Her gaze dipped, lingered at my mouth, then snapped back up. “If you’re going to kiss me again,” she said, “I’d prefer you didn’t hesitate.”
I didn’t.
We crashed together, neither gentle nor exploratory. It was a hard, hungry collision, months of mutual denial burning off in the span of a heartbeat. I grabbed her by the hips, and she tasted like victory and the bite of gin, her tongue daring mine to keep up. Her hands twisted into my collar, pulling me closer, then lower, until my lips trailed along the side of her throat. She arched back, gasping, and I lost any sense of control.
She made a sound, sharp and guttural, as I scooped her onto the edge of her desk. Papers scattered, her thigh pressed hot against my hip, and she wrapped a leg around me like she was anchoring herself to the only fixed point in the building.
I caught her looking at me, eyes huge and wild, no sign of the careful, restrained woman who’d spent all day carving opponents to pieces. Just want. Raw and unfiltered.
“This is a bad idea,” I murmured, not even believing it.
“Don’t be a coward,” she said, voice like broken glass.
I traced the back of my hand down her bare knee, up the soft inside of her thigh. The hem of her skirt was already bunched high; I hooked a finger at the waistband and felt the hard quiver in her muscles.
She unbuttoned my shirt with single-minded violence, popping buttons, not bothering with precision. I retaliated by slipping her blouse open, baring her bra, which was black andcut with a stripe of crimson. A detail I committed to memory with near-religious awe.
She wanted this as badly as I did, maybe more. I didn’t dare stop to analyze it.
She grabbed my wrist as I slid my hand higher. “You keep pretending you’re in control,” she whispered, “but you’re not.”
“I know,” I said. Then I kissed her again, slower this time, tongue tracing the seam of her mouth, feeling the shiver that ran all the way down her spine.
She made a noise, almost a whimper, instantly stifled, and that undid me more than anything else. I fumbled at her underwear, pulled them aside, and she was already wet, the heat of her shocking even through my haze.
“God,” I said, barely audible.
She reached between us, freed my cock with practiced efficiency, and positioned herself with ruthless intent. She was the one who decided how this went, not me.
She locked her ankles at the small of my back and drove me into her with a single, breathtaking motion.
For a second, nothing existed except the hot, perfect crush of her body around mine. We held there, suspended, neither of us breathing.
She bit my shoulder, hard, then whispered in my ear, “Harder.”
I obliged. Drove into her again and again, desk rattling, my hand braced above her head so I didn’t move the whole thing. She clawed at my back, then grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me in to kiss her, teeth scraping, lips bruising.
It was obscene, how good she felt. I’d imagined this, of course, in the dark hours when she occupied every inch of my head, but the reality was feral. Immediate. She moved with me, hips rolling up, muscles tight and greedy, like she wanted to consume me from the inside out.
The sounds she made, gasping, broken little grunts, were like fuel. I palmed her breast, thumbed her nipple through the lace, and she arched so hard I thought she’d come right then. But she held back, biting down on her lip, eyes squeezed shut.
I wanted her to lose control. Needed it, almost as badly as I needed to keep moving inside her.
I reached down, thumbed her clit in tight, ruthless circles, never slowing the rhythm. She broke instantly, shuddering, silent at first, then groaning into my neck as she came, pulsing hard around me. She clenched so tight it nearly undid me, but I kept going, riding out her aftershocks until she was gasping for air, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.
She looked up at me, face flushed, mascara stubbornly intact, utterly unguarded.
“Your turn,” she said, smirking through her exhaustion.
I lasted maybe three more thrusts before I followed her, coming so hard I lost track of my own voice. She held me there, both arms around my neck, while the world spun out and then narrowed back to just the two of us. The desk was a disaster zone, papers scattered, a pen rolling off the edge, but it didn’t matter.
For a long moment, we just clung to each other. No words. No pretense. Just two people who had finally, finally given in.
She was the first to break the silence. “Congratulations,” she murmured. “You win.”
But I could see the truth on her face; no one had won anything. We’d both just surrendered.
When I pulled back, her hands lingered at my shirt, fingers splayed against my chest. She searched my eyes, looking for a sign I’d changed my mind. Or maybe just making sure this was real.