The Position Read Online Free PDF Page B

sending buttons scattering across the floor.
    Lazarus responds with a loud, raspy breath. As I let my fingertips explore his smooth, hot skin I can feel him trembling. My fingers roam everywhere, studying him, sculpting him, stroking him. When they touch his hard nipples, caressing them lightly, he gasps. I want to put my mouth on him. To taste him.
    But before I know it, he’s grabbed my wrists and flipped me around, slamming me against the wall this time. Our eyes lock, and I get a sense of what I’ve unleashed. His are wild and ravenous, flicking frantically over my face and down to my lips, ready to devour me whole. He lowers his mouth until I can feel his panting breath on my cheek. Kiss me. God, please, kiss me. But he doesn’t kiss me. Why won’t he kiss me?
    His eager hands go straight to my breasts, squeezing and rubbing them savagely, his breaths accelerating into impassioned grunts. They are the first hands to touch my breasts, and it’s like a high voltage line to my sex, setting the blood there aflame. I can’t recognize myself in the sounds that come out of me, as I writhe beneath him. Lazarus is frantic as well, moaning and panting. We’re like feral creatures whose only thought is to sate a voracious hunger. In a blur of passion, Lazarus rips my blouse open, devouring my black lace-clad breasts with his eyes.  
    He takes a step back and breathes in deeply, as if trying to maintain his self-control. I smolder under his gaze. My pelvis has a mind of its own, rocking back and forth against nothing, desperate to release the sweet pressure there. His hands are on the bare skin of my waist and they feel right. All of it feels right. It doesn’t matter that’s it’s fucked up or that this whole coupling is inevitably doomed. I don’t think about that. I don’t think at all. I only feel. And nothing has ever felt more right in my life than Lazarus’s hands on my body.  
    He lets the tips of his fingers trail along the edge of the lace bra, caressing the soft skin of my breasts. My trembling breath gets louder. I want his mouth on me. His lips sucking at my nipples. His tongue hot on my skin. I want it more than my next breath. My shaking fingers snap open the front clasp, letting my breasts tumble free. Lazarus fixes his eyes on them and exhales loudly. The pink tip of his tongue slips over his lips, wanting to taste them. Taste them! Please! I can see him struggle to keep his savage self at bay and take it slow, but I don’t want him to. I want to be devoured. Too desperate to be coy, I arch my back, pushing my aching breasts toward him.  
    He instinctively cups them and presses his hard bulge against my pelvis with a groan.  
    “Michaela.” He draws out my name, low and breathy, as if naming something unexpectedly discovered.  
    I can’t take it anymore. The molten heat. The urgent pressure yearning for release. It’s too new to understand. Too overwhelming. I undulate against his bulge, forgetting everything else, feeling the mounting edge of pleasure coming closer. He gasps loudly, throwing back his head and closing his eyes.  
    “Oh, God! Please!” I shout hoarsely. “Lazarus!” This seems to push him over as well, and he’s wild again. With a groan he squeezes my breasts and pinches my hard, pulsing nipples. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Yesyesyesyes…
    Just then, a sudden clamoring from the other room startles us apart. The jangling of keys and the clattering of a cart wheeled inside his office. The fucking janitor! Lazarus steps away, adjusting the engorged erection in his pants. My head is spinning. I feel drugged. I’m panting, disoriented. All I can think of is satisfying the desperate need at my core. I don’t even realize that Lazarus has slipped out of the room until he returns with his sports jacket and drapes it over me. I can only imagine how flushed and disheveled I must be.  
    “Let me drive you home,” Lazarus mumbles, running a hand through his messy hair.