Page 24 of Intersect
I purr under my breath at his nearness and he moves away, leaning against the opposite wall of the elevator. It’s a respectable distance for any security cameras, but the look in his eyes is positively filthy. Or maybe that’s just where my mind had already gone, because his shirt is unbuttoned just enough to get a glimpse of that chest I so enjoyed this weekend, and already I am picturing my mouth pressed to the hollow in his collarbone as I pull his beltloose.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking,” he says, “but if these elevators weren’t monitored by security I’d make you demonstrate every one ofthem.”
The doors open and I slide past him. “You’re all talk,” I say over myshoulder.
“Such a smart mouth,” he replies, the words half spoken and half growled. “Let’s see how smart it is when I get youalone.”
I raise a brow. “Easy to say when there’s no place wecanbealone.”
“You think?” he asks, opening his office door and pulling me inside. The moment the door shuts, I’m wrapping my arms around his neck, pressing my face to his blue oxford, and breathing in the smell of his skin beneath the starch of hisshirt.
“God, I’ve missed you and it hasn’t even been 24 hours,” he says, seeking my mouth. My hand palms him outside his khakis, and his fingers slide up my inner thigh, beneath the elastic of my panties. “You’re already wet,” he says with a quick, rough breath. “Get on thedesk.”
As much as I would love to do just that, I have something else in mind. “Maybe I feel like being the one in charge today,” I reply, dropping to my knees. I slide his khakis down and then slowly pull him free of his boxerbriefs.
His head falls back against the wall. “Fuck.”
I saw plenty of him this weekend but it was mostly prone, in the dark. Seeing him like this, in a well-lit room, is another thing entirely. His size is…intimidating, which should probably make me nervous but instead only makes me want all the things wecan’tdo evenmore.
The hallway outside echoes with footsteps, chatter, the wheels of a gurney. Inside here, though, it is is whisper-quiet, his small sharp breaths the only sound as I begin to tease him with my hands and mytongue.
For so much of the time I’ve known him, Nick has been the expert, the one leading the charge—calm, responsible, stoic. But here he’s at my mercy, and I can feel his desperation in the hitch of his breath, in the way his fingers—already tangled in my hair—struggle not to press to my scalp, to demand more. “Jesus, Quinn,” he finally begs, “you’re killing me. Stop playing withit.”
I obey, finally giving him what he wants. The heat of my mouth, my hand firm around his shaft, his hips bucking to chase me whenever my head backs away. His fingers lose their restraint, begin to press. He looks down at me and then his eyes squeeze tight. “You have no idea how badly I want to fuck you right now,” he grunts. “None.” I try to take more of him, until he hits the back of my throat. He gasps and I do itagain.
“Oh fuck,” he says on another gasp. “I’m gonna come.” With the smallest pained cry he lets go, my head held tight in his hands until he sags backward against the wall, his chestheaving.
I rise from the floor, unsteady with want. I’ve never been the girl who licks her lips after giving a blow job like some porn star but he’s made me into that girl and I’m not ashamed of it. He watches me through eyes that are heavy-lidded, drugged. “Holy shit,” he says, pushing both hands through his hair. “Get on thedesk.”
Watching him come just now left me so worked up I can barely stand it, but I force myself to be responsible. “We need to meet therealtor.”
“Get on the fucking desk,” he growls. He backs me into it and lifts me himself before I can even think of arguing, shoving my sundress around my thighs and dropping to his knees. His mouth is between my legs, against the cotton of my panties, inhaling me, his tongue pressing against the fabric but not moving beyondit.
The tables have turned and it’s me who’s desperate now. I throw his words back at him. “Stop playing withit.”
I feel his low laugh against my skin, but he slides the panties down, kissing along the inside of my thighs, nipping the skin a little, before he pulls a knee over each shoulder to hold me open. His tongue flickers over my clit—fast, hard, relentless—and just as I feel myself getting close he changes tact—long sweeps of his tongue like I’m a melting ice cream cone in the heat of summer. He increases the pace, groaning over my skin, and then slides a single finger insideme.
I come before I even have time to warn him it’s going to happen, with a small cry I barely manage to muffle. My eyes are still closed, my arching back hasn’t even fallen back to the desk, I’m stillcomingand I already want more. I want the feel of him inside me like I’ve never wanted anything in my life, enough to beg, to bargain with God, to do whatever isnecessary.
He apparently does too. When my lids finally flicker open, he’s rising with that drugged look on his face once again, pushing me farther back on the desk, so hard it’s almost impossible to believe he just came five minutes ago. He stands between my legs, the tip of his cock resting in precisely the right place. I feel the first hint of pressure, the fullness that will come, and I know I should stop him, butGodI don’t want to. I’ve never seen him look quite as desperate, as needy, as he does right now. He wants to shove inside me as badly as I want him to. His nostrils flare, the tendons in his neck strain, and then he leans down and rests his forehead against my chest, trying to regain control. “God, this is hard,” hewhispers.
“I know.” It just doesn’t seem to ever be satisfied—the need. No matter how many times he makes me come, in the end I find myself exactly where I am right now—trying to justify doing the one thing we cannotdo.
He finally backs away, leaning against the wall while I brush my hands over my sundress and pull my hair backagain.
“Am I presentable?” Iask.
He grins at me as he pulls up his pants. “Are you asking if you look like you justcame?”
I laugh.Hecertainly looks like it—his eyes are glazed over, his cheeks flushed. “I’m pretty sure there aren’t a lot of moments Ihaven’tlooked like that of late, butyes.”
He pulls me against him, pressing his mouth to my forehead. “You just look hotter than hell. You’re lucky we have to meet that agent or I wouldn’t be letting you out of heretoday.”
I straighten his tie and then, with his hand at the small of my back, he opens the door and we step into the hall—where we come face-to-face with a woman in scrubs who goes pale at the sight of us. With a sinking stomach I realize the woman is Meg. She isn’t done up like she was at the market a week ago, but it’s almost easier to appreciate her perfect skin and bone structure without the makeup and curls. It’s petty, but I wish his ex was less attractive. Especially since she’ll be the one who’s still here when I’m gone. And based on the look in her eyes, I think she’ll be more than willing to take himback.
Nick exhales. His shoulders relax but it’s a forced gesture, the same thing he used to do before swim meets. His hand falls away from my back but it’s too late. She saw how we emerged from the office and her nose crinkles in disdain at his attempt to cover it upnow.
“Hi Meg,” he says. “This isQuinn.”