Page 11 of Not Safe for Work
Chapter Three
She meant to tell him the second he walked through her door. About Hartford finding out. About his furious reaction. About the visible and still shocking emotion he had revealed, beneath the cracking ice of his cool exterior. She even opened her mouth to ask: Does Hartford have some sort of crush on you?
But then he pushed her up against the hallway wall and she sort of forgot what words were.
He was even more handsome now than he had been three days ago. Those black curls were so thick and lustrous, she couldn’t resist plunging her hands into them. His dark eyes were heavy-lidded already—before they’d even started anything. And that mouth . . .
He pressed it to hers and nothing else mattered. Every single surge of pleasure and feeling came back to her, somehow twice as strong as it had been before. As if the meeting with Hartford had strengthened it in an odd way, instead of turning it into something tawdry. Now, when he touched her, she thought of Hartford watching them. Spying on them. Maybe even enjoying what he saw.
And it turned her inside out.
She was panting before Abel pushed a hand up her skirt. Moaning, before he dragged her panties down in one rough jerk. Then, when he bent her over her own dining table, she lost it altogether. “Fuck me, just fuck me, I’ve thought of nothing else but you fucking me,” she gasped like some sluttish other version of herself.
But it was fine. It was good.
His answer made it good.
“My head is so full of you I had to force myself not to abandon my trip to Lisbon. Every second I was there I imagined you like this, skirt around your waist, your bare ass presented for me, those gorgeous legs spread so eagerly . . . oh god, you’re still eager for me.”
Then his hand was there between her thighs—as hot as the table was cool against her cheek. Testing that eagerness, teasing through her already slippery folds. He found her slick hole with two thick fingers and simply slid right in. Then out again, to make maddening circles around her clit. And all the while he murmured to her that she was so wet and so swollen and so ready, in a way that made her want to sob.
She did sob, after five minutes of that torture.
“Just please, please, Abel,” she tried.
Then heard the click and drag of a belt. The purr from a zipper, then a snap of rubber and the hiss of his breath.
Followed by the thing she wanted most: the sweet sliding of his heavy cock into her slick pussy. Slow at first, oh so agonizingly slow. Like he wanted to savor it, maybe. But then he grunted, and his hand went to her hip, and suddenly things were much more urgent. He started pulling her back onto his cock instead of simply nudging forward.
And he did it hard.
He did it fast.
The table shook under the pressure of his thrusts; she could hardly keep her balance. She had to hold on after a second—though it wasn’t the wood that she clung to. It was him. She reached behind herself and grabbed at his waist, his hips, his thighs. And when he hauled her up, she pushed a hand back into his hair. She found his throat with her searching fingers and left marks there as he whispered into her ear.
“I can feel how close you are,” he said.
And he was right. Her legs were starting to tremble. Hot, thick pleasure pulsed through her lower belly like a fist clenching and unclenching. She had maybe thirty seconds before she spilled all over his cock, and even less when he found her clit with his fingers.
“I want you to do it hard, sweet Amy,” he said.
Then she realized with a start that was the first time he had spoken her name out loud. They’d given each other oral sex, and fucked until they were both shaking, but he’d never used her first name. Though she supposed it was only right. They barely knew each other. They had spent no more than two tiny days in each other’s company. He didn’t know her. He wasn’t her boyfriend.
He was the guy who’d helped her get fired.
And yet, when he said sweet, she trembled.
When he groaned in her ear that he was coming, all she wanted to do was kiss him and kiss him and touch him until the end of time. He was everything she thought only other people got: exciting and gorgeous and smart. And his desire only made it worse.
“Come for me, my darling,” he said.
And she did, in great startling bursts.
* * *
She had only the vaguest impression of how they ended up naked and half tangled in towels on her bathroom floor. She thought he might have mentioned taking a shower—maybe even taking one together. But they hadn’t made it that far. As soon as she’d slipped out of her clothes completely he had given her that look. That heavy-lidded, bright-but-dark look, and then somehow she had ended up seated on the cabinet in the bathroom with him between her legs. Followed by a shimmering mess of sheer pleasure.
And more pleasure astride him, on the floor.
