Page 7 of Knocked Up by My Fake Fiancé
Fuck.
She has no idea the fire she started in me. Ever since she walked in here with that pencil skirt clinging to her shapely thighs, heels accentuating the length of her legs. Her eyes, flashing with barely-bridled anger, boldly challenging me, verbally lashing me without a lick of apprehension.
Remembering it makes my cock harden even more, as my tongue plunges in deeper, conquering hers, my hands gripping her ass. I haven't kissed a woman in a while and I honestly hadn't planned on kissing this one. It just… happened.
She tastes like a storm. I feel her warm, feminine flesh beneath her clothing, and inhale the spicy-sweetness of her scent. That scent has been teasing and tormenting ever since she walked in here. I've always thought she was attractive, her striking features making it hard to look away from her. her dark auburn-red hair flowing down her back, framing her delicately freckled pale skin, the flashing, jade-green eyes that are just a little wide-set, a straight Roman nose, and full, kissable lips that are on the thicker side.
In all, she has a face that deserves to be sculpted from finest white marble, and the kind of figure that poets write about.
Sure, I'd admired her as a woman, but I hadn't planned on doing anything about it. There are tons of women who I find attractive, and it usually doesn't go past that.
But then she had to open her damn smart mouth and talk in that sultry voice until all I could think about was kissing those lips into submission.
She had a tiny smirk when she said that last sentence. Her eyes dared me to follow through on my threat.
I couldn't back down then, couldn't resist.
My body was drawn like a magnet toward her, the raw need highlighting the animalistic part of my brain that demands I claim the worthy mate standing across from me.
It's rare to meet someone who doesn't cower before me, even rarer to meet someone who insults me with such impudence. Seems I might be some kind of masochist, because hearing her talk back to me turned me on more than I can imagine.
Maybe I could have ended it at a kiss if she didn't taste so fucking good.
But, soon enough, a kiss alone doesn't cut it anymore. I lift her and spin around, simultaneously shoving everything off the nearest corner of my desk. I hear a crash and a clatter, but none of that matters, as I perch her ass on the table. I'm fuckingstarving, the feverish hunger making me feel hollow inside. I need her. I need to consume her right now, so I can go back to feeling like a human being and not an animal again.
"Tell me you want this." I gasp, between kisses.
"Yes, take me." The words squeezed out of her in a strangled wheeze.
"Tell me again."
She looks up at me, directly into my eyes before replying steadily and almost unemotionally.
"Fuck me, you bastard. Fuck me."
Needing skin contact, I push my hands underneath her dress. I meet soft, malleable yet muscular thighs. I caress them as she shifts restlessly forward. My tongue plunges deeper, wanting more of her flavor in my mouth.
This isn't enough, but at the same time, it's too much. I don't kiss the women I fuck. Ever.
I tear my lips away from hers and rip open the top of her shirt, the sound of buttons popping giving me a sense of satisfaction.
I start tugging her panties down, and she lifts herself up so I can tug them off completely. I stare into her eyes for a second as we both pause, fire raging in their depths.
"You're such an asshole," she hisses in a gravelly voice before I trail my hand up her thighs and plunge my finger into her wet entrance.
"Oh God." She groans as her eyes roll back. A groan rips out of my chest, too, because fuck she feels so tight. Her soaked heat sucks at my finger, and she shifts her ass rapidly against the desk to get more. I don't give it to her yet. I go slowly, watching her fight desperately, biting her lips. Lust turns her face completely red, and she says, "Damn it!"
"Say it."
"Say what?" she spits.
"Say you're sorry." I don't know why it's so important for me to hear her say those words and admit that she did something wrong. Maybe it's as simple as payback, or maybe it's because I like that curious mix of anger and desire in her eyes. Or maybe I just enjoy the way it makes her clench around my finger when I give the order.
"You bastard."
"Grayson," I correct with a whisper in her ear, driving my finger deeper, making her gasp and shake while I suck and nibble on her earlobe. "You called me that earlier. Now say it again. Say, 'Grayson, I'm sorry.'"
She bites her lips, trying to keep the words in as she fucks my finger. A solitary tear appears at the corner of her eyes when I start pulling it away. I know exactly how she feels. Pleasure so intense it becomes pain.
