After a minute, she remembers herself, and her head pops up, her eyes fluttering to meet mine. Now that I have her attention, I bring my finger to my mouth and suck her wetness from my skin. I tasted her the other night, but this simple gesture is so sensual and erotic that I swear she tastes better today.
Her eyes spark, and my dick jumps as though it’s connected to her gaze with jumper cables.
Not that it needed the extra jolt. I’ve been hard as steel the whole time we’ve been in the closet, and when she cups her hand around my bulge, silently asking for my permission, I practically burn from the contact.
“Don’t,” I hiss, and her expression says she’s confused.
Honestly, I am a little too. Because I fucking need her.
But not yet. Not on these terms, and thank Christ it’s only a few seconds later when I hear Hudson say, “My chief financial advisor can show you the projections she’s put together. Her office is just down the hall. Let me walk you over.”
I put my hand on the knob, and the instant I’m sure that Hudson and Edward have left, I fling the door open. With Genevieve’s hand tucked in mine, I pull her to the elevator, push the button, and tug her inside after me when it opens.
“Where are we—”
I cut her off. “Don’t talk.”
Her jaw closes, drawing her mouth into a tight line. I’m not sure I can quite articulate why I want her to be silent. Because I’m near sensory overload. Because I don’t want her to break the mood. Because I’m too focused on my agenda at the moment to be disrupted. Maybe it’s all of that or something else all together. I don’t know.
What I do know is that I love the way she’s obeyed me. Without question. Without comment.
It does good things to the buzz in my veins. Good, good things.
At the elevator, I insert the access key, and after a short ride the doors open to my loft. Genevieve walks out beside me, and before she’s taken two steps, I have her pressed against the wall. I kiss her thoroughly, roughly. My tongue swipes across her teeth. My hands wander up. Soon, I’m helping slip off her jacket.
Again, she reaches for my crotch, and damn, I want her to touch me, but I want it with her mouth. I want it so badly I can barely speak, can barely think straight. I step back and start working on my buckle. “Shirt and bra off,” I say gruffly, and it sounds like an order.
Hell, I guess I mean it to be one, too.
And god bless Captain America, she complies.
By the time I’ve gotten my pants undone, she’s naked from the waist up. My eyes eat her up, greedily, as I lower my boxer briefs just enough to draw out my rock-hard cock. With one hand on her shoulder, I nudge her down to her knees.
“This ends the minute you say stop. If you can’t talk, pinch me.” Because in about two seconds, I don’t expect her to be able to say a thing.
In fact, I’m so impatient, such an asshole in my lust, I don’t wait for her to respond before saying, “Open your mouth,” and the instant her jaw drops open, I step forward and thrust inside.
I mean, thrust. Completely. As far as I can go. No hesitation. No going slow. None of this foreplay-take-your-time bullshit. I am that shithead who sees a hole and shoves all the way in.
Jesus.
And all that is holy.
There are no words for how good it feels to have her lips around me. My head is practically touching the back of her throat, her tongue flat against the bottom of my cock. It’s everything I’d imagined and more.
I draw out, slowly so I can feel everything. I pause to let her catch her breath.
Then I drive in again.
Her cheeks hollow as she presses them in against my length. She swirls her tongue, and it feels like she’s licking me everywhere at once. Like she’s a whirlpool around my dick. Goddamn, it’s so good. So hot.
Especially the way her tits bounce as she moves her mouth up and down my length. My eyes are glued on her breasts. I alternate between imagining that my cock is sliding between them and imagining my fingers tweaking her nipples, so hard she cries out. Mostly I just like staring at them, fully ogling her. It’s so dirty and filthy and me-centric. She’s getting no pleasure from this. It’s all about me.
God, I’m a douche.
But then I catch her gaze. Her eyes water as she looks up, adoring me. Idolizing me. Wanting to please me. It’s almost spiritual, and all I can think is no wonder man decided god wanted to be prayed to, because being prayed to is fucking awesome.
So awesome that I lose control.
Or rather I go into hyper-control. The kind of control I’ve seen in other people in business and boardrooms—not ever in me. The kind of control I’ve only ever aspired to. Hyper-control like my brother who micromanages and supervises every transaction. That’s what I do to Genevieve. I cradle her face and hold it exactly where I want it and then I just…let go. I pound into her. I take advantage. I use her. She’s not doing it to me; I’m doing it to her. She’s not sucking my cock; I’m fucking her mouth.
Her hands curl around my calves, steadying herself, and I try to pay attention to the way she grips me. Try to notice whether or not she means to stop me.
But I’ve got to be honest—I’m so into how good this feels that she’ll probably have to pinch me hard enough to break skin to get me to notice anything else. If she does, I’ll stop. I don’t know how, but I will. That promise is the only way I can live with myself as I push in again and again and again. Mercilessly. With total abandon.
“I’m going to come down your throat now, Genny. That’s all the warning I’m going to give.” Because that’s as long as I can manage to hold out, and almost as soon as I’ve said the words, I’m there, exploding, shooting down her throat in long thick spurts. My hands are still clamped so tightly on either side of her face she has no choice but to take it.