Page 63 of Break Me Open
I grip his hips, pulling him back toward my mouth, and drag my tongue up the length of his crack in one long, deliberate lick.
Caiden chokes on a sound. “Ari...” I don’t answer. I bury my mouth between his cheeks and devour him. His thighs lock, his knees nearly buckle, and his hand grips the edge of the desk to keep himself from collapsing.
I lick him open with slow, precise pressure, my tongue circling his rim until he’s gasping for air, cock jerking in his fist. “Jesus... Ari, fuck, please...”
I clamp my hands on his hips. “Don’t stop stroking,” I growl into him. He makes a strangled sound and obeys, his fist working faster, trembling harder. I spread him wider with my thumbs and push my tongue inside him.
Caiden’s entire body convulses.
He moans, loud, desperate, then slams a hand over his own mouth to muffle it. His hips push back helplessly, trying to take me deeper. I oblige, tongue-fucking him until his legs shake, and leaking onto the desk. His strokes are messy and frantic. I keep going, burying my tongue inside his perfect hole while he moans and whimpers into his hand. Only when he’s on the edge of sobbing with pleasure do I pull back.
I spit on my fingers and press one against his slick, open rim. “Breathe,” I tell him. He barely manages the first inhale before I push in. He gasps, arching, knuckles white on the desk.
His body clamps around my finger, desperate and greedy at the same time. I curl it inside him, brushing the spot thatmakes him jolt forward with a broken cry. I add another finger, and he chokes, his hand stuttering on his cock, his stroke faltering as the sensation hits too hard.
“No,” I warn. “Keep going.” His fist finds rhythm again and when I add a third finger, he nearly collapses.
“Ari, please, I’m gonna… fuck, I’m gonna come...”
“Good,” I say, pumping into him steadily, relentlessly. “Give it to me.” He begins shaking, and his voice is nothing but broken syllables and heavy breathing.
I curl my fingers inside him again, hard, and that’s all it takes.
He shatters.
Caiden comes with a strangled, muffled cry into his hand, his entire body jerking, spilling hot and violently across the desk, his hand, onto the floor, everywhere. I catch him by the hip before his knees can give out. His breath is wrecked, ragged, and beautiful. I gently remove my fingers before standing and leaning over him, my chest to his back, my lips brushing the edge of his ear. “Now,” I murmur, starving for more, “you’re going to turn around... and kiss me.”
He moves sluggishly, his muscles spent, his legs unstable, but he listens. He turns, the desk at his back, his hair a mess from my hands, and his face ruins me.
Flushed and lips parted like he’s drunk on me. He looks ruined, and all I want is to ruin him more. I grab his jaw with one hand and crush my mouth to his. It’s not gentle or slow. It’s teeth and hunger and every fucked-up thought I’ve had about him since the moment I first saw him in that briefing room, with his too-green eyes and a chip on his shoulder.
He gasps into my mouth, too tired to fight, too desperate to think, and I swallow the sound, pushing him harder against the desk, my hips pinning him in place. His hands fly to myneck, gripping, clawing, dragging me closer even though he’s already caged under me.
I bite his lower lip... hard enough to make him hiss and I lick the sting away.
“Arseny...” he breathes, trying to catch air between kisses.
“No,” I snarl against his mouth, kissing him again, deeper. “No talking.” My hands roam, one sliding up his chest, feeling the frantic hammer of his heart, the other squeezing his hip hard enough that he moans into my mouth. He’s oversensitive everywhere, trembling from release, and it only makes me want more.
I break from his lips long enough to drag my mouth down his throat, nibbling the tendon until he gasps and tilts his head back for me.
“Fuck... Ari...” he moans, and I slam my lips back onto his. He’s still trembling when I pull back. God, I wish I could ruin him more. We’ve come far too close to the point where I stop caring about the consequences.
I run my hand over his hair, down his cheek, slow enough that his eyes flutter. “Get dressed,” I murmur, my voice coming out unsteady with the kind of need that hurts to hold back. “Before I throw you face down on this desk, and fuck you so hard they will hear you in Moscow.”
His breath catches, and I lean in, my mouth brushing the corner of his lips, but not kissing him. If I kiss him again, I’ll lose it. “Go,” I whisper, thumb stroking the corner of his jaw. “Now, before I ruin both of us.”
He doesn’t move at first, but after a few seconds, he swallows, nods, and straightens his uniform. I watch him, every second of it, and it takes all of my self-control to let him walk out the door.
The door clicks shut, and I stand there for a full ten seconds, staring at the space he occupied like an idiot. Then Icatch myself on the desk, palms flat, and bow my head, laughing to myself. It comes out half-hysterical. “Fuck,” I whisper to the empty room. “Fuck.”
I’m still smiling. A big, wide, sharp thing that feels glued to my face. It’s not my fault that my body hasn’t got the memo yet that we’re supposed to be in panic mode. Every nerve ending is still busy replaying the image of Caiden’s broad shoulders between my knees, his hands bruising my hips, and the sound he made when he came.
I drag in a breath and force my hands to move, and to do something normal. Straighten papers, pick up the pen pot, right the chair, wipe off the desk. Anything to stop my brain from looping back to him kneeling and the way my name sounded when he moaned it.
“Mne pizdets,” I mutter under my breath. I’m screwed. Utterly, gloriously screwed. I catch sight of myself in the narrow glass of the filing cabinet. I look like I’ve been thoroughly fucked, which is technically not what just happened, but I’m not going to quibble with the visual.
I smooth my hands over my hair, straighten my shirt, and roll my shoulders until something in my spine cracks back into place.
