Page 16 of Winning Bid

A finger enters me, pressing into my spot the way I like—right in time with his tongue on my clit. Filthy curses pour out of my lips. It’s too good. This is far more pleasure than any one person has a right to, and yet, it’s all mine. I grip his hair through my dress for purchase. Heat pools in my belly, and every part of me throbs. My thighs tremble from his work, and if the lights were on, I might see double.

Another finger joins the first, and I’m so fucking close. “Anderson, I need you to fuck me!”

But he says nothing. He is a man on a mission.

I whimper, wanting to come on his cock so damn bad that I’m losing my control. The second finger slides out, though, and for that disappointment, I flat-out whine. “What are you?—"

That finger slides up my ass, and I lose it, erupting on his mouth, his fingers—both of them. That bonus stimulation takes my breath away, and I know anyone in the hall can hear me cry out his name. And that only turns me on more.

Only after I’m coming down does he pull back from my clit. Anderson rasps, “You taste so fucking good that I need to go again.”

“What?” I chirp.

But he answers by suctioning onto me there. His fingers work me over harder, and I can’t stop to breathe, much less think. My insides curl to meet his every whim, like I’m a puppet on his hand. I can’t stand properly—I’m too hunched over. Need something. I don’t even know. But I smack the door, shaking in frustration.

“Ander—Anderson, I can’t breathe?—"

“N-no-need,” he mumbles on my clit. He said he wasn’t going to go easy on me. He meant it.

My wetness runs down the inside of my thighs. Everything coils around his touch, begging for more while I’m trying to keep my head. I am just about boneless right now, and I don’t want to fall onto him. That might actually do some damage. “Baby, I?—"

But he hooks his fingers in me, and I shatter on him, coming so hard that I start to slide down the door. He props me up, though, and stops me from toppling over. And he stops me from stopping.

Anderson’s gone from suck to nibble, pulsing his firm chin against my clit, and his stubble grinds into me there. I scream, “Too much!” Does he stop? No.

The man has no mercy in his bones.

I am rocking on his face, dying to come again, both for him and for me. I can’t stop. This is too good, and the next orgasm might kill me, but I don’t rightly care. Not now. Not when I’m climbing higher than I ever have before. I sob his name, and he keeps at me, unrelenting and determined to let everyone on our floor know what’s happening right now.

Every muscle in my core locks tight, and breathing is a thing of the past. A relic of miserable times when I used to think oxygen mattered. I know better now. All I need is Anderson on me.

It starts as the crest of a rollercoaster’s first hill, and the drop is a sharp pleasure that steals all thought. There is nothing left of me now. Only this climax. Only this moment. And then the next one. A third piggybacks off the second, and some muscle deep inside releases alongside my ultimate ecstasy. A breathless scream peals out of me as I gush on his face. My lungs attempt to force air back into them, and the pressure almost hurts, but nothing can take me from this bliss.

I can’t recall what I was so stressed out about anymore. All I know is Anderson’s mouth, Anderson’s chin, Anderson’s fingers. They gradually, reluctantly pull away from me, and I melt against him as he stands up to kiss me. His lips taste like I do, and I have never wanted that flavor more in my life. His strength is the only thing keeping me on my feet right now. His power. He loves me more than I knew possible, but right now, I am little more than his toy for the night.

And that is exactly what this is. His passion flows in his touch, his kiss. I feel utterly adored. Cherished beyond measure. There are no more games between us. No more lies. I am going to marry this man. I am going to give him babies. I am going to devote myself to his absolute happiness, all because he is even more devoted to mine.

Anderson West is my match, and I am his until the end of time.

His hands slide up my thighs, deftly unlatching the garter belt straps. His voice climbs low and deep, steel on gravel. “I need you on my?—"

“Turn down service,” some guy says behind the door as he knocks.

We both startle. There is no way I’m letting him in here right now. I feel Anderson’s smirk against my neck as he projects his voice a bit. “Be right there.”

10

ANDERSON

Ihad wondered how long we had until turn-down showed up. I wipe my mouth as clean as I’m willing to and turn on the lights while I will away my hard-on.

June’s face is red, her dress is hitched up at her hip, and she’s glistening. But the most notable thing is the horrified look on her pretty face. She quietly spits, “You cannot?—"

But I tug her dress into place and open the door, grinning. She needs this. She’s been too stressed out. A little silliness will help her unwind.

Or she’ll kill me for fucking around like this. Whatever makes her happy.

A bright Englishman walks in, his uniform as crisp and pressed as if he’s walked off the page of Butler’s Monthly. “I am Reginald, here for your turn down service. Are there any scents you prefer? Allergies I should know of?” He doesn’t give a lick of notice to our disheveled state. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s unobservant or if he’s so accustomed to such things that it no longer fazes him.

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