Page 183 of Catfish

My ass hits the edge of Emmy's desk, and Wade's hands find my hips, pushing me further across it so that my legs are hovering in the air.

Things start to fall over, I hear the pens hit the wood, I think a folder or notebook hits the floor with a thud, and I can only imagine what else.

“Oops,” he deadpans.

“You can’t—” He spreads my legs, my traitorous mint green dress making it easy for him to do.

“Can’t do what, Miss Shelton?” he presses, his attention shifting to my, now, naked thighs.

“She’s going to walk in any minute and—”

“I sent her to grab lunch—” The tips of his fingertips graze up my inner thigh, sending a violent chill up my spine. “—at the busiest place in the city.”

“Why?”

“Because she was bugging the shit out of me—” He lifts his chin to look at me. “—and I was in a good mood.”

“You were?” Speaking of explosions in this office, that’s what my mouth is doing right the fuck now. Word vomiting to the point where I’m about to mute myself from speaking like a rambling fool who just fucked a hot guy four times in my house.

Wade’s finger hooks around the edge of my panties and pulls them to the side. “Shouldn’t I be?”

I mean…

"How can it be less than twenty-four hours, and I already miss what your pussy feels like?" There's no leeway for me to speak because his knuckle sweeps across my clit, emerging a sharp gasp from my lips as I catch the edge of the desk.

“Fuck,” he mumbles. “Already wet for me. You don’t know what that does to me, Shelton.”

“Wade,” I groan—well, plead. I’m fucking pleading right now. “Don’t tease me here.”

Those lips that did the wickedest and most sensual things to me last night elevate at my plea.

Yeah, I’ve been stroking that giant ego too much.

“Who said anything about teasing?” he asks, imposing closer and standing over me while performing slow circles around the sensitive area of my body. “I’m going to make you come while I swallow every single one of your moans and screams.”

Another full rotation around my clit and his body becomes a barrier for me to close my legs.

I don't want to explain to Emmy why her shit is scattered all over her desk if she comes knocking on the door. Why my face is flush because it's hot in here, I have a very enthralling governor trying to make me come, and my vision is somewhere between blurred and brimmed to the point of being parched for this man.

“You’re making a huge mess in Emmy’s—” Wade places a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth.

“Why are you thinking about my assistant when I’m standing right in front of you, dead focused on your beautiful body and trying to make you fall apart again?”

He inserts two fingers inside me and starts pumping, my hands fly to his suit coat, gripping on to his bicep as he pelts kisses down the column of my neck. His tongue finally makes an appearance, and I can feel myself getting wetter by the second.

My body starts to hum to the rhythm of his hand. The smell of his cologne wafts in my nose and, fuck, I hate his cologne. Everything about him screams power, confidence, and enticing.

Grant never made me feel like this—lost and helpless. There is no cocky remark or words of courage boiling inside my brain. Wade can suck those right from me, eat them up, and use them for himself.

I’m screwed—heavenly and incorrigibly.

Wade makes me lose the ability to think rationally or at all, constructing him to be that much more dangerous to my life.

And Marty’s and Mama’s.

“Still tired?” he mutters into my skin, followed by another brush of his lips.

“Never of this,” I reply. “Just—fuck.” He shoves his fingers deeper inside me, again, making me lose everything I was just about to say.

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