Brooke’s breath hitched as she felt Tyrone’s hands slide up the backs of her thighs, slow and deliberate. Her skirt rose with his touch until it bunched around her hips. The cool air of the office kissed her bare skin, but his heat—his presence—was what had her trembling.
He looked up at her, his voice dark and commanding. “You’re going to stand still. Hands on the glass. Don’t move unless I tell you.”
She obeyed without a word, pressing her palms against the window behind her, the city skyline stretched out in front of her like a stage. Anyone in a high enough building could see her—but it didn’t matter. Nothing existed now but the burn between her legs and the way his fingers gripped her like he’d been waiting for this moment forever.
Tyrone’s mouth found the inside of her thigh, then higher. His stubble scraped against her skin, the roughness a contrast to the heat of his tongue. Brooke bit her lip hard to keep from moaning, but he noticed. Of course he noticed.
He pulled back just enough to murmur, “I want to hear you.”
And then he dove in.
Her gasp echoed through the office, sharp and breathless, as his mouth claimed her. There was no teasing. No build-up. He devoured her like she was his first taste in weeks—gripping her thighs tighter as her knees started to buckle. She tried to stay standing, tried to follow his command, but the pressure was building too fast, too hard, and he wasn’t letting up.
“Tyrone,” she whimpered, hips grinding against his mouth without permission. “God, please…”
He stood suddenly, towering over her again, his jaw slick with her desire. “Turn around.”
She turned, face now pressed to the glass, hands bracing against the cool surface. She could feel him behind her, unbuckling his belt with that same slow, deliberate rhythm.
She looked back over her shoulder. “You’re really going to—”
“Oh, I’m going to ruin you,” he growled, grabbing her hips. “And when I’m done, you’ll get your time off. But you’ll owe me.”
She didn’t get to answer. He was already inside her, filling her all at once with a roughness that made her cry out, one hand sliding around her front to press against her mouth.
“Quiet,” he hissed into her ear. “You don’t want someone hearing you beg for more.”
And she was begging—silently, desperately, her body melting into his with every hard, punishing thrust. She wasn’t just giving in. She was his now.
Brooke’s Page
Tyrone’s Page
