The deadbolt slid home with a click that seemed louder than it should have been, the sound of a door between us and the world. Brian's hands found my waist before I could turn, spinning me until my back hit the wall, the cool surface pressing through the thin silk of my dress. The air left my lungs in a sharp gasp that he swallowed whole, his mouth crashing against mine with a hunger that made my knees buckle.

His tongue swept against mine, demanding, and I gave him everything he asked for. My fingers found the short hair at the nape of his neck, fisting in the dark strands, pulling him closer until there was nothing between us but heat and the frantic beat of my heart against his chest. He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, his brown eyes dark, pupils blown wide, a thin line of spit connecting our lips.

"I've been waiting for this," he said, his voice low and rough, a growl that vibrated through me. His thumb traced the line of my jaw, slow and deliberate, then dipped lower, hooking into the collar of my dress. "Tell me you want this."

I didn't answer with words. I pulled him back in, my mouth finding his, my teeth catching his lower lip and tugging. His hands slid under the hem of my dress, calloused palms finding the warm skin of my stomach, and I arched into his touch like a cat starved for it.

"I've been thinking about this since the moment we walked in," I breathed against his mouth, my voice already wrecked. "About your hands on me. About—"

He cut me off with another kiss, deeper this time, his hands sliding higher, pushing the silk of my dress up my thighs until the cool air hit my skin. I gasped into his mouth as his fingers found the edge of my panties, tracing the line of them with a slowness that bordered on cruel.

"These need to go," he murmured, his lips trailing down my jaw, finding the pulse point in my neck. He bit down gently, just enough to make me whimper, and I felt the wet heat pooling between my legs, my body already responding to him like it had a mind of its own.

"Then take them off."

He didn't need to be told twice. His hands hooked into the waistband, pulling the lace down my thighs, and I stepped out of them as they pooled at my feet. His eyes raked over me, hungry, taking in the sight of me bare beneath the emerald dress, and I felt a flush of heat crawl up my chest under his gaze.

"Look at you," he said, his voice thick with want. His fingers found the hem of my dress again, this time lifting it slowly, inch by inch, revealing the pale skin of my thighs, the auburn curls at the junction of them. "So fucking beautiful."

My breath caught as he knelt, his broad shoulders filling my vision as his hands gripped my thighs, spreading me open for him. The first brush of his mouth against my clit was a shock of heat that made my hips jerk, a broken moan escaping my lips. He licked me slow, deliberate, his tongue parting my folds, tasting me like he had all the time in the world.

"Brian—" I gasped, my fingers finding his hair again, gripping tight as his tongue circled my clit. He hummed against me, the vibration sending sparks up my spine, and I felt my knees start to give. He caught me, his hands gripping my ass, holding me up as he devoured me.

His tongue was relentless, lapping at me, dipping inside, then back up to that swollen bud, flicking it with the tip until I was trembling. The sounds I was making were obscene, wet and desperate, echoing off the hotel walls. He pulled back just long enough to look up at me, his lips slick with my wetness, his eyes burning.

"You're so wet for me," he said, his voice a low rasp. "So fucking ready."

I couldn't form words. I just nodded, my chest heaving, my thighs shaking. He stood, his hands finding my waist, spinning me around so my palms pressed flat against the wall. The cool surface against my hot skin made me gasp, and then his body was against mine, his cock pressing against my ass through his jeans.

"I need to feel you," I whispered, looking over my shoulder at him. "Now."

He didn't make me wait. I heard the zipper of his jeans, the rustle of fabric, and then his hands were on my hips, guiding me, spreading me. The head of his cock pressed against my entrance, slick and hot, and I pushed back against him, desperate to take him inside me.

He pushed in slow, an inch at a time, and I felt every inch of it, the stretch of my walls, the fullness of him filling me until I couldn't breathe. He paused when he was fully seated, his forehead against my shoulder, his breath ragged against my skin.

"Fuck," he groaned, his voice wrecked. "You feel so good."

And then he started to move.

He pulled out and I felt the loss of him like a wound, empty and aching. A whimper escaped my throat, and I turned to protest, but his hands were already on my hips, spinning me toward the desk by the window. The backs of my thighs hit the wood edge, and I gasped as he bent me forward, my palms catching the polished surface, the city lights blurring beyond the glass.

The wood was cool against my stomach, a shock after the heat of his body. He spread my legs with his knee, nudging them apart, and I felt his calloused hand slide up my spine, pressing between my shoulder blades until my cheek nearly touched the desk. The position left me helpless, open, my ass raised toward him, and I heard his breath catch at the sight.

"Jesus," he muttered, almost to himself. His hands gripped my hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh, and I felt the head of his cock press against my slick entrance again. He held there, just barely inside, teasing me with the promise of it.

"Brian, please—"

He pushed in, and the angle was different, deeper, the head of his cock dragging against a spot that made my vision blur. I cried out, my fingers curling against the wood as he seated himself fully, his balls pressed against my clit, his thighs against the backs of mine.

"That's it," he growled, one hand leaving my hip to grip my hair, twisting the auburn curls around his fist. He pulled my head back just enough to arch my spine, and I felt him everywhere, so full I couldn't think. "Take it."

He started to move, slow, deliberate thrusts that pulled almost all the way out before sinking back in, each one hitting that spot that made my toes curl against the carpet. The room filled with the sound of us, skin against skin, my moans muffled against the desk as I pressed my forehead to the wood.

"Look at you," he said, his voice strained. "Bent over a desk like you were made for this."

