Page 11 of Silver Fox's Christmas Scandal
“Hands stay on the counter.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He moved in close, one hand braced at my hip, the other guiding himself to me. The thick press made my stomach tighten, my body clenching before he even pushed inside.
“This is the line we can’t uncross,” he said, eyes locked on mine. He was offering me a chance to back out now, to save face and my reputation, but my body wanted him—needed release.
“Yes, Sir," was all I could manage.
He thrust forward, filling me in one hard drive. I gasped, my back bowing as he held me pinned to the edge.
“Christ. So tight.” His grip dug into my hip, steadying me as he buried himself deeper.
“Sir—” The word tore out of my mouth in a grunt.
“Sir—wait.” The word scraped out of me on a ragged breath. My hands tightened on the counter’s edge. “Condom… I need you to wear one.”
His jaw flexed, the heat in his eyes flaring hotter, but he didn’t argue.
He pulled out, leaving me aching and unsteady, and crossed to the pocket of his slacks draped over a nearby chair, pulling his wallet free.
My chest heaved as I watched him tear the foil wrapper open and sheath himself. Then he tore his shirt the rest of the way off and turned back around to face me.
When he stepped back in front of me, the firelight danced in his eyes and I couldn't resist reaching out to touch his skin. His hand curled at my hip again, dragging me flush to the counter’s edge. “Satisfied?”
“Yes, Sir.” My answer was breathless, but steady enough.
“Good. Hands back where I told you.”
I gripped the counter hard enough my that fingertips ached. He pushed inside again, the stretch just as sharp, just as deep, only this time, I let go of the last thread of worry. My body yielded to him, each drive forcing a gasp from my throat.
“That’s it,” he growled. “You take me better than I imagined.”
The pressure coiled low in my belly, building fast under his rhythm, and every time he bottomed out, a squeak left my lips.
He was so long it almost hurt—almost.
His hand slid from my hip to my throat, tilting my head back so he could watch my face while he drove harder.
“You’re mine tonight, Tessa.” His voice was a growl against my ear. “Say it.”
“I’m yours, Sir.” The words rose out on a moan so breathless, I almost couldn't enunciate.
His pace increased, his hips slamming into mine as he thrust into me, and all I heard was the ragged sound of his breathing and the obscene slap of our bodies colliding.
My core was clenched, my body so close I could snap at any second.
“Come for me,” he ordered, his thumb finding my clit like he'd mapped my skin and memorized it.
The command broke me. My body seized, release tearing through me in violent waves as I shuddered and shook, my thighs trembling and my cries echoing in the firelit kitchen, my hands slipping uselessly on the polished surface.
He caught my hip and held me steady, his muscles rigid, driving through every jolt until I was gasping, clinging to the counter.
His thrusts grew rougher, deeper, his pace turning savage as he drove into me over and over, making the counter jolt beneath my thighs.
Every movement stretched me wider, pushed me closer to the edge, until sweat slicked both our bodies and my cries filled the kitchen. His breath rasped hot against my ear, every groan vibrating down my spine.
He pushed in deep, hips shuddering, a low sound ripping from his throat as he spilled into the condom. The pulsing release kept him buried inside, his body rigid against mine.
