Page 110 of Never Your Girl

She’s right about that.

It’s exactly what we need.

I pull a condom from my back pocket before sliding the rubber over my hard length. As soon as I’m covered, I press the head of my cock into her entrance and lock my fingers around her bound wrists, holding them tight as I slide deep inside her, filling her to the brim. We both groan as I hold myself perfectly still.

She’s so damn wet.

And warm.

The way her inner muscles clench around my shaft makes it difficult to maintain control.

I withdraw before thrusting back inside. Over and over, I grind against her, feeling the slap of my balls against her pussy.

“God, that feels so good. Please don’t stop.”

I pick up my pace, giving her more of what she asked for. Wanting to give her every damn thing she needs.

When my balls draw up against my body, I know it won’t be long before I find my release. What I won’t do is get there before her. One hand skims from her hip around to her clit, where my fingers begin rubbing circles over the sensitive nub. A few soft caresses are all it takes for her to come undone and me to follow her right over the edge and into oblivion.

I come so hard that stars dance behind my eyelids, and I nearly black out.

The last spasm racks my body as my muscles turn slack and I collapse on top of Holland. My teeth scrape across her shoulder blade. The last thing I want to do is leave the comforting warmth of her pussy, but as I glance around, I realize we’re in someone’s office. And who knows if that person will make an unexpected appearance.

I press my lips to the delicate skin at the nape of her neck before straightening. As soon as I slip free, I remove the condom and toss it in the trash can. After tucking myself back inside my boxers, I pull up my jeans and zip the fly. Holland doesn’t move a muscle. I unwind the thong from her wrists before massaging the fragile flesh and checking for marks. Her skin is a little red from the fabric sliding against it but nothing more. After helping her to straighten up, I grab a few tissues to wipe up the mess.

As I stare at her naked body, I can’t help but take in her disheveled appearance. Her auburn hair is a tumbled mess around her face and her makeup is a little smudged. It’s almost as if the mask she normally wears has fallen away, leaving her completely exposed. The vulnerable picture she makes tugs at my heart in a way I couldn’t have imagined months ago.

I don’t want her to be the one behind the messages.

The one out to ruin me.

“What are you thinking about?” The question is tentative, as if she’s able to read me. Or has a sixth sense about the direction my thoughts have turned.

I close the distance between us before wrapping my fingers around her chin and lifting it so I can stare into her eyes. “Did you see the message today?”

Emotion flickers across her face. It’s there and gone before I can fully decipher what it means. “I did. I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? You’re not the one behind it, right?”

Her posture stiffens, but she doesn’t move. “You still don’t believe me?”

I press my lips together before jerking my shoulders. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.” When she tries to pull away, I blurt, “It would fucking kill me to find out you were behind this. Or involved in any way. No one has ever made me feel the way you do.”

Her palm settles on my chest before fisting the material. “Like what?”

The last thing I should do is drop my guard and allow her to peek inside. But that knowledge doesn’t stop the words from tumbling out of me. “Like I’m seconds away from unraveling. Like you’re the only one who calms the chaos raging inside me.”

Her gaze drops to the floor, and for a moment, I think she’s going to shut me out. But then she looks up, and there’s something raw in her expression. “I don’t have all the answers. And even if I did, I’m not sure you’d want to hear them.”

“That’s the thing.” I lower my mouth until it can ghost over hers. “I don’t know if I can trust you. Every time I think I’ve got you figured out, something happens that makes me question everything.”

Her jaw clenches as guilt clouds her features. “I see the way you watch me,” she says, voice breaking. “Like you’re just waiting for me to confess. But I won’t admit to something I haven’t done.”

“The problem is, I think you know more than what you’re telling me.”

Her shoulders slump, and for the first time, she looks… almost fragile. It’s so un-Holland-like that I want to gather her into my arms and press her close. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” I argue, my frustration mounting. “You should trust me enough to just say whatever it is.”

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