Page 25 of Service Included

“No.” He could play tormentor, ask or coax, but the Oracle assassins were an idea for her other life, with no place as a distraction in this room. His thumbs moved to the edges of her collarbones and followed them toward the center, meeting at the hollow of her throat. She shivered. He must have felt her pulse and known her wild heartbeat, her wanting. “Can’t. It’s work.”

“Fair enough.” Side by side, his thumbs trailed from her throat to the center of her bra, the dip where the two cups met and her flesh swelled above the seam.

If wishes were all it took, she’d already be suckled deep in his mouth. Instead, he stroked his thumbs around the edges of her bra, out to the sides, then jumped to the skin of her inner arms and down to the exposed creases where she’d locked her elbows for support on the desk. Stroking, feeding her fire, but holding himself back.

“You’re teasing me.” She inhaled, willing him to delve behind the fabric and find her nipples.

“I’m slowing things down.”

Screw that.This time when his hands slid back across her upper arms, so near her ticklish spots, she squeezed her biceps to trap his thumbs against the outer curves of her breasts. The pads of his thumbs pressed deeper into her arms and the knobs of his knuckles balled against the fabric constraining her breasts. Thrusting out her chest forced his thumbs even harder against the curve of her breasts, but none of it was enough.

“May I move your bra?”

“Yes.” She shuddered with relief. “Yes.”

He yanked down the cups of her sports bra, releasing her flesh with a hint of roughness that felt like wildness held in check. The confining band kept her breasts raised and her nipples pointed at his mouth. He had to touch them now. She dropped into the darkness behind her closed eyelids, anchored by the smooth cabinet under her hands. Her inner thighs squeezed the solid bones of his pelvis as she focused every other nerve running through her body on waiting for his breath, waiting for him to replace the air caressing her with his mouth or fingers, waiting for him to ravish her begging flesh.

Waiting.

So many sensations, stringing her so tightly, but none were the wet heat of his mouth encircling her nipple. He hadn’t stopped the mind fuck that was driving her to the point of silent begging.

She opened her eyes. His head was bent, his gaze focused on her breasts. Spots of color flushed his cheekbones and his tongue darted out to moisten his lips. She wanted it in her mouth or on her skin, not gliding across his own lips. She needed him to feast on her, fall on her, fuck her, needed anything but his restraint, these teasing thumbs circling too low on her ribs and stroking her sides, lighting her skin everywhere but where she wanted.

“You have amazing breasts.”

He wanted talk? Fine, she could play the same game, and she was hungry enough to win. “Show me.”

His nostrils flared, and she thought his shoulders jerked, but he didn’t look up.

Then she put her hand under his chin—the stubble, she wanted to rub against it like a cat, use his chin all over her chest to raise the sensations that only a man’s beard could cause—and lifted his face until their gazes locked. She made sure each word whipped out, hard consonants and smooth sibilants turned into a clear command. “Suck my nipples.”

She watched his dark pupils grow larger, his tanned skin flush across his cheekbones, and the slight part of his lips. He finally took both her breasts in his hands and lifted them together, while every muscle in her spine wanted to rise toward his mouth. She watched him lower his head, his dark hair loosely screening his face until she couldn’t see, could only feel, as his mouth latched to her nipple.

For a woman used to her vibrator, used to fast stimulation, to finding her orgasm and coming quickly and then extending pleasure’s after-ripples, this was nothing like fast. This was her whole body narrowed to one point, the place where he took her nipple. This was his teeth, scraping the nerve-packed flesh of her nipple that must have connected to every muscle, every millimeter of skin, every follicle. This was his mouth. On her. This was him.

She’d thought her breasts had peaked, until he pushed them together tightly enough to rub nipple to nipple, the stretched skin supersensitive, and took both nipples into his mouth. His tongue flicked from one to the other, and her whole being instantly compressed to that one place. Her panting was loud in her ears and her breath riffled through his hair, but she couldn’t stop the sounds. She felt a near-scream building below her throat. She needed a valve to let out the small sounds, because she was too damn close to a big one and he was toying with her tits like there was no end. Like he’d never stop. Like this was how he was going to make her come, nothing but playing with her breasts. It would work. She would. Her hips thrust, but nothing was there to meet them. If he gave her something more, something there between her legs, she would.

Then his mouth abandoned her breasts,what the fuck, leaving her one instant away from pounding on his shoulder to bring him back.

“Fuck,” he said.

“Yes,” she consented. “Now.” They’d both been reduced to single-word sentences.

“No.”

He couldn’t mean to deny this, he couldn’t, not now. Not when she was this close.

“Wait.” He was looking at where his hands pinched both her nipples. Hers were big in proportion to her breast size. Men loved to dawdle with them, and she loved it when they did. This close, she could see that the points protruding from between his thumb and finger were shiny and wet. Tiny puckers of skin almost like freckles marked the response he’d pulled from her body.

He rolled her nipples harder, tugging until her breath stuttered on the end of a moan. “I want to hear you.”

His words increased that paradox she always felt with sex, the tightening of muscles combined with the loosening of her limbs. Her neck had become too wobbly to support the weight of her head, but her buttocks were so hard-clenched, they raised her off the desk. The disarrayed bra strangled across her ribs, but at the same time, the space between her legs felt open and begging. She was open and loose, she was tight and throbbing, all that contradiction in her body. Sex. Fucking. Sex.

“I want you to scream,” he continued.

She’d do anything if he kept rolling her nipples hard like that. Anything.

One of his hands dropped to the center seam of her shorts, cupping her thrusting pussy. “Can I open these?”

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