Page 36 of Always a Bridesmaid

“Did you wear these for me?” he asked, running his hands up, his thumbs sliding beneath the strip and tracing her valley until he reached the waist band.

“Cocky much?”

He gave her a playful smack to her bare ass cheek. She moaned in pleasure. “Just confident. There’s a difference.”

“Maybe I wore them for me?”

“Or maybe you’re too stubborn to admit that you think about me as much as I think about you.”

“That’s the problem with you Brits, you think too much.” He had to laugh. Even while in the most vulnerable position, she was still arguing with him. “Now get to the good part.”

As if to tell him that the negotiations were finished, she rested down on her forearms and stuck her ass all the way out in a glorious sight that could rival one of the seven wonders of the world.

“Like this?” He ran a finger beneath the silk and between the valley, following it all the way down and around until he could cup her core. She was so wet she’d practically soaked through her thong.

“This is definitely for me.” Before she could deny it, he gripped a hip and yanked her higher so that he had better access to drive her insane.

She squeaked but then his fingers found her sweet spot and that squeak became a sultry moan. His finger danced around her folds, up and down, following their outer edges until she was pressing against his hand for more friction. But for every push, he pulled back.

“Is this for me?” he asked again. She remained tight-lipped. “I need a yes or no, love.” He backed off even more, his fingers barely a feather against her skin.

“And I need you to push harder.”

He pulled her thong and let it snap back. She gave an adorable huff of frustration.

“Like this?” He slid two fingers in at once. With a throaty moan her chin fell to her chest. Her very bare chest that his free hand began to explore.

With one palm massaging her tit, he began to pump his fingers into her. Slow at first, to get to know what she liked and where her pleasure points were. She bucked against him, pressing back and riding his hand.

“More like this,” she said with a threadbare voice, then rode it hard and fast. Not just telling him how she liked it, but demanding where she loved it.

His pace quickened right along with the pressure. They quickly found an easy rhythm, she pushing down when he pumped up, his entire hand nearly inside of her.

“Don’t stop.”

“I won’t unless you still refuse to admit that you were thinking of me.”

“Fine, yes. I think about you a lot.

“And the dress. Was it for me too?”

“Yes!”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Excruciating. Now don’t stop.”

Satisfied that he’d gotten the truth out of her, he said, “I won’t.”

And he didn’t. He didn’t stop when she started moaning his name like it was her new mantra. Or when she rode his hand so hard he was certain she’d break it. He especially didn’t stop when he felt her body tighten around him, strangling his fingers. Nope, he kept going as her breath caught, her back arched and she screamed out his name while she exploded on his hand. In fact, he didn’t stop until her body was languidly sprawled across the desk, unable to lift her head.

Without giving her a reprieve, he yanked her thong down to her ankles and spread her legs so that the panties acted like a vise holding her in place. Then he took the condom out of his back pocket and was covered and sliding home in a single thrust.

“Henry,” she gasped, and he stilled.

“Too hard?”

She looked over her shoulder. “Harder.”

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