Marriage by Mistake

leaned her all the way down, her back flat on his desk. The Robertson report scattered. A pen holder fell. As finely sharpened pencils rolled onto the floor, Dean put his hand under Kelly's skirt.
    Her panties, well, there was hardly anything to them. All he had to do was push a scrap of lace to one side and there she was. A crisp curl of hair and then a wet and warm softness.
    "Dean!" Her whole body convulsed.
    She was so wet, so hot and utterly inviting. And the way she responded—it was beyond Dean's experience. A woman needed more than what he was giving her, which was simply him taking whatever he wanted. He should slow down, behave like a gentleman, but she opened her legs and shoved against him. He gasped against her mouth. She liked this. She wanted more .
    He nipped the edge of her jaw, then sucked on her neck. Meanwhile his finger flicked gently, making her jerk. At her responsive motion, Dean couldn't let his mouth linger at her neck, though he should have. He should have prolonged the pleasure, used control. Instead he slid between her legs. Holding her scrap of panties to one side, he applied his tongue.
    She screamed. Well, not out loud. It was a between-the-teeth and in-the-throat kind of scream. As if she were doing her best to restrain herself—and failing. Dean felt an access of pleasure and pride. Despite his greed, he was driving her crazy, sending her right through the ceiling.
    She moaned and thrashed her head from side to side. Dean used his shoulder to hold up her thigh and moved his hand to one pink nipple. Lightly, he pinched.
    Her hips bucked and then her whole body jerked and shuddered. Above his shoulder, Dean could feel heat suddenly flush her body. "Enough," she whispered, and pushed his head.
    Dean looked up and felt a surge in his own engorgement. Yes, she'd come. Very nicely, too. Her hair was tousled and her face a rose blush; her breasts were the same blush color, and more erect than ever. He barely had time to enjoy this achievement, though, before she sat up and pushed him back.
    He landed in one of the visitor chairs. She leaned toward him with a lopsided smile. Dean had a split second to anticipate, his own skin flushing, before she reached for his fly.
    "Oh, yes." It came out of his mouth like an oath, low and gritty.
    Slowly, teasingly, Kelly drew down his zipper. Dean felt tight enough to burst. Kelly seemed to realize it, too. She pulled back, ratcheting up the anticipation. Then she threw one of those sleek legs over the armrest of Dean's chair. His palm went to her thigh. He could feel the capable muscles there. His own muscles leaped at this indication of female strength. Then with one hand on Dean's shoulder for balance, she threw her other leg over the opposite armrest.
    Dean drew in a long breath. She was above him now, open and ready. Oh, his fingers remembered just how ready.
    With a faint smirk, she dipped her hand into the tiny pocket of her miniskirt. Dean watched, lashes low, as she pulled forth a slim single-package condom. He almost laughed. Well, at least he didn't have to admit he had one in his front pocket, too. Not because he'd wanted anything to happen between them, but because he'd surrendered to the reality of his own weakness. A weakness he was experiencing in all its glory at that moment.
    Indeed, he was beyond self-recrimination as he watched Kelly rip the plastic outer wrap with her teeth. He felt like a powerful engine, a jet revving as it waited to rush down the runway. Dean forced himself to keep waiting, though he hissed out a breath as Kelly rolled the thin plastic down his shaft. Her fingers drove his engine so much the faster. And then she was hiking herself closer along the chair arms. It was time for take-off. Dean took hold of her hips and clenched his teeth.
    The feel of her closing over him, tight, hot, wet—He was going to start speeding down the runway. No, he didn't think he could stay still a moment longer.
    "Move!" she whispered.
    Dean closed his eyes and moved. He moved hard, he moved fast. It was too hard, too fast, but he couldn't stop himself. He was flying down the runway. Only he wanted—
    "More," she muttered.
    Dean's eyes shot open. Had she read his mind? He grabbed onto her bottom. He pushed harder. But still—
    "Deeper." Her voice was a harsh growl.
    Dean didn't know how to bring it any deeper, not in the position they were in. Clutching her close, he stood up. Kelly moaned. The sweat popped out in beads on Dean's