“As you wish,” he growled, his mouth crashing into mine, swallowing my moan. He kneaded my butt, grinding his erection against my desperate body before he strode across the room. The morning light warmed my back as he set me down by the window. I barely had a chance to take in the devious intent in his eyes when he spun me until I was facing the glass, pressing himself against my back as I stared down at the waking city street below.

“What are you … oh!”

His lips nuzzled my neck, and his fingers curled up under my T-shirt, finding all the sensitive, ticklish spots on my ribs. But what he was doing was the opposite of tickling, and it had achy heat pooling between my legs.

“I’m grovelling, Mouse. Arms up,” he rumbled, and I rushed to comply, my shirt disappearing over my head, tossed away.

“And to think I might never have gotten to worship these again,” he rumbled, his breath hot on my shoulder, his teeth grazing me there as his big, warm palms made their way up my torso, cupping my breasts through my thin bra. I arched to his touch, my nipples pebbling.

A ragged groan vibrated against my shoulder when his fingers found them, strumming over the straining points, and his cock pulsed against the small of my back. “I was a fool to ever think I could live without this … without you.”

“How much practice have you had at grovelling?” I demanded breathily as he found the front clasp on my bra and popped it. My breasts fell free, heavy and aching and …

“Oh … I need you to be a bad boy more often if this is what I get when you need to apologise,” I grated, biting my lip as he sucked gently at the spot where my neck met my shoulder while simultaneously rolling my nipples in his talented fingers until all I could feel was the livewire connecting those nerves to the ones between my legs. Both of which were pulsing insistently.

“I will do whatever you want, Jemma,” he whispered against my neck. “Anything to make you happy. Always.”

Such sweet words, and said as one very naughty hand snaked down my front, trailing my stomach until it dipped and shuddered, sneaking further down, fingers brushing my inner thigh, slipping up under my skirt …

“Oh … please!” I begged when he pressed one naughty finger inside my underwear, tracing the seam of my pussy.

“Soaked for me, Mouse. Put your hands on the glass.” With one knee, he knocked my legs apart, his other hand still pinching and teasing my aching nipple while he circled my clit with agonisingly gentle strokes.

I did as I was told. Outside, three floors down, a woman was on her morning run. A man stepped out of the convenience store across the road, lighting up a cigarette and glancing up as he blew out the smoke.