Page 96 of Crave Me

“What the hell,” she says. “I have time.”

She wrenches my trousers down, breaking the zipper and pulling me in her mouth. I stumble forward, clamping my teeth.

Her lips fasten around me and her hands aggressively play. With the camera fixed on us, I have a full view of Wren’s profile and her skilled mouth, and how obsessed she is with pleasing me.

I don’t last long, not with everything I see, feel, and the audible pulls from her mouth and hands resonating in my ears. I double over, gripping the side of the couch.

Bloody hell. How does any man stand a chance against her?

She takes her time, her strokes decreasing in pace, her eyes never abandoning mine. It’s only when she knows I’m satisfied that she stands, scanning my chest.

“Nice,” she says, seemingly pleased with herself. “Later, bossman.”

Her hips twitch as she tosses her purse over her shoulder and walks away.

“Wren, wait.” I yank up my briefs and black trousers, swearing like madman when the fabric rubs against my throbbing tip. I pause when I finish fastening my belt and catch my image along the giant screens.

The corners of my lips tug into a smile as I spread the sides of my white dress shirt and read the two words written in hot pink across my torso. Two words that tell me exactly what she wants me to do while she’s gone.

CRAVE ME

She wants me to miss her, to crave her touch and her smile. She didn’t have to write it. It’s something I do every time she leaves me.

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