulling slightly until I moved onto his lap again, his hands sliding down my sides, gathering my skirt, scrunching it up in his hands, then slowly drawing it up over my body, exposing me inch by inch until, finally, he was pulling it off my head, exposing me to him completely.
I'd never had much of a reason to wear a real bra, and Fee had insisted there was no need with this particular dress.
I was glad for that advice when a tortured-sounding "Fuck" escaped Rush as his eyes roamed over me, his hands moving from my hips up over my ribs, then, finally, cupped over my breasts, making my nipples harden immediately, pressing against this palms, the friction making a shiver of need course through me.
His fingers moved out, rolling the tightened buds much the way he'd told me he would.
I'd imagined his touch a thousand times before, but not even my best fantasy could come close to this reality that had me arching back, pressing my breasts against his palms, silently begging for more. Which he gave. Happily. Circling. Pinching. Then, finally, leaning forward, running his tongue over me, sucking one of them into his mouth with an intensity that was almost painful, a white-hot heat that moved from that contact and out, blooming across my chest, then moving down, pooling in my core.
"Rush," I whimpered, leaning forward, sealing my lips over his again, feeling my breasts brush across his strong chest as my hips wiggled upward a bit, repositioning until I felt his hardness press against me.
A moan ripped from somewhere deep as my hips shifted, feeling him slide against my cleft, over my aching clit. "Please," I whimpered against his mouth, too desperate to worry about sounding too needy.
I was.
This was what the books I read talked about.
This heat.
This fire that seemed to burn unbearably hot, refusing to calm until you got what you needed most.
For me, Rush.
Inside me.
Like I had been imagining for months on the phone, for years since he first walked through the doors of the office.
On a growling noise, his arm went around my hip, holding me to him as he lifted, flipped, dropped me back against the mattress, shifting me up toward the pillows, then coming over me, his weight pressing me into the mattress as my arms went around him, as my legs shifted so that his hardness could press against me again.