Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 66184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
“Oh god, Derek.” I didn’t realize how empty I felt until he was inside me. I ache for him, and every inch he presses in is sweet relief.
Gravity, plus his strong arms, bring me down, down, down, until our bodies fully notch together and he’s buried deep inside me, my pussy stretching around him like it doesn’t want to let go. He bends his knees while lifting me again, his cock drawing back out, dragging against my inner walls deliciously before plunging back inside.
He’s so deep, he knocks the breath out of me with each thrust, and all I can do is hold on, my arms wrapped around his broad shoulders as I watch the intense concentration in his expression.
“Touch that pussy for me.”
I’m pretty sure I’m not going to need any extra stimulation, but I do as I’m told, sliding a hand between us where our bodies are joined. Before touching myself, I touch his base, because I can’t resist, then I rub a finger over my clit as he bounces me on his cock.
It’s all so good, and enhanced by the view of his powerful body completely in control of mine, I quickly start to come apart. When I come, I come hard, eyes squeezed shut, head thrown back. Safe in his arms, I give in fully to everything I’m feeling, and it’s an intense release.
When I’m able to open my eyes again, he’s watching me with avid interest. “Looks like you needed that, Miss Flores.”
Who wouldn’t need an amazing orgasm like that? I let his comment go without responding.
Still inside me, he pulls me away from the window and into his arms. I hope he’s taking me into his bedroom, because surely there must be something soft in there, and it would be interesting to see a hidden touch of softness to this man, but instead he carries me to the dining room table, where his cock slips out of me before he lays me gently on the table, my back on the hard surface.
He slides me to the edge, my knees bent and spread, then plunges back into me. My body shakes, and the big, sturdy table wobbles with each thrust of his hips. He presses my clit and strokes over it just as I’d done to myself, and I’m shocked when he makes me come again, though in a way, I’m not shocked at all, because the man has skills.
As I’m coming, I hear him grunt, and then he’s stiffening inside me. He buries himself deep, and I squint my eyes open to find him lost in his climax, his jaw tight, his features drawn into a picture of ecstasy that almost looks like agony.
A rush of sympathetic feelings rises in my chest, and I have the strange urge to cuddle this man, to get to know what’s behind his harsh exterior. If cuddling doesn’t work, I want to drop to my knees again and make him feel things until he loosens the tight grip on his emotions.
All these thoughts pass quickly, and it’s just as well, because he’s already pulling out and stepping away from me. He does hold out a hand to help me to my feet, but then he leaves me to sort out my clothing while he strides off to a dark hallway and disappears.
So much for any post-glow bonding, but I’m not complaining. I’ve never had sex this good, and finally seeing all of Derek’s body is going to make it harder than ever to stop having sex with him. I have to stop, though. Once I’m officially an employee, this absolutely cannot happen again.
Clothes in hand, I find a small bathroom and put myself back together, cleaning up a couple of makeup smudges and reapplying my lipstick. When I return to the room, Derek’s standing by the dining room table where I’d just been lying, his fingers trailing along the surface.
“Ready to go to dinner?” he asks as soon as he sees me.
You’d think having sex in this man’s home would make things between us feel more intimate, but this encounter was nearly as abrupt and impersonal as the one in the conference room. Down and dirty, rough and quick—something about it feels nearly anonymous, transactional even, but maybe that’s my paranoia about the fact that he and Jansen have offered me such a generous salary.
I shrug off these thoughts, because I am still feeling an afterglow, and I want to savor it. “Sure, I’m ready.”
CHAPTER 11
ANA
Derek takes me to a restaurant as dark and sleek as his home, where we share an obscenely expensive array of seafood. When I comment on the fresh flavor of the chilled lobster, his shoulders lift in the hint of a shrug.
He seems to eat only because it’s necessary to sustain him; he doesn’t say anything good or bad about the food, which is luxurious by any standards. We eat mostly in silence, and I use the time to study him, noting the contrast between how passionate he is in his appetite for me but so restrained in other things.