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He pulled out, his hands at my hips now. He went slow, pulling out, then thrusting in with a guttural grunt. “So good, you feel so fucking good.”
“Don’t go easy on me, Mitchell,” I hissed.
His forehead came down on my shoulder, and the sound he made came from somewhere deep, thrumming through both of us at once. “Are you sure, Winona?”
“I’ve never been more sure,” I said, panting now, needing him to rut against me like the animal I knew he could be.
He grunted again, gripping both hips with both hands. His next thrust had me almost off my feet, crying his name as my whole upper half pressed against the cool wall. Then he slid back out, letting my feet hit the ground again.
“Holy shit,” I managed.
“You good, baby girl?”
“Do it again.”
He did as I asked. He thrust in again—hard—making me rise up on tiptoe once more. Each time he withdrew, I felt a loss, and a desperate, delicious need. And each time he thrust back in, I felt the most delicious completeness I’d ever known, like he was hitting every single sensitive nerve ending I had.
But he hadn’t—not until he brought his hand around my front, his fingers sliding over my slick clit.
I let loose a sound I wasn’t sure I was capable of—a strangled cry that held his name—and I felt myself cresting the wave immediately.
Mitchell clearly felt it too, because he moved harder now, faster, his balls audibly slapping my clit alongside his hand.
“I’m going to come,” I cried, and on the next thrust, I did, while he held himself deep. I felt his cock pulsing inside of me, felt his seed spilling into me. Felt everything, everywhere, all at once.
“Winona,” he groaned, his forehead resting on my sweat-slicked back. “Winona Winona Winona.”
It was a whole week before Mitchell showed me his best kept secret.
It wasn’t that he knew he could get another orgasm out of me after I’d already come three times in a row. But he’d carried me to the bathroom where we’d first met, and lowered me, sitting, into the tub. A moment later he had me tilted back, supported by his hand at the back of my head, and his cock filling my mouth while water pummeled my clit in a heavy, pointed stream from the ceiling.
I came harder than I had the three times before.
No, it wasn’t that, though that was a secret I wouldn’t soon be forgetting.
It was the room he had tucked away on the first floor, next to that bathroom.
I’d just been telling him about how my greatest passion, after getting women into trades, was books.
“Books?” he said.
“Yes,” I laughed. “You know, the rectangular thing with pages, kind of like the one you’re writing.”
Something passed over his face and he looked down.
“Are you okay?”
Mitchell nodded.
We were just finishing our dinner on the rooftop deck—another place I hadn’t known existed until an hour ago. Last night I confessed that I’d never had Thai food before. And when I showed up tonight, he’d taken me straight up here. It was becoming the norm for me to lose my faculties when Mitchell showed me yet another corner of this mansion. Up here, my jaw hung open at the hot tub, heat lamps, enough outdoor seating for dozens of people, and a whole motherforkin’ outdoor kitchen.
With a chef in it.
“That’s Arthit,” Mitch said, gesturing to the man in the chef’s outfit. He was young, with the sides of his head shaved and tattoos lining his forearms.
“Hey,” Arthit said, before tossing something in a wok and making flames leap up around him.
I gave a tentative wave, still stunned. “Has he been here the whole…” I trailed off.
