Page 61 of The Temporary Bride

I slide one finger into her and groan at the feel of her inner walls clenching tight, and she hisses through her teeth as I work it deeper. I give her a moment before I add a second finger and curl them forward on the way back out, dragging deliberately against her g-spot.

“Fuck! Just like that,” she whimpers.

Her legs are shaking on either side of me, and when I suck her clit into my mouth while my fingers keep moving, she grinds against my face without any apparent concern about whether I mind.

I don’t. I very much don’t.

I work her steadily, keeping the pressure where she needs it, learning the rhythm that makes her breathing go ragged and her thighs shake. She’s making sounds now that she’d probably be mortified about if she could hear herself, soft and continuous and completely unguarded, and I think I’d do just about anything to keep hearing them.

I can feel her getting close. The way she tightens around my fingers every time I curl them forward, the way her hips have stopped moving with any kind of intent and are just rolling against me, the way her breathing has turned into something she’s barely holding on to. I keep the pace exactly where it is, not backing off, not pushing harder, just holding her right at the edge.

Her eyes are wild when I look up at her through my lashes, dark and fixed on mine.

I draw away from her addictive pussy just far enough to speak, keeping my fingers moving inside her.

“That’s it,” I praise. “Come for me. Be a good wife and let go.”

Chapter 21

Chloe

His words tip me right over the edge, maybe even more than his mouth does, and my body just makes the decision for me. Pleasure crests hard and fast, and I stop trying to hold it back, stop thinking about the conference room and the glass walls and the fact that his secretary is forty feet away on the other side of that door. I arch up against him, one hand fisted in his hair, completely lost to it.

I come on his face, my body shaking with it, and he looks up at me while it happens. His dark lashes are lowered, his eyes fixed on mine, and there’s something in his expression that makes the whole thing feel about three times more intense than it already is.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against me. “Good girl. Give me all of it.”

He doesn’t stop. He stays with me, his mouth working steadily, his fingers curling forward as my hips roll against him.

“So fucking perfect,” he rasps. “You taste so goddamn good when you come.”

He’s thorough about it, keeping the pressure exactly where I need it, drawing it out far longer than I thought possible, until my thighs are shaking and I’ve got nothing left. Only then does he finally pull back.

I’m flat on my back on the table, staring up at the ceiling, my chest heaving and my legs still trembling. The room is very quiet. I can hear my own breathing, loud and unsteady in the silence, and the muffled sounds of the office beyond the closed door.

I hear him stand. Then I feel the slight shift of the table as he leans over me, his palms settling on either side of my head. I blink up at his face, which is close enough that I can see the flush across his cheekbones, the darkness of his eyes. He reaches over and brushes my hair back from my face, his fingers careful in a way that catches me off guard after everything that just happened.

Then he lowers his mouth to mine.

It takes me a second to register what kind of kiss this is, because it’s nothing like the others. There’s no urgency to it, no heat driving it forward. It’s soft and slow, and I can feel every point of contact, his lips moving against mine with a patience that has me paying attention in a different way than usual. Whatever is underneath all the friction and the weeks of careful distance between us, it’s right there in this kiss, and it’s quiet enough that I can actually feel it.

It hits me harder than any of the others have. The other ones I could make sense of, could file away and not think about too much. This one I don’t quite know what to do with.

When he finally pulls back, he looks at me for a moment without saying anything. Something moves across his face before it settles. He takes my hand and helps me sit up, keeping hold of it until I’ve steadied myself. Then he reaches down and smooths my skirt back into place, running his palms over the fabric, and crouches to pick my panties up from the floor. He holds them out to me without a word.

I take them from him, and he has the decency not to look smug about it.

My heart still racing, I try to gather my thoughts as I tug my panties back on beneath my skirt, my limbs feeling like jelly after the intense release of pleasure. I’m a little disoriented, my mind struggling to catch up with the sensations coursing through my body.

The pain in my ankle, which had been a constant throbbing presence, is now barely noticeable, overridden by the overwhelming rush of endorphins flooding my system. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

As I steal a glance at Tristan, my heart skips a beat at the sight of him adjusting his ruffled collar. Despite the intensity of our encounter, he manages to maintain an air of composure, his demeanor calm and collected.

There’s a certain magnetism about him, a raw masculinity that draws me in despite my best efforts to resist. His piercing gaze meets mine, setting off a flutter of anticipation in the pit of my stomach.

Time seems to stand still as we hold each other’s gaze, and I find myself captivated by the subtle nuances of his expression, the way his lips curve into a faint smile.

Without warning, Tristan sweeps me off my feet, his strong arms lifting me effortlessly into his embrace. My initial protest is a weak murmur, lost in the whirlwind of emotions that cascade through me. I barely catch my breath as he cradles me against his chest, my heart racing both from the pain in my ankle and the unexpected closeness.