Cheryl Holt by Complete Abandon Page B

erupted from their anatomical attachment was so powerful that she flinched, only to find her rear planted on the edge of the desk.
    Wakefield pressed his advantage, hovering over her and tilting in, so that he had her off balance and plunging backward. Before she could sink onto the desktop, he arrested her descent with the palm of his hand between her shoulder blades. He held her just there, examining her features, and totally unsure of what to make of her.
    “Never let it be said”—he moved even nearer, with a subtle shift of his hips, insinuating himself between her legs—“that John Clayton left a lady
disappointed
.”
    Nervously, she licked her bottom lip, instantly capturing his undivided attention. “Perhaps
disappointed
was a tad strong.”
    “Shut up, woman! You plague me with your ceaseless chatter!”
    Deliberately, tantalizingly, he lowered her down, untilher back reached the expanse of polished oak. He came with her, stretching out, his immense chest flattened to her breasts, his private parts positioned against her own.
    He was hard! His erection was heavy and huge, and she inhaled sharply at detecting the massive bulge.
    With his arms braced on either side of her, she was efficiently trapped, but she wasn’t fearful. She was ablaze, titillated, fascinated. She didn’t know what he intended, and she didn’t care. It felt incredible to have him situated so familiarly, and she hooked her feet behind his thighs, urging him on.
    He was excited by the small encouragement, his eyes widening, his nostrils flaring. “Whatever I might decide to do to you now, you’d deserve it. You realize that, don’t you, you silly strumpet?”
    “You don’t scare me, so stop trying. And I’m not a
strumpet
!”
    But then he proceeded to show her that she probably was.
    He mumbled something she couldn’t interpret, then he kissed her, his lips settling on hers. The action was impulsive, swift. With no warning, his tongue entered her, and she stiffened, then relaxed, her hands cradling his neck, to tug him closer.
    His mouth molded perfectly with her own, as if it had been sculpted for kissing her and no other purpose at all. Her eyelids fluttered down, and she let herself be swept away.
    As she’d suspected, he was an ardent man when he chose to be. There was a fire and intensity simmering beneath the surface that was carefully banked. The aloofness and detachment she’d perceived when he’d made love to his paramour were absent.
    Teeming with suppressed ardor, his arousal was blatantand evident against her loins. Unashamed of his condition, he brazenly let her feel his splendid cockstand, so ready, and she smiled, celebrating their naughty indiscretion.
    He tasted so fine, like brandy and mint, and she moaned with delight. The sound rumbled into his being, seeming to rush down to his phallus, and he began to flex and thrust at her, through her skirts, the rhythm corresponding with that of his tongue.
    Her body was ripe, she was wet at her womanly core, stirred with longing and craving his touch, but maddeningly, he wouldn’t advance, not allowing his hands to stray, and keeping them firmly anchored on the desktop.
    Past any sensible limit, he continued on, until his cock was unrelenting in its need for completion, until her torso was rigid, and she was insanely wishing that he’d do something much more abandoned than this turbulent kissing, which neither of them seemed disposed to halt. It was too delicious, too decadent, taking her into an entirely new realm that was far beyond any possibilities she’d ever imagined.
    Finally—finally!—he broke away. Their respirations were laborious, their bodies primed for mating, and it occurred to her that, if he but asked, she might commit any reckless act. Nothing prior had prepared her for this urgent, unremitting combustion that had her zealously wild to ruin herself.
    He peered down at her, mere inches separating their mouths, his breath coursing over her face, his