Page 160 of Holding On To Good

They both watched her hands as she smoothed her palms up his thighs. Kept watching them as her fingertips skimmed up and down his zipper.

“I couldn’t sleep last night after I left you,” she admitted quietly, turning her hand to cup him through his jeans. “I tossed and turned in bed for hours, remembering how you touched me.” She undid the button. “How you made me feel.” She slowly dragged the zipper down. “How you felt inside of me.”

She dipped her hands under the waistband of his boxer briefs, her touch cool against his hot skin, her fingertips soft and seeking as she lifted his cock from the confines of his boxer briefs, then slid her hands around his back, pressing gently until he lifted his hips. He held them up while she dragged his jeans and underwear down.

Sitting back on her heels, she surveyed her handiwork with a hum of appreciation that had his ego—and his cock—swelling. He sat, breathless, motionless, legs splayed, pants around his ankles, cock curving toward his stomach, while she smoothed her hands up his shins and over his knees, then lightly scraped her nails along the inner edges of his thighs.

Had that breath whooshing out, his body trembling in need when she skimmed one finger up the underside of his cock.

“Being with you was so good,” she whispered, stroking him lightly. “but it wasn’t enough. I still wanted more. I wanted this…”

Rising onto her knees, steadying herself with her hands on his thighs, she leaned down and gave the glistening head of his dick one long, slow lick.

“This is what I think about,” she continued, then swirled her tongue over him again. “When I’m alone in my bed at night.” Another lap of her tongue, this time following the path her fingers took earlier, from base to tip. “When I think of you.” A wet, open mouth kiss, followed by the lightest scraping of her teeth over his head. “When I touch myself.”

The feel of her teeth and lips, the sight of her pink tongue on him and the picture her words painted, all lashed at his control. The way she looked up at him from under her lashes, eyes dark with want, unraveled him piece by piece.

But it was the low, satisfied sound she made as she slowly, fully, took him in her mouth that threatened to undo him.

His head fell back, his body arching, the motion causing the chair to roll back a few inches. But she went with him, leveraging herself higher, pushing him until the chair stopped, trapping him between the wall and her warm, wet mouth.

He wanted to touch her. Wanted to stab his hands in her silky hair and hold her head, wanted to guide her, to take over. To take.

But he’d promised himself he wouldn’t. Had promised her he’d stay still.

Even if he hadn’t promised, he wouldn’t take this away from her.

Not when it was so fucking hot, knowing this was her fantasy.

Not when being at her mercy was one of his fantasies as well and just about the best thing he’d ever felt.

But the more she worked him with long, slow glides of her mouth, with quick flicks of her tongue, the harder it was to maintain control. The more she touched him, her fingers trailing along his inner thighs, stroking his balls, the harder he had to fight to keep his hands locked around the armrests.

She wrapped one hand around the base of his cock, pressed the other flat against his lower belly and pumped him into her mouth. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. His chest heaved with each labored breath.

Hand moving faster, she sucked hard, her cheeks hollowing, and he groaned, deep and torturous as his hips rose, pushing himself farther into her mouth.

And shit… fuck… she took him. Took him deep into her throat as if that was what she’d wanted all along. Him out of control, plunging into her mouth with no finesse, no restraint, seeking more and more of the pleasure she was giving him.

That only she could give him.

Using every ounce of willpower he possessed, he hooked his hands under her arms and lifted her onto his lap, splaying her across his body, his wet cock pressed against her soft belly. He shoved a hand in her hair and pulled her mouth to his for a hard, hungry kiss that went on and on until they broke apart, gasping for air. Pressing his forehead against hers, he fought for control, but she wiggled her hand between them and began to stroke him lightly.

“I’m not done,” she said, voice husky. With her swollen mouth, flushed face and heavy-lidded eyes, she was every goddamn dream and fantasy he’d ever had. She tightened her grip. Increased her pace. “I want to taste you.”

Again, his hips rose of their own accord, his body all on board with the idea of emptying himself in her mouth. But when she started to slide off him, he yanked her back to him for another kiss. “Need to be inside you,” he muttered. “Now.”

He stood with her in his arms.

And almost toppled over because he’d forgotten his pants were like shackles around his ankles.

He couldn’t get his jeans off without first removing his shoes and he couldn’t get those off without setting Willow down.

Fuck that.

He kissed her again, guiding her legs around his waist before taking small, careful steps toward the desk. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he used his free hand to shove the blueprints, laptop and folders far enough aside so he could set her on the edge of the desk. The moment she unwound her legs, he sought her center. She widened her thighs, letting him know she was as eager as he was.

There was no button on her shorts. No zipper. No way for him to slide his hand to the softness beneath, but she was pressing against his hand, hips moving against his fingers, seeking relief, so he stroked her through the silky material.

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