Page 13 of Parting Shot

“You taste good,” I barely got out, shifting sideways, tugging him over onto my lap so he straddled my hips.

He tried to untangle himself, but I kissed him, hard and rough, and drained the fight out of him.

“Duncan,” he moaned softly when I finally let him breathe, shoving his groin against my abdomen, needing the friction, his hands gripping my chest as he began a slow, driving rhythm. “I missed you. I …” He couldn’t finish, his words stilted.

I found that incredibly hot.

“This isn’t me,” he said.

“What isn’t?”

“I never … need.”

He was about control. I understood that. He was rich and powerful. Aaron Sutter was not the kind of man who should get off on rubbing his cock against my abs. But he was, and the hunger and yearning were his undoing. He was coming apart in my arms, and I wanted to see it, to feel it in my hands even more. I made quick work of his belt, and I had the stays of his dress pants open and the zipper down seconds later.

“You’re hurt,” he said, his voice cracking as he puffed air over my skin, wet and hot.

I slipped his cock from under his briefs and wrapped my hand around the long, thick length of him, loving the feel of the silky skin, smearing the leaking precum over the flared head. Slowly, sensuously, I jerked him off.

He shoved forward into my grip and barked at the driver at the same time, “Park the car!”

When you were worth billions, I guessed people just knew what you meant. But I was only peripherally aware we had gone in a different direction. I was much too focused on the breathtaking man in my lap, writhing with need, pistoning in and out of my fist.

I lifted my left hand to his lips. “Suck on my fingers. Get ’em real wet.”

He understood, opening instantly, taking them deep into his mouth, coating and laving my index and middle fingers until, when I eased them free, they were slick with saliva.

We stopped, and I heard the door open and close. I was aware of the sound of the power locks and then the footsteps of dress shoes over concrete.

“Lift up,” I ordered.

He rose, leaning forward and curling his back so it grazed the roof of the car instead of bumping it as I put my hand down the back of his trousers.

“I never … I don’t … I …”

He was good, proper, and only sinful behind closed doors. He was Aaron fucking Sutter. He didn’t shed inhibitions in public; it was unseemly. The idea that he was so far gone that all his reticence had sailed right out the window was just about the hottest thing I could think of.

I squeezed his shaft as I pressed my middle finger inside him. He bucked forward, and it hurt me—my ribs, my side—but only sharply for a second and not enough to stop. His head thrown back, the arch of his spine, how he was biting his bottom lip—he was a vision, and I couldn’t be bothered with my comfort. All that mattered was him.

I dragged my fingertip over his prostate, and he babbled something incomprehensible as he pushed in and out of my fist.

“Is it good?” I prodded, my voice rumbling out of me because watching him was a gift.

His mouth was open, and all I heard were gasps as I added a second finger, scissoring, breaching the tight muscles, feeling the give as they loosened and I pressed deep inside the tight, hot channel.

“Duncan, please,” he begged me, hands clenched on my shoulders, taking my fingers to the knuckles, rising up and shoving back down, over and over.

“Turn around and I’ll shove my tongue up your ass.”

His moan was raw and strangled; he nearly climaxed with just the suggestion.

“You want me to do that? Huh, Aaron? You want me to rim you till you scream?”

He shuddered and shot cum onto the front of my gray T-shirt, yelling my name as his orgasm rushed through him, freezing all his muscles.

I didn’t move. I let the aftershocks roll through him, felt the shiver begin as semen seeped from his slowly softening dick.

His hands relaxed their grip on my shoulders, and he bent down, burrowing into my chest as I eased my fingers from his spasming passage. His sharp inhale, his arms wrapped tight around my neck, and his face in the hollow of my throat changed passion to possession in an instant. I had the overwhelming urge to demand no one ever be allowed to see him like this except me. I wanted to tell him he belonged to me, but it was too fast, and I was afraid it would scare him off.