35

I drop my voice, staring at him from beneath my lashes. “I was thinking about you the whole time they were touching me. I imagined your fingers inside me and your tongue licking me. Your hands were on me too, and they were so powerful and masculine that I can’t stop thinking about them.” He pauses with my panties in his hand, his eyes turning a raging shade of delicious brown. “Fuck. You’ll be the death of me.” “Is that a bad thing?” “It’s a fucking disaster.” “Will I pay for that too?” “You fucking will.” He lets go of my nipple and I release a noisy, disappointed sound at the loss of contact. But I don’t have to wait on his next move for long, because he stuffs my panties in his pocket—again—and pulls my legs wide, wider than I thought was possible while my feet are still planted on his desk. And then he yanks the hem of my skirt up and jams it in my mouth. “Bite and don’t let go.” I do, my teeth digging into the black material, but I don’t realize why he’s telling me not to let go u