Marriage of Inconvenience(Knitting in the City Book #7)(143)

Then he made a sound of disapproval, shaking his head. “Mrs. O’Malley.”

Warmth engulfed me, spreading over my skin and unfurling low in my belly. This was role-play. Dr. Kasai had suggested it to me when I’d spoken with her privately last week. But I hadn’t mentioned it to Dan, and I hadn’t realized I wanted to do it until just now.

I couldn’t think. And I didn’t want to.

“Is there something wrong, Mr. O’Malley?” I shivered.

Needing to steady myself, the base of my palms came to the edge of the desk on either side of my legs.

His mouth curved upwards into a smirk, and he nudged my knees wider, his knuckles skimming the bare skin above my thigh-highs on either side of my panties.

“You’ve been making me work late with no overtime pay.”

I frowned, studying him, pulled out of the fantasy for a split second by his words.

You’ve been making me work late . . . making me . . .

My breath hitched and my eyes widened when I realized what he’d done.

I was the boss.

He was the executive assistant.

“I feel like I deserve something for my efforts,” his eyes were on my underwear, where my legs were spread.

He licked his lips.

I felt my body tighten, clench.

But I was unable to speak, so lost was I to the moment, greedily anticipating his next move.

Dan lifted his fingers to hook into the waistband of my underwear, tugging it gently, slowly down until my body was revealed to him. Guiding them down my legs, he encouraged me to step out of my underthings, tucking the lace into the pocket of his jacket. He then straightened, his fingers sliding up my calves to my knees, thighs, higher.

“Sit on the desk, Mrs. O’Malley.” Dan’s searing gaze flickered to mine, white hot intention piercing me. He pushed me gently backwards, wanting me to sit fully on the desk, then moved his hands to my knees and separated them, spreading me to his gaze, insinuating himself between my legs.

Dan bent forward. He trailed featherlight kisses up my inner thigh, making me pant and squirm and moan. I was making a lot of noise, and maybe I sounded silly, but I didn’t care. I trusted him.

“Shh . . .” He quieted me and blew against my exposed body at the same time. I shuddered, my hips tilting automatically, offering myself.

I watched as he licked his lips again, wetting them, and then brushed them against my center, making me whimper.

Damn.

Damn.

Torture.

“You want this?”

I nodded my head, it was a jerky movement, ungraceful. My fingers were in his hair now, urging him closer.

He resisted.

“What do you want?”

“Kiss me,” I said, not thinking about it.

He kissed me softly, too softly. I whimpered again, the pulsing ache unbearable.

His fingers slid up my thighs, leaving trails of goosebumps and shivers in their wake. His thumbs came to my center, separating me.

“This is my compensation for all my hard work. I’m going to suck you into my mouth, Mrs. O’Malley,” he said quietly, darkly, the sound more rumble than voice, the breath of his words hot against my exposed center. “And then, I’m going to fuck this sweet pussy with my tongue.”

All the air left my lungs at the sordid decadence of his words, spikes of pleasure-pain erupting along my spine, arms, and torso. My legs began to shake. But before I could react further, he closed the scant inches between us and did just what he promised.

“Oh God, oh god, oh god.” I couldn’t think. I didn’t know who I was, where I was. All I knew was the feel of his mouth devouring me, hungrily lapping, sucking, his luscious lips slippery against my body.

He groaned, the vibrations making me gasp, and I heard myself say, “I love you, don’t stop, I love you.”

Somehow, one of my legs had been draped over his shoulder. The other was bent at the knee, the heel of my foot on the edge of the desk, my fingers still in his hair, now grabbing fistfuls and pulling.

I had a fleeting thought. I wondered if I was being too rough, if I were hurting him, if his head had recovered, if his chest gave him pain. I hadn’t asked him specifically about his injuries. I’d meant to ask, but I hadn’t.

But just as the thought occurred to me, another thought eclipsed it, You can trust him, he will tell you if you need to stop, just like he’s done in the past.

Then the thought, the worry, was gone. Leaving me lost to every wicked and wonderful sensation caused by his mouth, lips, tongue, and teeth.

I felt myself rushing toward completion, the coiling in my center, the hot, heavy weight of my breasts, the bursting stars behind my eyes.

Preventing this didn’t occur to me. Stopping him didn’t even enter my mind. One moment I was rocking my hips against his mouth, inelegant curses and grunts spilling from my mouth as I begged him to never stop—wanting it harder, wanting him deeper, wanting him inside me—and then I was sighing his name on sharp cries of complete ecstasy. My body bowed, tensed, pulsed, and I shrieked—yes, shrieked—my pleasure.