Page 91 of Fall for Me

“Chelsea—”

But she was already walking over to me, looking up at me through her eyelashes as she walked, one high-heeled foot in front of the other.

I clenched my jaw. Reilly, no. Not this time.

But it didn’t matter. This was how she got me, every time. We’d been together more times than I could count over the past couple of weeks, mostly at my place, given its seclusion. I’d tell her we could just hang out, watch a movie, or I’d cook her food, telling myself soon—we’d talk soon.

But she was insatiable. Being close physically was the only time she seemed to fully relax around me. And that was part of the reason why I didn’t want to go there now.

“Chels, I wanted to talk to you, remember?”

“I remember,” she said, only a few feet away now. I tried to stop her. I did. I stood straight, folding my arms.

But hell, when she came up to me, rising on her toes to kiss me, I found my arms slipping around her waist. When she pressed her soft breasts against my chest, my dick began to swell with disregard for my brain’s orders. I gripped her lace-sheathed ass without knowing what the hell I was doing, squeezing and pulling her hips closer until I knew she could feel my growing bulge.

With her tongue darting into my mouth, her scent filling my nostrils, I was a lost cause.

Chelsea pulled away. “There’s an office,” she said. “We can talk in there.”

Then she walked by me, swishing her hips as she strutted to the roof’s door.

What the fuck was the matter with me?

Chelsea. That’s what. I had no choice but to follow.

* * *

The office, as it turned out, was nicer than I’d expected—drywalled, with a desk, an old couch that looked like it had been around since the 1960s, and even a space heater, already glowing orange and filling the space with warmth.

But I barely saw any of that, because Chelsea had closed the door and stood with her back to me, her arm bent up and pulling the zipper already halfway down the back of her dress.

“You planned this, didn’t you?” I asked, feeling my cock thicken further.

“I’m the event planner, aren’t I?”

She pulled at her sleeves and dropped the dress on the ground, where it pooled around her heels. But I wasn’t looking at her dress. I was looking at Chelsea, in a black lace bra and panties, a garter holding up her pantyhose.

A fucking garter.

My dick had fully engaged now, and I ached to have her touch it. Hell, just to have her see it, and lick her lips the way she did, going after it like a meal.

Over her shoulder, she said, “I thought maybe you could fuck me before everyone gets here.”

“Is that right?” I said, my voice barely functioning. I took a step toward her, then another.

She turned around, resting her forearms on my shoulders, hooking her hands behind my neck. “Yes, Seamus, in that gorgeous suit. I thought you might impale me with that gorgeous cock”—she pointed toward the couch—“right there. I tested it out the other day, after everyone left.”

“You what?” I swallowed as she unhooked her hands and slid them down my chest. One she kept flat against me, the other she slid over my bulge.

Pleasure rippled through me. Jesus, I was weak for her. I thought about her on that couch, her fingers in her pussy, moaning my name…

“I was thinking of what we could do in here. I lifted my shirt up and pulled my jeans down and I fucked my fingers, making myself come while I thought of this.”

She squeezed her hand on my shaft and I growled, then grasped her jaw and kissed her, hard. Bruising, almost.

“I wasn’t going to do this with you tonight, Chelsea,” I said, encircling her wrists. I walked her backward, entwining my fingers with hers, until we couldn’t go any further. Then I raised her hands over her head, pinning her against the wall. I drove my tongue into her waiting mouth, flicking at hers. Then I nipped her jaw with my teeth. “I wasn’t going to fuck you Chelsea, but when you look at me like that, when you tell me what you just told me, and you look the way you do…”

“What did I tell you, again?” she teased.

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