AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I grab ahold of his wrist in a viselike grip and guide his hand as he drags it back and forth along the center of my panties. I keep him where I need him, thrilled beyond measure when he rewards me and tugs the material aside, giving me the pleasure of feeling his fingers slowly slide through my wetness, spreading it over me.
My other hand grips the neck of my downturned empty wineglass as Jonathan emits a low rumble of annoyance and suddenly yanks my dress up so it’s bunched around my waist and out of his way completely. I take a half-step to the side with my left foot, giving his hand enough room to return between my thighs. I close my eyes and appreciate the size of it, the way his large palm seems to cover me totally. The heel of his hand rubs against me, eliciting an array of tingles at the precise moment his middle finger dips inside of me. I hold my breath and wait, but he only presses in until his first knuckle, then he slides it out again. I sag in disappointment and he chuckles darkly into my hair, whispering how I’m impatient, ungrateful, greedy. I feed off of his words because I’m starved for them. No one has ever spoken to me this way, called me names like pet and little girl, dared to debase me exactly the way I want to be. Jonathan knows how much I like it even without me having to explicitly tell him. He’s observant in a way I’m not used to. It’s slightly unnerving yet thrilling to be under his microscope. With past relationships, I could never truly be honest, never give name to things I wanted for fear that my partners would lose sight of the person I am outside of the bedroom—or worse, like Owen, openly mock me for them.
Jonathan understands it, and more than that, his own needs mimic mine in such a perfectly depraved way.
His finger slides into me again, and this time I arch my back, trying to take more of him inside me. He gives me up to the second knuckle, and I spasm and tighten around him for a second. He hooks his finger slightly, hitting a new sweet spot that has me rising up onto my toes.
Laughter trickles in from the hall, and my desire mingles with fear. I don’t want to be found like this, and yet—I want to toe the edge, live in this anxious moment of will they, won’t they as Jonathan pulls his finger out and finally, finally, sinks it all the way back inside me.
I don’t wait; I start to roll my hips, taking matters into my own hands. I’m so scared he’s going to work me up and get me to the brink then back off, just like he did in his office. That can’t happen. I’ll scream.
His hand on my neck tightens ever so slightly, not to cut off my airway, but to ensure I understand who’s calling the shots.
“This is all you get, so be a good girl and come.”
His dirty words are one thing too many, the tipping point of an orgasm that tears through me with so much ferocity I lose sight of everything.
I’m vaguely aware of his hand moving to cover my mouth, but I’m too ensnared by my rising and falling peaks of pleasure. It lasts and it lasts. At one point, I tighten around his finger so much I could cry. The last shudders rack through me in fits and spasms, but Jonathan keeps me pressed tightly to him. He’s a brick wall behind me.
It’s his scent that finds me first, the smell of his hand covering my mouth.
Then his lips press kisses to my hair, and he slowly moves his hand from my mouth and wraps it around my waist. Holding me steady, he starts to right my panties and dress, preparing me for the world again. I hate it. I want to remain here, in the afterglow of bliss. I’m not done. This doesn’t feel likeenough.
He pries the empty wineglass out of my death grip, and after he sets it on the rack beside us, he asks, “So how will you disappear now?”
I frown.
“Where will you go?” he continues. “What excuse are you concocting in that head of yours?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes you do, Emelia,” he scolds with a sharp glare. “We just discussed this. We’re not pretending anymore.”
I turn to face him fully as a way to prove I’m not fleeing just yet.
He slides his hand into his pockets. “Come home with me for the night.”
My mouth opens, another excuse on the tip of my tongue.
Going home with him is not a good idea. Familiarity, routine, his home, my home—all of it is too personal and too deep. My only hope of surviving this is to keep things as shallow as possible, to swim near the shore and keep sight of who I am outside of us. But I know if I say no to him right now, it could be the final push. He said he was at a crossroads, and I don’t want to find out just how serious he is about ending this. Whateverthisis.
“All right.”
He nods and takes my arm, just above my elbow.
“There’s a bathroom down the hall. I’ll give you a moment to freshen up if you’d like, and then we’ll collect your purse.”
