Page 46 of Masked Seduction
I glance up. His head is tilted back against the chair, mouth parted, throat exposed, vulnerable in the sexiest way. His suit jacket hangs open along with his white shirt, and that expression on his face—eyes dark, jaw tight—drives me to near madness.
Abram brings out something in me I never knew existed.
Something hungry. Something wicked.
One hand rests on his thigh, the other at the base of his cock, my mouth working him in long, deep strokes. When I swirl my tongue just beneath the crown, I feel his whole body tense, hisbreath stuttering. He’s close and I want it. I want to taste him, to feel him erupt against my tongue.
Suddenly, his hand tightens in my hair, and he pulls me gently off him.
“Fuck,” he mutters, standing and drawing me to my feet. His eyes are wild, his mouth dangerous. “I’d love to watch you drink every last drop,kotenok. But I’m not done with you yet. Not even close.”
Before I can catch my breath, he pulls me to my feet and turns me around, pressing me down against the desk. His hand rests on my lower back, pinning me there. My pulse spikes. I love it. The roughness. The way he takes control.
I’ve never experienced anything like this before, never let anyone take me in this way. Not because I didn’t want it but because no one’s ever deserved it.
But Abram?
He doesn’t ask. He claims.
I hear the crinkle of foil, the softsnapas he slips on the condom, and then?—
He thrusts inside me in one smooth, deep motion.
I cry out, gripping the edge of the desk. The stretch is so intense, so perfect, I can hardly breathe. He fills me completely, like we were made for each other.
He takes me from behind, his touch sure and commanding. My palms press against the cool surface of his desk as his body moves with mine, steady, relentless.
The sensation is maddening—each thrust tightening the coil inside me until I’m breathless, aching, filled with heat and the quiet knowledge that I’m completely his in this moment.
He presses deeper into me, slow and sure. His hands are firm on my hips, guiding me, anchoring me. He leans in, his mouth brushing the shell of my ear, his voice low and rough as gravel.
“Fuck, Jenna,” he murmurs, every word curling down my spine like smoke. “You feel even better than I remember.”
I shudder. The memory of that night has already been burned into me, but hearing him speak it aloud—like he’s been thinking about it too—sets something wild and loose inside me.
“You were made for this,” he says, his breath hot, his pace steady and relentless. “For me. The way you move, the way you squeeze around me… you have no idea what you do to me.”
A moan escapes before I can stop it, high and broken.
He groans, thrusting deeper. “That’s it. Let me hear you. I’ve been thinking about this from the second I saw you walk into my office.”
My head dips forward, hair falling into my face, and I bite my lip to keep from whimpering too loud. But he notices. Of course he does.
“No,” he growls. “Don’t hold back on me. You wanted this and now you’ve got it. You’ve got me.”
“Abram.” His name leaves my lips on a shaky breath, hot need pooling low in my belly.
“Say it again,” he commands, voice like thunder against the storm of my thoughts.
“Abram,” I gasp, desperate now.
He grunts his approval, fingers tightening on my hips, and then his mouth is at my neck, teeth grazing skin as he says, “You’re mine, Jenna. Say it.”
God help me I do.
“I’m yours.”
I grip the edge of the desk, heart pounding. I’m so close, trembling with the effort to stay on my feet, with the weight of how much I want this.
