Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 17942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 90(@200wpm)___ 72(@250wpm)___ 60(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 90(@200wpm)___ 72(@250wpm)___ 60(@300wpm)
She tugs my belt loose, movements rushed and endearingly clumsy.
"You're overdressed," she whispers against the stubble of my jaw, voice husky.
"So are you."
We tear at the rest of our clothes with zero finesse. Fabric whispers and snaps—her blouse hitting the floor, my tie yanked loose, her bra unhooked and tossed somewhere near Levi's leather couch.
I finally get her completely bare, skin flushed under my hands. "Fucking gorgeous."
She’s breathtaking—cheeks pink, nipples tight and dark, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders as she sits completely naked on my brother’s polished desk. The sheer wrongness of it should twist my stomach. Instead it only makes me harder, sharper, more desperate to claim every inch of her right here where anyone could theoretically walk in.
"Stop looking and touch me."
"Demanding."
"You like demanding."
God, I do. I love that she knows exactly what she wants and isn't afraid to demand it. My mouth closes over one breast, tongue flicking, teeth grazing just enough to make her arch and cry out.
My hand slides between her thighs again, two thick fingers gliding through her soaked folds before pushing inside her tight heat. Ah, fuck. She's drenched, clenching around me instantly.
"More, Matthew. I need more." Her hips rock against my hand. I give her a third finger and curl them. Her head falls back, and her broken, breathy moans are the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.
"Tell me how this feels."
"Perfect. God, Matthew, don't stop."
I have no intention of stopping. I could do this for hours—watching her unravel, feeling her pulse and flutter around my fingers—but she reaches down and wraps her small hand around my throbbing cock. The sudden tight grip punches the air from my lungs, and my hips jerk involuntarily into her fist.
"Vivian…"
"I need you inside me. Now."
Abso-fucking-lutely. I circle the tip of my cock around her entrance and push in. The searing grip of her is almost too much. I have to freeze halfway buried, jaw clenched, breathing through the raw pleasure threatening to end this before it starts.
We find a brutal rhythm fast—nothing like the slow, exploratory night at the bar. This is pure, pent-up hunger, my hips rutting into her. The heavy desk creaks ominously beneath us. Papers flutter to the floor with every punishing thrust. Her legs clamp tighter around my waist, heels digging into my ass, urging me deeper.
I take her with hard, merciless thrusts, and Vivian throws her head back, crying out my name so loudly I half expect security to burst through the door. I don't care. Let them come. Nothing could stop me from driving into her again and again.
"Touch yourself, love."
Vivian doesn't even hesitate. Her fingers slip between our bodies, circling her clit while I pound into her. The sight of it—her flushed face, parted lips, the way her walls start squeezing around my cock—nearly finishes me on the spot. I grit my teeth, holding on because I need to feel her shatter first.
It doesn't take long. Her whole body locks up before it shakes. Her pussy gushes wet heat around my cock, and the sensation rips my own climax out of me with brutal force. I grab her face and slam my mouth to hers as I spill deep inside her, hips stuttering, every muscle drawn tight.
For the first time in three days, the constant, clawing tension in my chest eases—just a little. Just enough to let me think.
"I might need to replace Levi's desk."
4
VIVIAN
The restaurant doesn't have prices on the menu, which means either the food is genuinely exceptional or they're embarrassed to print the numbers. Knowing Matthew, it's probably both.
I smooth my dress—off-shoulder, midnight blue, fitted, the one I bought for a brand launch last year and never had any other occasion to wear—and try not to fidget with my wine glass. The sommelier poured something crisp and French, and I think I'm better off not knowing how much each bottle costs.
Matthew sits across from me, perfectly at ease in a charcoal suit that fits him perfectly. If he has someone hand-deliver his ties, then I'm pretty sure one of the dozens of designers he employs is tasked with his suits.
The top button of his shirt is undone, and there's something about the hollow of his throat that makes my brain malfunction slightly.
New detail to add to the ever-growing list of things about Matthew Astor that are going to ruin me: the way the low amber lighting catches the edge of his jaw, sharper in shadow, and the faint scar near his left eyebrow I've never noticed before. It's small, barely there, but now that I've seen it, I can't stop looking.
"You're staring, Vivian."
I point at my eyebrow. "You have a scar here."
"Yes, I do, and I have Levi to thank for that."
"He beat you up?"
Matthew snorts, and the sound is so unexpected that my eyes widen. Matthew and snorting don't belong in the same sentence. It's a lot like watching a monk break dance. "Levi wouldn't hurt a fly if his life depended on it."