Page 19 of Wright Kind of Trouble

I slid backward off of the chair and onto the floor, pooling into a boneless puddle. “It was.”

He disappeared into the kitchen. I heard running water, and then he returned to stand over me. His cock bulged against his suit pants, and oh, how I wanted to have my fill of him now. Unfortunately, I physically could not move.

“You seem content,” he admitted.

“I think you broke me.”

He laughed, an easy, pleased smile staying on his face. “I sure hope not. I have more plans for you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Plans to fuck you.”

“I like these plans.”

He chuckled as he lifted me to my feet. My legs could barely hold me. He caught me in his grip. Then, without a second thought, he lifted me bodily over his shoulder like I was a rag doll.

“Oof,” I gasped.

But he was already walking, unconcerned with the fact that he was manhandling me. Something I never could have conceived allowing before this moment. Maybe it was a time and place thing. Because in this time and place, I’d do anything for him to leave me weightless and call me perfect again.

He carried me down a short hallway, toeing open a tall door. He flipped the lights on and tossed me down onto the softest bed I’d ever been on in my life. His bedroom was massive. The kind of thing that was the size of many Seattle apartments. Twice the size of my dorm room. It had the same aesthetic as the living room—antique chic. The bed was refurbished hard wood, the comforter the softest bluest cotton, with floor-to-ceiling curtains, a navy area rug, and a little reading nook with an overstuffed chair and a ten-books-deep TBR pile.

It was both nothing like and exactly like what I’d imagined his room would look like. Masculine, but not a stupid bachelor pad.

And he wasn’t just standing in it; he owned it.

He was slowly unbuttoning the cuffs of his white button-up, and then starting at the top, he revealed inch after glorious inch of tan, toned chest. He was the kind of man who must have spent considerable time in the gym. Or else he was just a god. There was no other explanation for those abs.

My mouth salivated at the sight. I’d been too gooey to do anything about it before, but I wanted nothing more than to run my hands all over him now.

I sat up in bed and tugged him forward by his belt. He released the last button of his shirt and stopped to watch me with a soft laugh.

“You’re not the only one who gets to have fun,” I told him.

“I was under the impression that you were having a good time.” He arched an eyebrow. “Or did I misinterpret how hard I just made you come?”

My cheeks flushed. “No misinterpretation,” I confessed. “But I want to play, too.”

“By all means,” he agreed with a small smile playing on his lips.

I drew him another step closer, bringing his thighs fully between my spread legs. I slid one hand along the top of his suit pants. He inhaled sharply at the move, but didn’t stop me. My hands ran over the hard contour of his six-pack to the firm planes of his chest. He was…solid.

A fact that only made me wonder how solid he was elsewhere.

I was definitely going to find out.

I leaned in, pressing a kiss directly above his belly button.

Another sharp inhale.

Oh, I liked that.

I glanced up to find him watching me, unmoving. As if he was barely restraining himself. A caged animal lurked underneath, and I was toying with him, like, Here, kitty, kitty.

My fingers went to his belt, carefully undoing the clasp and sliding it out of the belt loops. I tossed it unceremoniously onto the floor, popped the button, and dragged the zipper down to the base. His cock strained against the fabric, and a small thrill ran through me that I was what had caused this. He wanted me, and by the dark gleam in his eye, he wanted me desperately.

I nearly had to cross my legs at the thought. Fuck.

---