Page 72 of Fierce

“Please what?” His eyes were burning me up, and he still had a hand on my elbow, but that was all.

“Please,” I said again. “Show me. Tell me.” I couldn’t say it. “Please.”

It was enough. He had my hand, was leading me down the hallway so fast that I nearly had to run to keep up. And then he was shoving his keycard into the slot by the tall doors that led into his office and pulling me through.

It was dark in there, the only light coming from the windows of offices across the street, but he didn’t turn on the lights. Instead, he lifted me again, and my legs went around his waist exactly as they had before. His mouth closed over mine, hard and ruthless, and he was moving, holding me, kissing me all the way across that expanse of carpet to his desk. He was setting me down on it, was pulling off my coat and tossing it to the floor, and then his hand was yanking my blouse out of the waistband of my skirt, reaching under it, flicking the center closure on my bra, and I was gasping.

“Hemi...”

I should be saying something else. I should be doing something. But I couldn’t, because he was pushing me back onto the desk, his hand under my head as I went down, then pulling my hips to the edge.

“Stay there,” he commanded. “Like that.”

What?He was stepping back, and I rose on my elbows, but he put a hand on my shoulder and pressed me back down. “No. Stay there. I mean it.”

Oh, my God. He was going to do me on his desk, and he was leaving me lying here to think about it. My legs dangled over the edge, because I wasn’t nearly tall enough to reach the floor, the wood surface was hard underneath me, and I was trembling. Desire, anticipation, anxiety—all of them combining, making me shake.

I heard the click, blinked against the sudden onslaught of light from the desk lamp. He was opening drawers, grabbing something from his chair, coming back around again.

“The light—” I said.

“Oh, no. The light stays on. I’m watching this.” He dropped something by my side, was lifting my hips in both hands, reaching for a foam wedge and shoving it under my bottom so I was raised at an angle, tilted for him. And, yes. I was lying on his back support.

“This.” His voice was all dark satisfaction. He had hold of the hem of my pencil skirt, was pulling it up, raising my hips again, then yanking the skirt all the way around my waist. And then he had a hand on either thigh and was pulling them apart.

“Oh.” A weak protest, and I was trying to close them, and he wasn’t letting me. Because he’d come to stand between them now, was pulling my sweater and blouse all the way up to my shoulders, brushing the cups of my bra aside, and his hands were on my breasts, his thumbs flicking over the nipples, every touch sending another pulse of arousal to my center, to where he was grinding into me.

When he let go, I arched my back and moaned.

“Yeh,” he said, his voice low. Rough. “That’s it. That’s what you do for me.” He had both hands around the band of my thong, was pulling it down my legs, over my heels, and it was gone.

He kept one hand on the top of my thigh, holding me open for him, and his other hand was covering me, stroking me in exactly the way that worked best, hard and fast, and I was already jerking against him, and totally unable to keep quiet.

When he shoved two fingers inside me, began to thrust even as his thumb continued to move, I was past moaning. I was whimpering. My hands were sliding over the smooth surface of the desk, scrabbling for purchase, then reaching behind me in desperation, grabbing for the edge and holding on.

“Hemi.”It was a sob, and a plea. His hand was gone, and I bucked, needing him so much. In the next moment, he took both my hips in hard hands and shoved home, and the force of my answering cry startled me.

There was nothing gentle about it. It was fast, and it was hard. I was holding tight overhead, gripping the edge of the desk, trying to get closer but unable to move, because it was all Hemi. His rasping breath filled my ears, and I was climbing. Climbing.

And when he shoved a hand between my legs, began to stroke, I was there. The wave slammed into me hard, and I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I cried out, long and loud.

“Shit,”I heard on a gasp of his own. I was still spasming around him, but he was pulling out, leaving me.

“No.”I let go of the desk and tried to reach for him, but he had my hips in his hands again, was pulling me off the hard surface, taking me down to the carpeted floor with him.

“Hands and knees,” he told me. “Right now.”

Oh, God.I scrambled up onto them, my arms trembling, and he’d shoved my skirt high again, all the way to my waist.

He buried himself inside me in a single thrust, and I nearly screamed again. The angle had him hitting a spot that felt...that felt...I didn’t have words for it, because I was about to lose my mind. I was moaning out his name, and he was plunging hard, going so deep, and my hands couldn’t hold me up anymore. My elbows were on the floor, my face pressed into my hands, the rasp of his breath competing with my sobbing cries. One of his hands went to the back of my neck, shoved me down harder, held me there.

It was too much. I came apart. I was keening, spasming around him as he filled me, and he was swearing, moving faster, going even deeper. Filling me all the way, until he was shaking, jerking against me, groaning. Gone.

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