Page 71 of Hawthorne

So close and yet so far away.

It’s been far too long, and my body is dying to hurry up while my brain is begging to savour it. An eternal conflict I’ll be doomed to because I am sure this urge to get her naked in my bed doesn’t seem to want to go away anytime soon.Or ever.

Fucking Karma, what a bitter fate it reserved for me.

The dark wooden shades and weak office lights set the atmosphere around us, casting shadows in all the right places and making me want to rip her clothes off her, just to see more.

My lips latch onto her neck as my hands rip her blouse, making buttons jump all over. A breathy gasp hits my temple, and I growl, tugging on her pants. The roughness forces her to catch her balance on my shoulders once again. This time around, just that simple touch burns my skin—the good burning kind.

Because she seems less and less hesitant to touch me each time I do something.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

There’s a weak whimper, and I can’t help but tighten my hold on her.

“Words,little Milla.”

“Yes.” I’ve died and gone to heaven.

No stuttering. No hesitating. That was a strong and assured yes.

Stealing her a glance, I see her face relaxed with her eyes completely closed as I continue to grind our cores together.

“How do you want it?”

“Huh?” Her eyes wide snap open in a second.

“I'll let you choose tonight. How do you want it?”

“I don’t...know.”

“You've got to have something you've always wanted to try,” I suggest.

Crimson cheeks and an evasive look. She surely has something.

“Oh, I’ve got to know now,” I smirk.

“It’s nothing crazy, but...never mind.”

“Camilla,” I growl, picking her up in my arms before having her sandwiched between me and the wall. “I missed you, and Iam way too fucking turned on by you to just let you go.What. Do. You. Want?”

“This,” she gasps, and her eyes roll back when I grind against her one more time.

My cock twitches at the sight. Why? Everything.

Everything this woman does is fucking erotic.

Cooking? Check.

It makes me want to bend her over that old kitchen island and fuck her until she’s begging me to stop. Or lay her on it and feast on her body like she’s fucking dessert.

Professionality? Check.

Watching her plan, prepare, and keep things in order, knowing I don’t have to worry because it’ll be done properly is a turn-on because she’s not only competent and trustworthy but intelligent and effective.

But most of all, being able to throw her off like this, to make her as vulnerable as she does me. Knowing that she needs me as much as I need her is too fucking addictive.

Shallow breaths. Flushed skin. Wild hair. Hooded eyes.

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