Page 21 of Bride Bargain

The feeling is mutual.

Something clatters off the desk onto the floor—a pen, maybe. Who cares? Well, normally I would, with even a small amount of mess in my office lodging in my brain like a burr, but it’s impossible to care when Claire Montgomery licks a stripe up my throat. Blood pumps hot through my veins.

My hand delves between Claire’s thighs to find her slick already, swollen and needy, and she gasps against my mouth when I press a finger inside. And yes, I remember this in vivid detail: the warm clutch of her body, the slick slide of her channel, the way I can stroke a sensitive spot and feel shudders wrack her whole frame.

“Claire,” I choke out, pumping two fingers inside her now, my face buried in the crook of her neck. She smells light and floral, like a spring meadow, with the slightest hint of fresh rain. She hums and holds me tighter.

“Do you want me, Elliot?”

Is that even a question? “Yes.”

Claire hooks a finger in my belt loop, dragging me even closer. “Then take me. I’m ready.”

Christ. My abs tighten, and when the weeping head of my cock brushes Claire’s slit, it’s like a shock wave travels through my insides.

This is happening.

“It’s both of our first times,” I mutter, frowning down between our bodies as I notch at her entrance. Is this a good angle? Guess I’m about to find out. “Don’t—don’t judge it harshly, Claire. We may need some practice.”

She laughs and kicks the back of my thighs with her heels, urging me to press inside. “Elliot? I don’t care.”

“Well, you say that now, but you might find that—”

“I don’t care,” Claire interrupts, catching my chin and waiting for me to meet her gaze. As soon as our eyes lock together, the raw nerves in my chest are soothed, and I exhale. “You could finish in two seconds flat and I wouldn’t care.”

My scowl deepens. “Don’t jinx me, woman.”

“We could break this desk,” Claire continues, “and I’d only laugh. We could be the most awkward, unsexy, uncoordinated pair to ever get it on, and it would still be perfect, Elliot, because it’sus.The rest of that other stuff—the cool moves, the finding our rhythm, figuring out how to press each other’s buttons—that will come in time.”

She’s right. I know that Claire is right. She usually is, after all.

So I kiss her forehead, grip her thighs, and hold my breath as I push forward into heaven.

Nine

Claire

Pressure.That’s the first thing that registers when Elliot Ramsay, my best friend, boss, and newfound husband, pushes inside my body. There’s a faint burn as I’m stretched to accommodate his girth; a lightheaded feeling until I remember to breathe. Then I’m gasping for air, and Elliot’s pulling back an inch, letting me adjust before he presses forward again, andgod—

He’s inside me.

I’m naked on his desk, thighs spread, divorce papers crinkling beneath my bare ass, my inner muscles quivering from shock. But he’sin, so thick and hard, thrusting deep enough to make my back teeth clack together.

“Christ,” Elliot mutters, his jaw taut as he fucks between my thighs. He’s gripping my legs with enough force to leave fingerprint bruises. And I know that he’ll agonize over that when he realizes later, marinating in guilt, but the thing is… Ilikeit.

I like the harsh snap of his hips, burrowing deep into my pussy, claiming his territory. I like the sheer intensity of thosenavy blue eyes, boring into me like I’m the only person who exists in the whole world, and I like the nerve ticking in Elliot’s temple. My body melts into the desk, and every stroke of his cock makes my nerve endings sing.

If anyone walked in and saw this… saw the stern, powerful boss fucking his assistant on his desk, still fully dressed while I’m completely bare and vulnerable, scowling like a murderer while he pounds between my legs…

Yeah, Elliot would get canceled again in a flash. The thought rises unbidden, and I choke out a laugh, scrabbling at his broad shoulders so I can cling on for balance.

Humor flits through Elliot’s gaze, and his mouth curves up. He doesn’t break rhythm, not even for a moment. “Something funny, wife?”

“Just thinking—ah.” Elliot’s thumb finds my clit without warning, stroking steady circles there, and it’s suddenly way, way harder to string a sentence together. “Just thinking about the PR fallout if we get caught. We already played the wedding card.”

For a brief moment, Elliot looks pained as he thinks about his digital critics—then he shakes it off, focusing one hundred percent on the movement of his cock inside my body. He bends down and licks a bead of sweat off my neck.

“Who cares?” he says against my skin. “I hate everyone but you.”

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