Maisey Yates - Mistresses - After Hours With The Boss - Her Little White Lie / Their Most Forbidden Fling / An Inescapable Temptation

“Feel free,” he said, his voice rough.

She moved to him, ran her fingers from his chest down to his abs, to the dark line of hair that led from there and to his hard, thick shaft. She wrapped her fingers around him, testing his weight.

“What do you like?” she asked, her heart thundering hard, her stomach quivering.

“This,” he said, his breath hissing through his teeth.

“Just me touching you?”

“Yes,” he said. His breathing increased, his chest rising and falling quickly.

“And this?” She squeezed him gently and was rewarded with a groan that bordered on tortured.

“Yes,” he bit out.

“Harder?”

He put his hand over hers and stilled her movements. “Only if you want me to come right now.”

She pulled her hand back. “No. Not yet. You aren’t allowed yet.”

“I thought not.” He captured her lips in a fierce kiss, bringing her down onto the bed with him.

She looped her thigh over his hip, opening herself to him. She moved against him, each brush of his arousal against the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs sending a streak of white heat through her.

He lowered his head and sucked her nipple deep into his mouth. A raw moan escaped her lips and she gripped his shoulders hard, her nails digging into his skin. He lifted his head, letting it fall back. She gripped him harder and he winced, his hold tightening on her back.

“Don’t stop,” she said.

And he obeyed, lowering his head to her breasts again, licking her, sucking her, bringing her to the edge and back with the sensual assault from his mouth. He moved his hand from her back, down to her waist, to her hips, holding her hard, kissing a path down her body until he came to the place that was wet and aching for him.

His tongue moved over her clitoris and she lifted her hips off the bed, sensation so deep, so intense hitting her that she couldn’t hold still. He held her, continuing as though she wasn’t whimpering beneath him, as though her body wasn’t trembling, her world crumbling inward, reducing to pleasure, to Dante.

She laced her fingers into his hair, holding him to her, so close now, so close to the peak that she had no desire to fight it. No desire to fight him.

He released his hold on her and his hand joined his mouth, one finger sliding deep inside of her as he flicked his tongue over her clitoris again. The world exploded behind her eyelids. Stars raining down on her, leaving her blanketed in heat and light.

She shook, her body trembling as each wave of release passed through her.

Dante lifted his head and kissed her hip, the space just beneath her belly button. Her stomach. Between her breasts. Then he settled between her thighs, his hardness probing the soft, wet entrance to her body.

He cursed and paused, reaching beside them and picking up the condom box. He fished inside of it for a moment, producing a small packet that he tore open quickly. He rolled the condom onto his length with deft efficiency, and she was grateful he hadn’t asked her to do it.

Then he was back over her, pressing into her. She felt a brief, searing pain as he pushed inside of her, her body stretching to accommodate him.

He paused for a moment, his dark eyes blazing, his expression pained.

She shook her head. And he didn’t speak. Instead, he thrust into her to the hilt, his body coming up hard against hers, making contact right where she needed it, pleasure erasing the pain, slowly, but oh so perfectly.

He retreated, thrusting home again, establishing a steady rhythm that built up tension inside of her again. It was deeper this time, reaching farther inside of her, calling up the need from somewhere new. It was shared desperation, shared need.

She met each thrust, working with him, moving with him, toward completion. Everything blurred, blending together, the room beyond Dante turning fuzzy, insubstantial.

His movements became erratic, evidence of his fraying control, and hers began to shred, too. Her grip on the world loosening. When they fell, they fell together, raw sounds of completion filling the room as they reached the peak.

She held on to him tightly, trying to keep from getting lost in it all. Anchoring him to her.

When his muscles stopped trembling, he let out a long, slow breath and pressed his forehead against her chest. She wrapped her arms around him and held him there. Held his body against hers, skin to skin, every inch of him against every inch of her.

She didn’t want to speak. She didn’t want to move. She didn’t want to face reality.

But she knew that they would have to.

But not yet.

DANTE cursed himself. To hell. To any level of hell. He’d heard every reference about his name in connection with the place of suffering and damnation that the media could possibly create, and this time, he found it appropriate.

He belonged there for this.

He had let her lead, but what he hadn’t realized was that she hadn’t known the dance.

A virgin. A damn virgin.

He should have known. He should have seen it in every wide-eyed glance, in every sweet, perfect blush. In the way she didn’t seem to know the sort of power her body could wield.

But he hadn’t, or worse, he’d ignored it. That black part of his soul rising up to choke out the control, choke out the small seed of human decency that had still rested inside of him.

He avoided women who didn’t know the game. Who didn’t understand that with him sex was only about one thing: release. Even if the woman had had a hundred partners, he had to be sure she understood that.

But a woman who had no experience with sex? She was not the kind of player he picked for the game. Ever.

The voice in his head whispering that Paige was different was silenced completely.

“Dammit, Paige,” he said, his voice rough.

“Oh, no. Don’t do that please.”

She scooted away from him and burrowed under his covers. In his bed. Like she was planning on staying the night, which he was sure she was. Women didn’t stay the night with him. They never had. Not once.

They met in hotels. They got the itch scratched. They left. A long encounter lasted a couple of hours. Never more.

“Don’t get upset about you not telling me you were a virgin?” he growled.

“Yes!” She threw her arms up and brought her hands back down on the covers. “It’s stupid. You’re not a mustache-twirling villain who just ripped away my maidenhead. I knew what I was doing.”

He moved into a sitting position on the edge of the bed and forked his fingers through his hair, his heart pounding heavily. Too quickly. He hadn’t gotten his control back yet. “I cannot even wrap my head around that sentence.”

“I wanted it. I told you I wanted it. You asked me to say it, and I did. I wanted to sleep with you. I wanted you to be my first. No, you know, that’s not even it. It wasn’t about first. It was about wanting you. End of story.”

“Paige, I don’t … I can’t offer you anything.”

“Oh, you mean you can’t offer me anything other than a temporary marriage to help me keep custody of my daughter? You can’t offer me anything more than that and multiple orgasms? Is that what you mean?”

“Paige,” he growled.

“Get into bed, Dante.”

“I don’t …” He was about to tell her. To tell her that his lovers did not share his bed. His lovers didn’t usually enter his home.

But the words stuck in his throat. He should tell her, tell her that if she wanted sex, she could have it, but if she wanted to make love she would have to look somewhere else. But for the first time in his memory, the blunt words, the true words, stuck in his throat.

He stood. “I need to go and take care of things.”