Page 25 of Falling for Her Grumpy Boss

“For days, I’ve thought about eating this pussy.”

The words are muffled as Dylan feasts like a man starving. My hips jerk when the tip of his tongue flicks over my clit. With his hands clamp around my upper legs, he holds me exactly where he wants me. The teasing stroke beneath the hood lasts only a heartbeat before he seals his mouth around my clit and sucks.

“Holy shit!”

“Language.” He follows the reprimand with a light nip on the sensitive bud.

I try to buck him off, but he pins me firmly down with his hands. My already soaking pussy floods with more juices. Usually, I don’t have a light trigger, but my body seems to consider the days I spend with Dylan organizing his work as foreplay. I’m primed and ready.

I let myself go pliant and earn a “Good girl,” before he redoubles his effort between my legs. He tightens his lips around the hood and clit as his tongue dances across the nub until everything in my lower half tightens and tingles. Dylan pinches, tweaks, licks, and circles at my pussy like it is some kind of delicacy.

When he plunges a finger inside me, my back arches, and I cry out.

“Fuck, baby, you’re tight.”

Yeah, it’s been a while.

I don’t voice that thought, as I try to absorb every slow thrust that makes my inner walls ripple and clench around the intrusion. He adds another finger and twists his hand. My belly starts to flutter and my leg muscles lock. I’m close. “I need to come.”

Dylan crooks his fingers against my G-spot, the pressure dragging another helpless pulse through me.

It crests there, stretched tight enough that I feel it in my throat.

When he holds the pressure and strokes again, my hips lift before I can stop them, chasing the sensation. The movement is small, almost desperate, but it lands deep enough to leave sharp tremors lingering through my body.

I gasp, the breath catching halfway as my stomach pulls tight. My thighs draw in, trembling, and I feel the way I close around him, again and again, each reaction stronger than the last.

He shifts.

Just enough to find that same spot.

My fingers tighten where I’m holding on, and I push into him again, needing him not to move away, needing that pressure to stay exactly where it is.

Another curl.

My back arches, a broken sound slipping out of me as everything inside tightens at once. It starts low, a hard pull in my stomach that spreads outward, dragging my breath with it, until I can’t fill my lungs anymore.

I press into him again.

He meets it.

That same place.

Again.

The sensation stacks, each movement landing before the last one settles, until there’s no space between them. My body doesn’t ease into it this time. It rises into it, faster, tighter, like something is winding too far, too fast.

I can’t slow it down.

My grip slips, then tightens as my whole body braces, staving off the climax for a little longer as the pressure builds inside me. It climbs higher, pushing into my chest, my throat, until my breath breaks completely.

His fingers curl again.

Everything snaps.

The release hits hard, pulling me tight before it lets go, a sharp, overwhelming surge that makes my legs shake and my breath disappear entirely. I cling to him as it rolls through me⁠—

—but it doesn’t stop.