His Forbidden Love (Manhattan Billionaires #2) - Ava Ryan Page 0,46
orgasm, a rare and perfect ten out of ten on the sexual Richter scale, swept my entire vocabulary out of my brain as it exited my body, leaving me silent and ridiculous.
I feel particularly naked and vulnerable with the two halves of my ruined dress framing my body.
Until he hesitates and comes back in for a lingering kiss on my overheated cheek.
“Be right back,” he says.
I lean into the kiss, cupping his cheeks to keep him close because it’s been a lengthy two seconds since I touched him and I’m now fully addicted. Then I let them go, keeping him in sight until he disappears down the long hallway.
By now, my ass is threatening to disown me if I don’t hop down from the console. So I do, wobbling as my feet hit the ground. My knees have gone spongy, which is no surprise. Neither is the sweet ache between my thighs.
What is a surprise? The fact that I’m facing the elevator, through which anyone could conceivably have appeared while we were just doing the nasty. I remind myself that swanky apartments like this one probably keep these private elevators locked, but still. I’d rather not test my theory. I take the two halves of my dress and try to use the belt to reconnect them as I turn to face the mirror, and that’s when the real fun begins.
Holy shit.
That woman in the mirror looks as though she’s been well and truly fucked.
Glowing face. Luminous eyes. Swollen lips. Smeared makeup. Breasts spilling over the lopsided strapless bra. Erect pink nipples. The console thankfully blocks the lower half of my body. Otherwise, I’m sure I’d be treated to the sight of my juices glistening on my thighs and engorged vajayjay. And the unfiltered view of my extra twenty pounds. So I guess that’s a mercy. As for my curly hair, it’s such a disaster from his hands that I experience the wild thought that it would be best to just shave it all off and start fresh with a bald head.
My dress is ruined. My panties are gone. And ruined. I have no idea how I plan to get myself home in this condition.
A bubble of wild laughter surges up my throat and out. There’s no way to stop it. I don’t even try.
What now, Ally?
No. Freaking. Idea.
All I know is that an hour ago I was Bruce’s girlfriend, a woman who had an inconvenient but semi-manageable crush on her boss.
Now? I have no idea who or what I am or what Michael and I are.
Well, except for shell-shocked.
I am definitely shell-shocked.
Because I don’t understand how I got here with the Sphinx, a man whose feelings were clearly much more impenetrable to me than I ever imagined. Nor do I get what he did to my body, but it was a million times more intense than I ever dreamed. And that abandoned performance from me on the console just now? Bruce couldn’t have achieved that from me if he’d shown up with an annotated copy of the Kama Sutra, a box full of sex toys and Chris Hemsworth for backup.
What now, Ally?
How will you act normal at work tomorrow?
Approaching footsteps divert me from trying to answer those questions. I take a deep breath and turn in time for Michael’s final approach.
Now wearing a fresh T-shirt and shorts, he’s got his arms full. But I’m much more concerned about his expression. His color is high. There’s something turbulent in his glittering eyes that I can’t quite decipher. And he seems hesitant. A detail I find strangely reassuring.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
“Hey,” I say, heat rising over my cheeks.
Staring ensues. His heated attention runs down the length of my body and back up again. Hair. Face. Boobs. Pussy. Thighs. Feet. He sees it all. I’m convinced that there’s not a follicle of hair on my head or freckle on my body that escapes the intensity of that gaze. Meanwhile, I note the persistent bulge in the front of his shorts. His muscular legs and nice feet. My heart skitters accordingly.
“I, ah, brought you some stuff,” he says.
“I see that. What’s all this?”
“Just some, ah, water.” He passes me a bottle. “A pair of my silk boxers and a washcloth. And one of my, ah, robes.”
“You’re very thoughtful,” I say, touched.
He cocks a brow in the wry expression I love so much. The one that infuriates me half the time. “I am the soul of consideration. Here.”