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And I let the need I hear in every syllable he just uttered work its way through me.
I slowly get on my knees, not taking my eyes off Owen’s for even one second.
I allow him to put his dick in my mouth.
And I show him just how good I can be.
Owen pulls out just before orgasming, bending me over his desk again, and slamming inside me.
I take every hard thrust, every indelicate touch, every impolite word out of his mouth.
I submit to all of it.
Being fucked by Owen is like finding the right key for the door after searching for it forever.
I come right before he does.
I make a lot of noise.
He doesn’t pull out after we catch our breath. He stays in me, circling his arm around my waist, and kissing my shoulder. “I want you in my bed tonight.”
“How many pillows do you have?”
I feel his smile against my skin. “What’s an acceptable number? I’ll make sure I meet your expectations.”
“Ten.”
He moves to my other shoulder and kisses it. “I don’t recall seeing ten pillows on your bed.”
“It’s my minimum requirement, Owen. Take it or leave it.”
He gives me one last kiss before pulling out and turning me to face him. His arms come around me and he settles his hands on my ass. “Consider it done.”
“You’ll just magically have pillows multiply?”
“Yes.”
My breathing speeds up as an unfamiliar sensation flutters in my stomach. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it feels like hesitation. Uncertainty. Like maybe I need to pause a moment here.
I put my hand to his chest. “No, you don’t need to do that. I was just getting frisky with you.”
Owen’s eyes fill with determination and his hold on me tightens. “I want to do that.”
I stare at him. “I don’t expect it.”
“You should always expect me to want to stretch, Charlize.”
It’s in this moment I realize that although I told Owen I’m a high-expectations kind of girl, I’ve given up on expecting even the littlest things from men. And while I don’t think expecting a man to suddenly produce ten pillows is an acceptable demand, I want him to. I want him to go to the ends of the earth to bring me those pillows.
I lean forward and kiss him.
It’s a slow, deep kiss, and I hope it shows him just what this means to me.
When I end it, I let my lips linger, not wanting to part from him yet. I tangle my fingers into his hair at the back of his neck. “I like you a little too much, I think.”
This earns me a look I’d like to capture in print. “Good.”
With that, we dress, and I use his bathroom to clean up. When I come out, he’s on the phone. I take the dinner I brought into the break room to serve it up, hearing the wordpillowsas I slip out of his office.