I wanted to say something clever, something sharp, but all that came out was a broken moan as he picked up the pace, his hips slapping against mine, the desk creaking beneath us. My hands scrambled for purchase, finding a stack of papers that scattered across the floor, a pen rolling off the edge.

He leaned over me, his chest against my back, his mouth finding my ear. "You like this, don't you? Being fucked over a desk in a hotel room where anyone could walk in."

"Yes," I gasped. "God, yes."

His hand left my hair, sliding around my throat, not squeezing, just holding, a reminder of where I was. He bit down on my shoulder, hard enough to bruise, and I felt my walls flutter around him, that familiar coil tightening low in my belly.

"I can feel you," he said, his voice rough. "You're close."

I nodded, unable to speak, my whole body trembling. He straightened, pulling out until only the tip remained, and I whimpered at the emptiness.

"Beg for it."

"Please," I breathed, pushing back against him, trying to take him deeper. "Please, Brian, I need—"

He slammed into me, cutting me off, and I screamed, the sound swallowed by the room as he fucked me hard and fast, the desk sliding an inch across the floor with each thrust. The coil inside me wound tighter, hotter, and I felt myself teetering on the edge, desperate for release.

"Cum for me," he commanded, his hand gripping my hip hard enough to bruise. "Let me feel it."

My orgasm crashed over me like a wave, my pussy clenching around his cock as I cried out, my body shuddering against the desk. He didn't stop, fucking me through it, each thrust sending aftershocks through my trembling limbs until I was boneless beneath him.

He pulled out just as my walls fluttered around him, and I heard his ragged breath behind me. His hand clapped over my mouth, muffling my cry as he pushed back inside, fucking me harder, chasing his own release with a desperate rhythm.

His laugh was low against my ear, breathless and dark, as he felt me clench around him again. "Not so loud," he murmured, his lips brushing my skin. "The neighbors might hear."

His hand stayed over my mouth as he pulled out, and I felt the sudden emptiness like a physical ache. Before I could mourn the loss, his fingers were already between my legs, sliding through the mess he'd made, spreading me open with a slick, obscene sound.

"Turn around," he said, and it wasn't a request.

I did, my back pressing against the desk's edge, the wood cool against my overheated skin. The city lights flickered behind him, a blur of gold and red, but all I could see was him—the dark hunger in his eyes, the way his chest heaved beneath his flannel shirt, the wet gleam on his fingers as he brought them to his mouth.

He tasted me off his own skin, slow, deliberate, holding my gaze the whole time. My breath caught. He'd done that before, but it never got old, never stopped making my thighs clench together.

"You're not done," he said, and it wasn't a question. His hands found my knees, pushing them apart, spreading me wide on the desk's edge. The polished wood was cold against the backs of my thighs, and I gasped as he dropped to his knees in front of me.

He looked up at me from between my legs, his brown eyes dark and fixed on mine, and I felt the weight of that gaze like a physical touch. His calloused hands gripped my thighs, thumbs stroking the soft skin just inside, coaxing me open further.

"I want to taste you again," he said, his voice a low rasp. "I want to feel you come apart on my tongue."

My fingers found the edge of the desk, gripping it hard as he leaned in. The first brush of his mouth against my mound made me jerk, a sharp gasp escaping my lips. He was gentler this time, slower, his tongue flat against me, dragging up through the slick mess he'd left behind.

He licked me like I was something precious, something to savor. His tongue circled my clit with a lazy precision, and I felt my hips roll against his mouth, chasing the pressure. He let me, his hands gripping my ass, pulling me closer until I was practically sitting on his face.

"God, Brian—" I breathed, my head falling back against the desk. The city lights swam above me, a smear of neon and glass, and I closed my eyes, letting myself sink into the heat of his mouth.

He worked me slowly, deliberately, drawing out every sensation. His tongue dipped inside me, curling, tasting, and I whimpered at the sudden fullness. Then he was back on my clit, sucking it gently between his lips, flicking it with the tip of his tongue until I was trembling.

"You taste like heaven," he murmured against me, the vibration of his voice sending sparks up my spine. "Like everything I shouldn't want and can't stop needing."

My fingers tangled in his dark hair, gripping tight as he lapped at me, his beard scraping the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. The sting was perfect, grounding, and I felt that familiar coil tightening low in my belly, hotter this time, closer.

He felt it too. He always did. His hands slid up my stomach, pushing the emerald dress higher, baring me fully to his gaze. His tongue pressed flat against my clit, broad and steady, and I felt myself teetering on the edge.

"Look at me," he said, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes. His lips were slick, glistening, and I could see the hunger in his face, raw and unguarded. "I want to watch you fall apart."

I couldn't look away. His tongue circled me once, twice, and then he sucked my clit into his mouth, his fingers pressing inside me, curling against that spot that made my vision go white. I came with a cry that I couldn't muffle, my back arching off the desk, my pussy clenching around his fingers as he worked me through it.

He didn't stop. He kept licking, kept sucking, drawing out every wave until I was shaking, boneless, my thighs trembling against his shoulders. Only then did he pull back, his chin slick, his eyes burning as he rose to his feet.

He leaned over me, caging me against the desk, his mouth finding mine. I tasted myself on his lips, salt and musk, and I moaned into the kiss, my hands fisting in his flannel shirt.

"That's it," he whispered against my mouth, his voice wrecked.

I felt his cock against my thigh, hard and leaking, and I knew he wasn't done with me yet. But for a moment, just a moment, I let myself float in the aftermath, his body warm against mine, the city lights burning behind us like a secret we'd never tell.