Page 20 of His for Christmas
I felt a little mean for teasing him this way, even though I hadn’t meant it as a tease. I pulled back, and he groaned, sounding almost desperate. Then the sound changed, grew more urgent as I began unbuttoning his dress shirt.
“Wait,” he gasped. “It’s enough. Just let me… let me touch you again. Let me use you.”
I knew exactly how good it would feel to let him do that, like he had the first day. And I knew it would end there, with me feeling wonderful and him still afraid of his own dark desires. I couldn’t do that to him, even if he wanted me to.
Underneath his dress shirt was a white tank. I pushed it up out of the way, revealing the hard planes of his abs, his chest, lightly furred and clenched tight with restraint.
“So sexy,” I murmured.
He laughed, unsteady—more an exhalation of air. “Angel, enough.”
“No.” I trailed a finger down his chest, enjoying the ripple of muscles, all the way down his abs and over his belt, to the bulge in his pants. It pulsed at my touch. “I don’t think it’s enough.”
He made a muffled sound that I took as wholehearted agreement. With him, that was as close as I would get.
I stroked him through his pants. “Keep holding on to the bar if you want.”
“Okay.” He shut his eyes. “I’m going to.”
He said it like a threat. It made me smile. I was still smiling when I unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock. How pretty. He wouldn’t like that word, but it was perfect for his cock. Long and thick and impossibly smooth. Already wet at the tip, because he wanted me that much. What could be prettier than that?
I leaned down and kissed the tip. He jerked in my hand. His whole body shuddered, but he didn’t release the bar. When I pulled back, my lips were wet from his arousal.
“More?” I asked.
“I can’t control it.” He was pleading with me now. For me to keep going? Or for me to stop? Maybe both. Maybe he wanted to hurt me and have me forgive him.
I leaned down and closed my lips around the head of his cock.
“Fuck,” he shouted. The word bounced off the walls, filling the elevator.
I used my hand to pump his cock while I sucked the head and swirled my tongue around. I tried to draw out every drop of salty precum, swallowing it down and searching out more. It was hard to take him deep in this position, with him sitting up straight. He was practically holding his body up, gripping the bar and pushing his hips toward me. I took him as far as I could, letting the wetness slide down and coat him, using it to lubricate my fist as I worked him.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”
I barely understood what he was saying, or why, until I saw his arms come down. As if released from a spring, they grabbed me before I could blink. He rocked forward, shoving me down to the floor, climbing on top of me. Sorry, sorry, sorry.
My breath was coming fast and then not at all. Was this it? Was he going to hurt me now, like he’d sworn he would? But I wasn’t afraid of him. I was afraid for him. How much would he hate himself if he did hurt me? And I knew I would let him do anything to me. I’d never say no. Never make him regret anything we did together.
I let him move me, let him yank down my panties and spread my legs. Let him put his mouth against my sex, and God, God, it wasn’t a hardship at all to let him suck my clit. He dipped low and slid his tongue into my folds, drawing out slickness and pleasure, making me shudder and cry out. Then he went high again, lashing my clit with steady, urgent strokes, begging me to come, demanding it.
“Mr. Thompson.”
His voice was muffled, but I heard him anyway. “God, yes. Again.”
He pressed one finger inside me, working it along the inner walls until I clenched around him. He added another finger until I felt full—but not enough. Not even his wicked tongue on my clit or his deft fingers in my cunt were enough.
Tears fell down my cheeks. “Mr. Thompson,” I whispered.
He lunged forward until his body canted over mine. His eyes were dark orbs above me, almost cruel. He notched his cock against my body, a warm and urgent threat. “I’m sorry, Angel.”
Then he pushed inside me, relentless, giving me no time to adjust, no time to do anything but stretch and burn and ripple around his hard flesh as I sobbed his name. Immediately he pulled back and thrust inside me again, his pace faster than I could breathe, his movements so hard I felt like the whole elevator car was moving instead of just him.
