“Are you going to come for me?” he asks, and he lowers his head so his mouth is on my nipple as his other hand falls from my breast and drags down my skirt. Sliding between my inner thighs, he presses his fingers on my clit, rubbing it in circles through my panties.
“Yes,” I say.
“Good doctor…” he murmurs, still keeping the pressure against my clit. My head falls back, and his mouth continues moving against my sensitive nipples.
“Fuck me…” I scream.
“I intend to,” he says, and then his hand is gone, as if he knows what I need. He pushes up, stands with me still on his lap, and turns me around and places me back in the seat he was just in. He steps back and kicks off his boots before he slides his pants down over his very large and hard cock and past his tattooed thighs until they fall to the ground. I kick my shoes off, and he leans forward to pull my panties down my hips. As requested, I keep the high-waisted skirt on.
He hovers above me, not touching, just looking. I open my legs and move my hand between my thighs to touch my very sensitive clit. His eyes watch every movement before he drops down on his knees in front of me. His hands touch my thighs as he watches my fingers move, and then he leans forward. His mouth falls between my legs, his tongue darts out, and instantly I feel him at my core. Heat takes over, and my hand falls away as he moves his tongue up to play with my clit. It’s so sensitive, so tender that I can’t take much of it. But fuck, it feels good. My legs start to close with each movement of his tongue because the pressure is building yet again from the way he is tasting me. He knows what he is doing with that tongue of his, and fuck, I am so thankful as the build only grows and grows, my breath coming out labored as I chase the high that he can so easily trigger.
“Mother of god,” I scream as the orgasm hits me, and he devours my pussy, pushing back against my inner thighs as they naturally close tight.
“It’s not her you should be praying to,” he says as he pulls away and lifts me, literally lifts me and flips me over so my ass is backed up, and my hands fall to the sofa. I turn back to find him admiring my ass before he slaps it.
“Now, beg your new god to fuck you…” he says, then he’s at my entrance, teasing me.
“No,” I say. He slides the tip in, just a little, then pulls it back out.
“Beg,” he demands, then repeats the process.
My need is the next thing that talks, because I swear it’s not me. I would never beg a man. I’m sure of it.
I’m always in control.
“Please, fuck me,” I whisper, my voice raspy now. But chasing orgasms makes my body a treacherous bitch.
“See, you can be a good girl and obey.” He slams into me. “I reward good girls like you, especially you,” he says, and pulls out and fucks me again. My hands clench but grab nothing as they lay on his soft couch. He fucks me. Fuck, he does it so well. He fits so perfectly, sliding in and out with such perfect rhythm that I know I’m about to reach my third orgasm from him alone.
How am I supposed to say no to him in the future when my pussy knows what rewards it will get?
I’m fucked.
Literally.
But riding a high I never knew I needed, nor do I know if I’ll be able to get off after having such a sweet taste linger on my lips.
20
SILAS
One of the things that my father taught me when I was growing up is that you should never have an obsession, in any form. You should always be neutral and understanding, because that’s what it takes to be a good leader. No emotions and no miscalculations. If you start to have obsessions, that’s when you know everything is about to fuck up.
When I pull my cock out of her, she collapses on the sofa, her knees now on the wooden floor, lying so perfectly still, so exhausted. His words ring in my head. This is about to be very unhealthy. Especially now that I know what she feels and tastes like.
Most certainly because she showed me a little bit of her crazy once again, silently challenging me to be scared. I never back down from something, especially if it’s something I’ve wanted. It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted something so bad, let alone asomeone.
This obsession is dangerous. But does that stop me from reaching down and smacking her ass one more time so I can make sure that my handprint marks her perfectly smooth skin? No.
I trail my hand down her bare back appreciatively, a gentle sweat on her skin, and stop it on the waistband of her high skirt, still thinking about that scar on her collarbone. Leonore uses deflection as an art form. No answers, no deeper connection. Just carnal sex. And who am I to say no?
My father might’ve been right. However, it was my uncle who added that I never needed to become obsessed with a woman. That I should simply fall in love with a beautiful woman, because beautiful things are meant to obey. Then my father scoffed at the notion of love, although I’m certain he held deep love for my mother before her passing. He died two years afterward, and my sister is certain that when she passed, our father—although still calculative and running business as usual, if not more ruthlessly—was never the same.
She died peacefully in the end after cancer took her. He did not. Risks of the business.
But I don’t think either of them ever met Leonore Graves. I'm actually surprised she submitted to me. She’s so headstrong. I can tell just by watching her that she works best alone and has dealt with powerful men on more than one occasion. And the thing about it is, she doesn’t seem intimidated at all.
It’s as if she has no fear, but everyone has fear—even I do. And I have more power than almost everyone that she would ever know. So I wonder what beautiful, breakable things she keeps close. I wonder what a woman like this runs from—if at all. But everyone has their scars and secrets.
