Page 32 of Boardroom Ties
But I don’t let him. My hand tightens in his shirt, holding him where he is. He looks down at me, those blue eyes narrowed in confusion, and I don’t have the words for what I want. I don’t think there are any.
So I take his hand instead.
I peel it away from the cotton of my pillow where he was bracing himself and pull it down, down. He lets me, watching, waiting—until I find the hem of my hospital gown.
When his fingers touch the bare skin of my thigh crease, he hisses. I do, too. Both of us are suddenly taut and straining.
His eyes search mine. Whatever he finds there must satisfy him, because his hand keeps going, inching up under the thin cotton of my gown until his fingertips brush somewheremuchmore interesting than the crease of my thigh.
My hips promptly spring off the mattress.
“Shh,” he murmurs. His mouth is still an inch from mine, not kissing, just breathing against me. “Quiet,dikarka. There’s a nurse on the other side of the curtain.”
“Then don’t make me?—”
“I absolutely will make you.” His fingers tease up and down my swollen lips. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
I bite down on my own lip. He takes that as an invitation to press harder, to part me and find exactly how ready for him I already am. When his middle finger pushes inside, I whine into the crook of his arm.
“Look at me,” he orders.
I can’t do it. I shake my head against the pillow.
“Cassandra. Look at me.”
That second one isn’t a request. I open my eyes.
“Good girl,” he murmurs.
Raymond says those same two words and they make me want to peel my own skin off. Matvei says them and I feel it everywhere, low and crackling like heat lightning, at the base of my spine andthe tips of my fingers and the arches of my feet. They bring me to life.
“Don’t—” I gasp. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?”
“Becausehesays it.”
Something hot flares behind his eyes. He adds a second finger and I forget every single word I’ve ever known in any language.
“Then I’ll say it until you forget he ever did,” he tells me. “Good girl. Ride my hand.”
He crooks his fingers, and my hips chase on their own, lifting off the mattress to meet him. He doesn’t move his hand much. Or at all, really. Something about the way he stays perfectly still and forces me to pursue my own pleasure is insanely erotic.
I roll against his palm. The scratchy hospital blanket drags against my bare legs. His thumb finds exactly where I need it, and I have to shove my fist against my mouth to keep from making a sound that would bring the whole ER running.
“Look at you,” he whispers, and there’s wonder in his voice, a hungry, savage kind of awe. “Do you know how long it’s been? Six weeks, Cassandra. For six weeks, I’ve been wondering where you are. And now, I have you. Soaking my hand in a hospital bed.”
“Please—”
“Please, what?”
“Please don’t stop.”
“I’m not going to stop.” He drops his forehead against mine, careful of the stitches. “Not until you cum for me. Now.”
And, becausehetold me to, I do.
It happens fast and not pretty. I clamp my thighs around his wrist and shake. My mouth opens against my own fist and a thin sound comes out, a wet little whine. My eyes stay on his. They have to. He told me to, and I would never dream of disobeying someone who could make me feel this good.
