Page 40 of Obsession

His fingers trailed liquid fire between my shoulder blades to the dip at my lower back. I tucked my hand into the space where his buttons had gaped. Smooth skin. So hot and warm. Muscles rippled under my palm, and I couldn’t stop the curiosity that burned into me.

Ink.

So much detail.

Too much for me to capture when his mouth was doing all those delicious things to my neck. I wanted to rip the buttons open and explore him, but he had other plans. He hissed when my hand drifted down to his buckle.

His tattoo was forgotten in the urgency that unfolded between us. The outline of his shaft arrowed up until there was no stopping me. I definitely didn’t have to worry about his interest.

I needed his skin. Needed that part of him in my hands.

I flicked open the hook front of his dress pants. Oh, so beautifully made to create smooth lines, except now it was keeping him from me. I reached in, and there was steel under cotton waiting for me.

The only outward reaction was how still he became.

Then his fingers gripped my hips tighter. I needed him inside me. Needed him out of these stupid pants. At least enough for me to get him where I wanted him. I snaked into the opening of his underwear and groaned.

Blood pulsed under his skin as he filled my hand. I stroked him lightly.

This was the part I was unsure of. Missionary position with occasional spooning were pretty much the extent of my sexualknowledge. And tonight, I’d learned just what a mouth felt like, and how much I wanted to revisit the whole standing thing.

But here and now, there was Blake in my hand and a restless urge to take every part of him inside me. Skin, sweat, cock. I wanted to see him break.

Not just watch.

Not just get me off.

I wanted to be the one who found his lock.

He groaned and moved his hips restlessly.

“Like this?” I asked and twisted lightly along the base of his shaft and stroked up.

“Fuck.”

I smiled when a flush branded his chest and streaked up his neck with each caress.

“Ms. Copeland…”

“Grace.” I got to the top of his shaft and a drop of wetness slid over my fingers. “Say my name, Blake.”

The shadows were lengthening, and now the street was empty. No headlights to break the spell, no people sharing the moment, no regrets riding me.

All I wanted was this man to say my name. To know it was me who was in this moment with him.

He gasped out a groan as I palmed the head of his shaft and used the wetness to glide easier.

I leaned closer, the tie and my breasts flush to his skin as I breathed against his neck and up to his ear. “Say it.” I squeezed, excited by the tensing of his muscles.

Could he be strung any tighter? But he was frustratingly quiet.

The rasp of his beard against my skin, the heat of him in my hand, the solid body under me—all of it drove me a little more insane. I followed instinct, listened to his breathing, and risked a look at him.

Passion exploded between us. His fingers raked through my hair and tangled at the back. He drew my head back and feasted on my neck. He was reaching for something next to us and finally, I figured out it was his suit jacket.

For what?

He hadn’t let me cover up for what felt like hours.

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