Rules of Negotiation by Inara Scott

none of that now.
    Her hands clutched at his shoulders and she gripped him as tightly as he held her. He nudged her back, against the table, until she rested on the edge, her knees parting to give him room. Ah, it was sweet heaven there, between her legs, the juncture of her thighs creating a perfect home for his hard sex. Her hips arched, bringing them closer together, and he smiled against her neck.
    He pulled back enough to remove her jacket and let his fingers slide across her breasts. Firm nipples moved under his searching hands and she moaned. The sound made his groin tighten. He played gently with the delicate points and as he did she spread her legs wider, her head falling back against her shoulders.
    She was heat and fire, everything he had experienced two weeks ago. But this time, he wasn’t letting her slip away.
    He dropped his fingers lower, letting his mouth caress her neck and the curve of her collarbone as his hand drifted under her skirt to the warmth of her mound. The fabric bunched around her hips as he pushed it higher, and again higher, until he finally had unencumbered access to crinkling hair that tickled his fingers through the smooth silk of her underwear. She bucked against his hand, and he took that for an invitation to go deeper. His slid his fingers under the top of the elastic, tangled for a moment in her wiry curls, and then moved lower. With one finger he parted the soft skin and could not prevent a groan when he felt the slick nub below. She was hot, wet, and ready for him.
    Damn it. He suppressed another groan, this one of frustration. He hadn’t put a condom in his wallet that morning.
    Grimly, he swallowed his own aching desire and focused on Tori. He let his fingers slide in a circle around her clit, noting the spots that made her jump, arch, and push harder against him. He teased her until her hips began to move rhythmically against him.
    “Brit, we shouldn’t…” a garbled whisper came from Tori.
    “Lean back,” he urged. “Let me take care of you.” A moment later, she put her hands behind her on the desk and opened her legs farther, her skirt now around her waist, her position one of perfect abandon. He got down on his knees and gently pulled down the tiny silk thong, leaving a path of kisses on her inner thighs and calves. He slipped off her shoes and gently massaged the arch of each foot. She had soft pink toenails. They were perfectly Tori—professional, yet feminine. He kissed each toe.
    “What about—”
    “Tori.” He kissed her ankle. “Shut.” He kissed the back of her knee. “Up.”
    He brought one hand back up her inner thigh. He allowed one finger to slide over the wet nub and then gently penetrate her.
    She gasped with pleasure. He moved his finger in and then out, imagining as he did that it was his cock and not his finger that was swallowed by her heat. Her hips began to move faster and he pulled out.
    “Not yet,” he murmured. If he wasn’t going to have his own release, then by God he was going to enjoy hers. He put one hand on either side of her nether lips, spreading her before him like a red canna from a Georgia O’Keeffe painting. Then, with a deep sigh of pleasure, he leaned forward.
    Her deep, musky fragrance reached him first, shooting straight from his nose to his groin. Then her taste rolled over his tongue. She was like an aged cabernet, rich and sweet, blackberries and espresso mixing with the raw hunger of sexual need.
    Each exhalation came on a moan, her thighs tightening spasmodically around him. He drank deeply of her wine, inhaling her even as she thrust harder against him. He nibbled at her, tickling the nub of her desire as he did, then slid his tongue along her.
    With one trembling hand, she pushed his head firmly against her. “Please,” she urged. “Please, I can’t take any more.”
    With two fingers, he traced the path his cock was so desperate to take, and at the same time, sucked hard. She came in a burst, a cry of pure