Page 42 of The Devil You Know

As ridiculously overconfident as he appears, he flew across the country and drove to Ojai for this, for me, with no idea at all if it would work. And he wanted it to work—from the feel of him, hard as steel beneath me—he really wanted it to work.

I lean down and press my lips to his—the lightest brush. He groans, as if he’s been waiting a very long time for me to do it, and his hands press to my scalp, bringing my mouth back to his before I can pull away.

He’s still kissing me as he rolls me to my back, as his hands graze my rib cage, my breasts, before gripping the hem of my tank. “Take this off,” he demands, pulling it overhead. We are both naked from the waist up now. It’s decadent, how good it feels to be like this with him, skin to skin. I think of that night on his desk, and the memory has me clenching, as if he’s already inside me.

His hand slides up to cup my breast, to run the pad of his thumb over my nipple, making it ache before he takes it between his teeth. He pulls at it hard, suddenly, with a force that is pleasure and pain at once. I want more, but his lips press softly to the underside of my breast instead. My hips buck, impatient, and he laughs. “You liked that before, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” The word is carried on a gasp as his index finger slides inside my shorts. I’m so wet that I can hear it as his fingers glide between my legs.

Air hisses between his teeth. “God. I love that.”

His thumb goes to my clit as he leans down again, sucking my nipple into his mouth, using his teeth in a way that...pierces me. Something in that pleasure with just a hint of pain has me raw and swollen and desperate for more. My nails dig into his back.

“I want you inside me,” I tell him.

“Fuck,” he groans against my skin. “Yes. But this will be over in seconds if we do it your way.” He pushes my shorts off and slides farther down the bed before he spreads my thighs. The first hit of his tongue has me arching off the mattress.

“You don’t need to do that,” I gasp.

I feel his breath against my skin as he laughs. “Gemma, I’m doing exactly what I’ve wanted to do for two fucking years.”

Holy shit.

His perfect tongue continues to flick and my breath grows short. He’s so good at this, so certain of what he wants, and he watches me the entire time, as if nothing matters more to him in the whole fucking world than my reaction. I twist in the sheets, and his fingers push inside me, keeping time with his tongue.

“This has me so hard it hurts,” he says. His free hand slides down to grip himself and stays there. Squeezing, stroking through his boxers.

There’s a tiny burst of sparks at the center of my spine, and I gasp. “I’m close.”

He pushes those fingers inside me again as I unfurl, barely aware of him continuing to draw my orgasm out, barely aware of the way he groans, watching me.

My eyes open—slowly, languorously.

“Jesus,” he grunts, and then he’s reaching for a condom on the nightstand, ripping the packet and rolling it on.

He pushes inside me with a quiet gasp, his eyes closing for a half second before they open again to study my face. He’s making sure I’m okay, that this is still okay, and God, it is. He thrusts harder the second time, his hands sliding up to cup my breasts, then beneath me to grab my ass. Every sound I make is like a trigger for him, his eyes closing, his jaw grinding, as if he’s about to be pushed over the edge.

His mouth is against my ear. “Do you have any idea how many times the memory of you on my desk has made me come?”

I thrill at his words, spreading my legs wider to take more of him. My nails dig into his ass, and his inhale is sharp, surprised. His hips jerk forward and then he’s leaning over me, moving faster. “Oh. God.”

There’s no part of him that isn’t too big for me—his cock, his size, his ego—yet I’m the one making him dissolve.

“Yes,” I whisper, my pulse racing, my body arching off the bed. “Don’t stop.”

My mouth burrows into his neck and he releases another of those sharp gasps. His hands wrap around my wrists, pinning me, and there’s something in that tiny hint of possession and control that makes me come undone.

I bury my mouth against his shoulder to muffle the sounds I make as I let go.

“Fuck,” he says and then he thrusts hard, again and again, before coming with a quiet groan.

We are pressed tight, his chest moving fast against mine, his harsh breathing against my ear. When he pulls out at last, gripping himself to keep the condom in place, the room is silent, and I hear my own thoughts a little too well.

I don’t ever want it to end.

He rises to get rid of the condom and returns, pulling me against him. His mouth brushes the top of my head, but it’s different now...as if I’m someone he actually cares about, as if this mattered. I’m scared I might start to believe it. And he isn’t what I want anyway. I want someone simple, someone who won’t lie to me or eventually change his mind, and I’d be crazy to think that could be Ben.

I slide out of the bed and grab my clothes off the floor.