Charged (Saints of Denver 2)

Page 44

He had offered to let me stay at his place since it was a secure building with a doorman and a security staff, but there was no way I was going to risk breaking or ruining anything in his swanky pad. I was afraid to touch anything, even though he told me no less than ten times to make myself at home and relax. So, since this was as far from home as I could ever be and considering there was no way I was going to relax, I was going to my mom’s house and raiding her closet and hopefully burying the hatchet with her while he went to work. He wasn’t thrilled with my decision. I think he really wanted me to like his space and I did, as long as he was in it. Without him in the elegant and tricked-out loft, I felt like an intruder, like the expensive finishes and imported floor knew I didn’t deserve the right to use them. It might be entirely irrational but I had no desire to spend the day tucked in one spot because I was afraid the appliances would revolt against me and run me out of the place screaming.
“I told you, I’ll make the time to drop you off and I’ll make the time to take you shopping afterwards, if you want to go.” He lifted a blond eyebrow at me in question.
I’d already told him no. I didn’t want him to buy anything for me. Considering how much my family already owed him, the idea of him spending anything else on me made my skin tight and my tummy turn in on itself. It was already going to take a lifetime to pay him back because there was no way I was going to let my dad drain his retirement, on top of losing his home, and all his earthly possessions. I was going to have to figure out a way to pay Quaid back for everything and I wasn’t about to add to that tally.
“I told you.” I reached out and ran my hand over the front of his pants. I heard him suck in a surprised breath as I palmed his impressive package and gave it a squeeze for good measure. “I’m after what’s in your pants, not what’s in your wallet, Quaid.”
I grinned up at him as the flesh in my grip started to swell and rise into my hand. It was an insanely powerful feeling to know that I could make a man that seemed so collected and controlled react instantaneously to a simple touch. I liked that his composure was nowhere to be found when I put my hands on him. I liked that he didn’t think; he simply reacted to me and to how I made him feel.
His thick fingers encircled my wrist and I thought he was going to pull my hand away, but he didn’t. He pressed my palm even flatter against the now fully extended length of his cock under the fabric of his pants and rubbed it back and forth.
“I’m offering you both.” He virtually growled the words at me and when I looked up at him his eyes were almost silver with the way they glowed and lightened as his desire flared to life deep in the depths. He was offering me both, but he didn’t understand why, any more than I did.
We were watching each other intently. There was no veil there, no place for either of us to hide anymore. He knew I was a disaster and I knew he was so much more than he seemed to think he was. I hadn’t lied to him yet, so I wasn’t about to start now.
I moved my other hand to his belt and told him the truth. “I just want you.” And in case my words weren’t enough to prove it to him, I had no problem showing him.
Eyes still locked together, I pushed him back a step so that I could get on my knees in front of him. I kept waiting for him to tell me to stop—after all, he was due in court, and we did have a schedule to keep. But he didn’t utter a peep as I worked the buttery leather of his belt loose, and he didn’t make a sound as I popped the button on his pants or when I pulled the zipper down. He also didn’t protest when I rubbed my cheek against his hot, cotton-covered flesh as I reached for his black boxer briefs. He did thread his fingers on one hand through my multicolored hair and exhale a breath that sounded like it had every ounce of control he possessed in it. I told him to keep the tails of his meticulously ironed shirt out of my way as I eyed that intimidating bulge.
I kissed each of his hip bones and tickled that sexy V that cut down towards the cock I was slowly revealing. The end of my nose brushed through the springy, golden hair that arrowed right at his throbbing flesh and his fingers were rough as they scraped impatiently across my scalp. He was impatient and so was his dick. The long and rigid flesh pulsed with its own kind of life and need as it fell into my waiting hands once I had him completely uncovered.
Quaid’s cock was a lot like the rest of him, graceful in its length and size; if there was such a thing as a well-made dick, this was it. It was sturdy in the way it bobbed happily away from his corded abs and into my eager hands and it was secure in the way it knowingly pulsed and pearled up in anticipation with the first swipe of my tongue across the sensitive head.
I swirled my tongue around and around as I tasted him and learned him. I wrapped my fist around the base of his erection and tightened my hold until his hips bucked and he shoved himself into my welcoming mouth. I would have giggled at his impatience, but I’d never had an executive cock in my mouth before so I wanted to make sure I had time to savor the experience.
I sucked on him, explored every ridge and detail with my tongue. I bathed the firm flesh in moisture and used my hand to add a different element as he curled a wide palm around the back of my head and started to move my head in the rhythm he wanted. That was the difference between an executive and an intern. An executive showed you what to do; they instructed you in the best and most efficient way to get the job done. An intern showed up with too many questions and inadequate skills.
I’d never had anyone actually fuck my face before, but that’s what Quaid was doing and it was one of the hottest things that had ever happened to me in the bedroom. It was unbelievably arousing to have him being the one that was wild and sweet.
He told me to open wider. He told me to suck him harder. He told me to take more of him in and to squeeze him even harder. But he also told me I was amazing. He told me my mouth felt like a dream. He told me that his hands wrapped up in my pink hair was going to make him blow. He told me he had imagined what I would look like on my knees in front of him for weeks and the reality was so much better. His wild was superhot, but it was his sweet that had me wet and aching between my own legs. If I wasn’t so focused on him and so consumed with making this as good as I could for him, I would have slipped my free hand under the T-shirt and gotten myself off while I swallowed as much of him down as I could.
To stay on task and not get distracted by my own sudden and sharp arousal, I skimmed my free hand over the rock-hard curve of his ass and tickled my way between his legs. He swore loudly when I brushed my knuckles across his tautly drawn sac, and because his voice was strained and his hands were getting harder on my head, I could tell he was close. I sucked until my cheeks hollowed out and used the flat of my tongue to lap at the salty moisture that was leaking out of his tip. Even his taste seemed more refined and more palatable than anyone else I had ever been with like this before.