Losing Control(59)

Breaking away, the heavy erection in his pants is evidence how greatly I’m affecting him, and I glory in that power. The thoughts of inequality are lying on the floor where I’d like our clothes to be. We’re all equal in this, I think.

“Where is it that you want my cock?” he growls.

“Everywhere,” I say, and my lips curve up into a tiny smile of satisfaction.

His teeth flash white in the dark interior of the car, and he pumps his hips obscenely between my legs. “Enjoy turning me on?”

“Yes,” I admit, and my smile becomes a little bigger. I tunnel my hands under his suit coat and revel in the flex of his back muscles. He feels like a powerful machine beneath my palms—and that I can rev that engine and make it run hot? Hell, yeah, I enjoy that.

“You turn me on by breathing.” Each word is punctuated by a hard thrust of his hands. My grin dies quickly as he begins to fuck me more thoroughly with his fingers. The palm of his hand slaps against my clit with each drive. “Let’s see what else you enjoy.”

My thighs lock around his wrist and I cling to him with both sets of limbs, my arms wrapped around his shoulders so I can either pull him toward me or press against him. My overriding instinct is to get closer. Blood is pounding in my ears, a rhythm directed by his hand. He’s the conductor or the musician and I’m the helpless instrument in the orchestra.

“Tell me,” he commands, but I’ve lost the threads of our conversation.

“Make me come,” I half plead, half demand on his next stroke.

“Be specific.” His fingers signal that he really, really wants to hear the words.

“I want you inside me. I want you to use me hard and long. I want you to drive every thought from my mind that is you. Me. Us.” His body tenses above me, and his breathing becomes ragged. My words are turning him on so much that he’s nearly panting and that gives me the encouragement I need to continue. “I want your hard cock filling me, making me come endlessly.” I choke out the last words because his fingers are drilling me now, hard and fast, rubbing that spongy spot on the front wall of my channel. He is relentless, and I’m nearly mindless with the pleasure he is generating.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard tonight that you will be left with only one thought. One concept: You belong to me.”

“And you? Who—ahhhh,” I cry out as he bites into the meat of my shoulder. The sensation rocks me, and I start to come. The waves of the release start small and then I’m overcome, dragged beneath the ocean of ecstasy. Through my half-closed eyes I see fierce desire painted all over Ian’s face, in the ruddy flush on his cheekbones, in the half-lidded eyes, and in the slick wet of his mouth.

“I belong to you,” he answers my unfinished question. “I’m yours.”

He pulls his fingers out of me and sticks them both in his mouth, sucking hard and then licking his palm. I nearly come again.

“Oh, God, Ian,” I tug at his clothes, wanting no barrier between us, but before I can rip off his suit coat, the car comes to a halt.

Steve’s voice sounds through the rear speaker system. “We’re here.”

Ian pulls down my shirt with a heavy sigh and sits up. With a rueful smile, he does up the zipper to my shorts. I’m still lost in a post-orgasmic state and want nothing more than to drag Ian back against me.

“Tell him to drive around some more,” I say, pressing kisses along the sides of his mouth, over the bridge of his nose and across his eyes. I straddle him and rub my still throbbing pussy against his thick erection. “I need to take care of you.”

Pushing away, I start to slide down his legs with the intent of taking that hot and heavy cock out of his trousers and swallowing down as much of his flesh as I possibly can.

He stops me and opens the door. “Inside.” It’s a guttural command.

He helps me out onto the pavement and I see we’re not at Central Towers but his four-story converted warehouse in the Meatpacking District where I delivered the contract. His suit is rumpled and clearly abused, but Steve says nothing as Ian bids him a brusque goodnight. I falter on my heels as Ian pushes me in front of him. In one swift movement, I’m in his arms and he’s striding to the door.

We aren’t two steps inside the door when he drops me against the wall and we attack each other. My top and shorts are off, leaving me only in my sodden panties and stilettos. I pull at his suit coat, uncaring if I’m ripping some five-thousand-dollar suit to pieces. Ian clearly doesn’t care either, as he shrugs the coat off and lets it fall to the floor. His tongue is in my mouth before the fabric hits the ground. Somewhere along the way he toes off his shoes and socks but doesn’t let go of me for an instant.