But the sensations are stronger than I am. They’re torching my blood.
They’re lighting all my cells. I’m on fire, and I don’t want to put it out.
“Screw it,” I mutter. I slam my free hand against the tiled wall. Pump my fist harder, grip my length tighter. And I mutter, “Suck me off, Stone. Suck me fucking dry.”
Voicing my wishes out loud is an obscene relief. Because once I do it, I give in all the way.
And maybe this time, maybe by giving in, I can let go of the lust. Because it feels so fucking good to picture him. To imagine him right here with me, right now.
My whole body shakes as I see Stone Zenith on his knees in front of me, his hands running up and down my thighs, sliding around my body, gripping my ass, tugging me even closer.
I grunt, incoherent sounds that turn into his name, that turn into commands. “That’s right, Stone. Suck me even deeper,” I tell him, urging him on.
And Fantasy Stone complies. He draws me all the way back in his throat, into the warm heaven of his mouth where I can no longer hold back. Where all the desire in me whips through my entire body.
Months and months of pent-up lust crash down as I detonate, hard and powerfully, imagining he’s drinking every last drop of my come.
I pant, gasping for breath, my lungs barely able to suck in air because all I want to do is feel that again.
All I want to do is see that again. To see more than that. I want so much more than a blow job. I want to take my boss to bed, throw him down on the mattress, get him ready for me, and then I want to fuck him and please him and touch him.
I want to feel him everywhere, and bring him the highest high, the filthiest bliss, the dirtiest pleasure.
But I can’t have that. I will not let myself have that.
Maybe this release will be enough to let go of all of this desire.
* * *
Trouble is, my cause turns infinitely harder the next night after a concert.
But this can’t be the night when I let on.
This won’t be the time when I tell him how much I want him. I’ve spent the last four months fighting off this desire, and I won’t break.
I won’t give in. I swear.
Too bad my head seems on board with that but the rest of me is having a hard time following the rules.
Because at the end of the night, I walk him back to his suite and I finally tell him something about myself . . . and what I want to do to him.
* * *
I can’t deny that Jackson Pearce is in my head. He’s in my thoughts.
Even though I do a concert that night, and even though I hang out with my friends, all I want is to spend more time with my bodyguard and figure him all the way out.
But when he backs me up against a wall in the hotel and kisses the breath out of me, my life becomes a whole lot harder.
* * *
TO BE CONTINUED . . .
* * *
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