“Fucking hell, Maddie,” I manage on an exhale.
Her eyelids flutter and I know it’s because I called her by her first name.
“Maddie,” I repeat, crawling toward her.
She backs away from me, dragging herself up to the pillows. She has a smug expression on her face now, emboldened by the unbridled lust in my eyes, I’m sure. She spreads her arms out along the top of the headboard, lifting herself up. When I reach her, I bury my face in her glorious breasts. I emit some sad, not-at-all-cool sound from the back of my throat, but I swear I’ve never been this happy. My hands are all over her, exploring her, claiming her. My mouth is all over her, savoring the taste of her warm skin and hungry for something that I haven’t even let myself fantasize about with her.
She’s straddling me now, bearing down on me and rocking back and forth. Just when I thought she couldn’t possibly find another way to infuriate me, she proves me wrong. And I like it.
I feel like a sex-starved sixteen-year-old virgin, but I’m performing like a man. I know this because I’m making her come again just from licking and sucking. She’s saying my name and Oh God, oh shit, oh fuck over and over again. She’s breathless and amazed and kind of angry—like how dare you make me feel this good?—and it’s so hot.
She lifts herself up a bit and slides one hand down my chest, into my boxer briefs. She strokes the underside of my shaft, gently a few times, up and down, teasing the sensitive spot beneath the head. Carefully, she reaches down again to pay tribute to a part of me that not enough women have tended to in my life—and all I want for Christmas is this. And then she sucks in her breath when she takes hold of me. The firm grip and warmth of her soft hand on the heat of my hard cock, the way she peeks down for a look, biting her lower lip. She’s a naughty girl, and she wants me.
“Get over yourself,” she says when she sees me smirking at her.
“Oh, I have. I’m used to how amazing I am. I’ll just give you a minute to get comfortable with it.”
Before she can give me a snarky comeback, I drag my fingernails down her back—with just the right amount of pressure—and give her a quick smack on the ass. That shudder and gasp tells me she wants another one, and I give it to her.
But then I’m back to her tits because I need to make sure they know how much I care about them. I care about them with my hands, and I care about them with my mouth. I care about the left one, and I care about the right one, and I don’t have a favorite. They’re both the best.
I’m moaning and she’s groaning, and we sound so good together.
I will devour this woman. I could lose myself in this woman, find myself again… But then what?
She senses my apprehension all of a sudden and places her hands on either side of my face. She is returning from her state of ecstasy to check on me. Her eyes are hooded but kind. That combination of genuine concern and desire is what will do me in. I close my eyes and feel her kiss me, gently, on my forehead and then whisper in my ear, “No thinking tonight, Mr. Cannavale. It’s just my body and your body… And us being straightforward and moderately rational when it comes to sex… We will not let this interfere with our fantastic work relationship, come what may.”
God, I love it when she repeats my brilliant words back to me. I open my eyes and see her grinning at me. “‘Come what may?’ Exactly how drunk are you right now?”
“Exactly drunk enough to demand that you fuck me immediately…sir.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Eighteen
Maddie
WE CAME UPON A MIDNIGHT CLEAR
Sweet baby Jesus, it’s happening.
Peace on Earth, good will to my vagina, Hallelujah, for the love of Josh Groban and all things holy, it is finally happening.
I had forgotten that I got a little too enthusiastic while shaving this morning. I was afraid I looked like one of those hairless cats down there, but Declan really seems to like it, and I’ve already had more orgasms in half an hour than I ever had with any of my exes, so I must like it too. Or maybe my body just really likes Declan’s body. Because we’re both hot as fuck and also both so good at knowing that sometimes sex is just sex. Sometimes amazing sex is just amazing sex. And sometimes your blazing hot boss goes to town on your lady bits like he’s competing in the all-new Winter Olympics sport of Tongue Gymnastics.
And he is the world champion. He wins all the gold medals.
He is also very graciously giving me the honor of doing the unveiling of his trophy. I carefully peel the elastic waistband away from his taut, golden skin, and I actually do want to sing a hymn in tribute to this thing. I hate to mix metaphors, but it’s going to be like trying to fit a Costco-sized bottle of champagne into a tiny Manhattan apartment-sized cupboard. I am nervous but also determined. And very, very lubricated. And ready to celebrate making Declan pop his cork.
I swipe the condom package from his fingers.
“I didn’t ask you to assist me with that,” he chastises.
“I’m good at this.”
“You need to get better at taking orders.”
“Maybe you need to get better at giving them.”
I finish rolling the condom onto the impossibly hard length of his erection and then
