Page 65 of Naked Coffee Guy
“There are no brakes,” I say.
“Maren.”
“Mustard,” I blurt out, laughing lightly at the absurdity of the word in this moment. But Mac isn’t laughing.
“You have exactly five seconds to change your mind,” he growls.
I don’t move from the top of his desk. Instead, I watch him and wait for whatever happens next.
My clothes are off before I can blink, save for my heels. He has me positioned so that I face the desk, my hands splayed out in front of me, my ass up in the air. I can see across the city and out to the ocean from his floor to ceiling windows as he strips off his belt in one move, and then lands the leather strap against my flesh. It’s hard enough to make me hiss, but not enough to mark me. I feel him hesitate, waiting for me to stop him. I won’t. I push my ass toward him until he gives me a few more swats.
“I’m sorry,” he then murmurs, running his hand over my heated skin, and then slapping his hand against the tender area. I groan, lowering my head, but not losing my position.
“I’m so fucking sorry.” He traces a finger down my slit before sliding it in. I’m already slick, and I inch my heels further apart as he adds another finger, then another.
“Let me show you how sorry I am.”
My knees buckle as he moves his fingers in and out of me, and I drop to my elbows on the desk to stabilize my body. Mac grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls my head back, and then his mouth is on mine. My pussy throbs around his hand as I fervently search his mouth, unable to get enough of this man.
Did I really think I was getting out of here without getting fucked? Silly, silly girl.
“Please,” I whisper against his mouth. I feel his mouth curve into a smile, his whiskers like tiny electric bolts against my skin. The fact that I’m here, butt naked, while he remains fully clothed is wholly unfair.
“Stay where you are,” he says, slipping his fingers from me as I whimper. He backs away, and I hear the thud of his shoes, the hiss of his zipper, and the sound of his clothes hitting the floor. When I glance over my shoulder, he is completely bare, his broad body positioning himself behind me. He pulls me flush against him, my back to his front. Then he runs his hand over my body. It’s so intimate the way he’s touching me, like he’s memorizing every inch of my body. But then he turns me around to face him.
“I want to take my time with you,” he says, brushing his lips over mine, “But I’m afraid if I don’t fuck you, I’m going to lose my mind.”
“Then what are you waiting for?”
The words are barely out of my mouth before he has me lying flat on the desk, his cock nudging my entrance.
And then he’s inside me. He moves as if we’re each other’s air, as if we’re only alive for this moment. The way he takes me is as if he’s always owned me, and it’s hard to remember why we were ever apart, why I would deny myself this.
Mac is anything but gentle in the way he fucks me. But his hands cradle the back of my head, his fingers tangled in my hair as he keeps my head and neck safe. Our breath comes hot and heavy, moving in unison with the pace of our bodies. I wrap my legs around him, my heels glancing off his back as he thrusts harder inside me. His beard brushes against my skin, sending electric shocks throughout my body.
I don’t care that we’re here in his office, where someone could knock on the door at any moment. Nor do I care that his office window faces another, and all anyone would have to do is look outside to see him taking me on his desk. I don’t care about the papers falling to the ground, or how my rigid stance has also fallen to the wayside. All I care about is that I am finally as close to him as I can humanly get, and it still doesn’t feel close enough.
“Don’t lose me again,” I whisper in between hungry kisses.
“Maren Huerta,” he says, his mouth never leaving mine, “I am never letting you go.”
The words should scare me. Anything close to this kind of claiming would have me running for the hills in the past. This time, I’m met with the most delicious orgasm stemming from his words and the way he’s throbbing inside me, washing over my whole body, and leaving me clinging to him as I mewl against his chest. His movements slow to a purposed rhythm. I feel him swell before he growls into my hair, thrusting hard as he milks the orgasm for all it’s worth.
When it’s over, he collapses on top of me, our bodies shining with sweat. I taste the salt on his skin, feeling him still inside me and dreading the moment he slips out. He stays for a few minutes, as if he also doesn’t want to part. But when he does, he lifts me into his arms, then carries me to the oversized leather chair in the corner. He sits, cradling me in his lap, smoothing his hand over my hair as I lay my head against his chest. I can feel the thrum of his heart, and I remain still as I listen to it slow from its racing pace.
I love the way my body feels against his. I love how safe I feel in his arms. If he’ll let me, I know I could fall in love with him.
“Do you forgive me?” he asks, still stroking my hair as if I need comfort. And I do. I need everything he has to give me. I need him.
“I forgive you.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Maren
Seven years ago
“So, are you a musician or something?”