Page 42 of Take The Risk

​“You want this, baby?” he growled, his hips pressing into me harder. I gasped as pleasure tore through me as he forced me to pleasure myself on the table ledge. “Does this sweet little cunt want something?”

​His hand gripped my hip, his fingertips sinking into the tender flesh, and I knew I’d have bruises tomorrow. I wanted to have his bruises on me tomorrow. He controlled my hip movements, slowing my slightly frenzied gyrations into something sensual, making each slide of my clit on the table turn into an exquisite kind of painful pleasure.

​“Tell me,” he demanded. “Tell me you want my cock.”

​Shaking my head, I bit my lip to keep the words inside. He wanted me to be: to admit how much I wanted him.

​He chuckled darkly against my skin. “No?” His hand slid seductively over my skin, slipping beneath the fabric of my panties. “You think the table can make you feel as good as I can?” His fingers brushed my entrance and I whimpered. I needed him. I needed him so badly.

​“Holy fuck,” I breathed, my cock so hard it was going to rip my zipper apart. Each word on the page had my cock pulsing. Without thinking, I moved, shutting the door, making sure Jesse or Wade wouldn’t come in and see what I knew I had no right to be looking at. I trembled as I kept reading.

​“Tell me,” he whispered, his breath tickling the hair on my neck. “You’re so fucking wet…” His fingers slipped inside me, sinking inch by inch, almost as if he couldn’t stop himself.

​My hand found my fly without me telling it to. I throbbed so hard I ached almost to the point of pain. Leaning against the door, I grasped my cock, fisting it, my eyes never leaving the words on the page.

​Quivering, I cried out at the way his fingers stretched me. The rough calluses on his hands scraped that sensitive spot inside me, ensuring I felt every stroke of his fingers. My head fell against the table. My hips wanted to move, but he forced me to hold still so I could focus solely on the feel of his fingers inside me.

​“You like that, don’t you?” he crooned in my ear.

​“No,” I lied, desperate for him to continue. I loved the way he was dominating me. The way he forced me to move when he wanted to. I was helpless, pressed to my dining room table, naked except for the panties that his hand was torturing me inside of. He was still clothed, his tattoos exposed by his work shirt. I was at his mercy, and I loved it. No, I craved it.

​“Liar,” he accused. “Do you know what I do to liars...?”

​I was panting now, my fist pumping my cock. My balls were drawn so tight I knew I wouldn’t finish the page before I came.

​Shaking my head, I was barely able to get the word out. “No.” Oh, but dear God, did I want to find out.

​His teeth sank into my neck, the sting enough to make me tremble. My hips jerked of their own volition, and I cried out as pleasure rocketed through me.

​When I’d hired him to fix my house, I’d never thought he’d touch me like this. How good his hands would feel on my body…

​Did she? Was this…? I could see her now, Phoebe, bent over the table, her delectable ass cradled by my hips. Her green eyes would be glazed as I fucked her pussy with my fingers…My movements became rough, uncoordinated as I continued to devour her words, imagining Phoebe under my hands, the softness of her—

​“Ahhh!” I groaned, forcing my hand off my cock. The need to cum beat inside me like the percussion section of a marching band. But I couldn’t do this. Not here. Not in her space. Fuck, I wanted her. I wanted to bend her over the dining room table. I wanted to keep reading every dirty thought she’d had and then act them out with her.

​I wanted to earn that with her. And fist fucking myself in her office, her private space, to words I was never meant to read was not how I did that.

​It took several minutes for me to get myself back together. I put my cock back into my jeans, my zipper being pulled back up too loud in the silent room. My hands shook as I put the papers on the small table in the corner that hadn’t been touched by the water.

​Jesus, Phoebe…

​My brain still wasn’t functioning when Jesse knocked at the closed door. “Uh…Ty?”

​Fuck. Sweeping the room quickly, I made sure I hadn’t missed anything. “Come in, Jesse.”

​Jesse opened the door cautiously. Probably unsure why it was closed. Heat swept up my neck, and I felt close to blushing. Blushing at thirty…What the hell was happening to me?

​“What’s up?” I moved to the desk, picking up the stacks of paper, forcing myself not to look at the words on any of the pages. I couldn’t trust my reaction if I found something else Phoebe had written.

​“I finished airing out the books.”

​Jerking my head in the direction of the other boxes I’d checked, I told him to air out the contents while I focused on clearing the desk.

​“Shit!” Jesse cursed when the bottom of a box gave out. Papers and books spilling everywhere.

​“Language!” I chastised him by habit. I was the one who taught Jesse how to ride a bike; keeping him in line was reflexive.

​“You’re the one who taught me to swear!” Jesse dropped down, picking up the mess.