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"Eh?" I blink.
"I want to tear them off you before I fuck you." My pussy instantly melts. Oh, god, his filthy words are such a turn on, and I don’t even understand why. I’m not a prude. Hey, I read spicy fanfiction and spicy books, but I always thought filthy-talking book boyfriends were confined to the world of fiction. I was sure I’d never meet them in real life. And definitely not in the shape of an ex-soldier who used to take on secret missions for the government and is now wounded on so many different levels. A man whose heart is so much softer than he’d like the world believe. A man who’s in so much pain, he prefers to lash out rather than confront the cause for it. A man…
I want to hold in my arms and receive into my body, knowing there’s no future for us. And that’s what bothers and surprises me but also sets me free. I always believed in the Happily Ever After and that I’d meet a man who I’d fall for and spend the rest of my life with. Seeing the happy marriage my parents had right until the day my dad died gave me high expectations. And I know he’s not the one to give me that. And in a way, that’s freeing. There’s no burden of having to be careful about what I do with him. There’s relief in the fact that I can show the filthy side of me, the dirty things my body craves without fear of being judged.
After all, he’s going to marry someone else, and I’ll go back to being just his employee… for the next year. After which, I’ll leave and find employment elsewhere, because the thought of seeing him with his wife is not something I can bear. Now, there's something I don’t want to question too closely. Not while he’s lowering the barriers he always throws up to the world and for the first time, is allowing me to see the need, the yearning, the craving in his eyes for what I can offer him. My body, my empathy, myself. He wants me, not anyone else—me. And I want him, too. More than anything else, I want him to do every single, dirty, obscene act my imagination can conjure up, and those it can’t.
I lower my arm to my side and watch as he takes a step back. He looks me up and down, an assessing look in his eyes. Then he circles me slowly, so slowly, and his gaze dips into the valley between my breasts, the curve of my shoulder, the crease of my underarm, the flare of my hips, and when he stands behind me, I can feel him assess the slope of where my back meets my butt, and the crease between my ass-cheeks covered by the thin string of the thong. Why did I think it was a good idea to wear my skimpiest underwear? Did I subconsciously known I was going to sleep with him when I walked through his door today? I didn’t think about it, but perhaps, something inside me knew was inevitable we reach this point: me standing in front of him in only my lingerie.
He steps forward and the heat of his body sears my back. He skims his nose up my cheek, and goosebumps pepper my skin. "You smell so good, Little Dove." My belly spasms. My heart seems to drop into the space between my legs, mirroring the pulse at my temples. He continues to stand there, his cheek pressed to mine, and heat flushes my skin. He stands there, perfectly still, the seconds ticking past.
My nerve endings stretch, the tension building in the air hot, heavy, pressing down on my shoulders, pinning me in place, until I’m unable to move. To breathe. To think. "Sir, please," I croak out the words before I’m able to stop myself, and he freezes.
He straightens, then walks around to stand in front of me. "You have no idea what you do to me," he says in a low, hard voice.
"Is that why you sound like you hate me?"
He notches his knuckles under my chin and applies enough pressure that I have to look up at him. His green eyes burn into me again. I’m a dove with a broken wing, unable to fly away. I know he’s going to corrupt me tonight and I cannot… Will not… Do not want to stop him. I know he’s going to change me forever and I welcome it. I welcome him.
He must see the emotions on my face because his jaw hardens. "I do hate you for being so open with me. For always baring your heart to me. For allowing me to see inside you and knowing you’re everything I’m not. For knowing I shouldn’t do this to you but also not being able to stop myself. If I were a better man, I’d walk away. If I were the man I was six months ago, I wouldn't have asked you here in the first place."
"If I were a better woman, I wouldn’t have accepted your help in the first place. I would have returned the money you paid toward my mother’s care and found another way, but I didn’t. It’s true, your personality is overwhelming, and you’re very persuasive, and I find it very difficult to say no to you, but I’m here because I want to be. I took off my clothes because I want you to see me. And every time you touch me, I revel in how my body responds to you. I don’t like you, but I know this much…" I search his eyes. "I know you’re going to give me the kind of pleasure I’ll remember for a lifetime."
His eyes flash, and in the next moment, he scoops me up in his arms bride style. I gasp, then wrap my arms about his neck. He turns and heads up the stairs. He reaches the landing, then heads down the hallway I glimpsed from downstairs. I briefly view a couple of doors that lead to other rooms, then he steps through the one at the far end. The moonlight pours in through the floor-to-ceiling windows that make up three walls of the room. He crosses the floor toward a super king-size bed pushed up against the only wall that’s not made of glass. He sits down, then manipulates my body so I’m straddling him. I freeze. The column in his pants is thick and large and it stabs into the exact center of my core where I’m the emptiest.
"Sir," I breathe.
Color flushes his cheeks, and damn, it’s something to see this big virile man reacting to the sound of my voice. I lean in until my lips are right in front of his, until I can draw in his breath without our mouths touching. "Sir," I whisper. His cock jumps. Gold flecks flare in the depths of his eyes.
"You have no idea what you’re doing," he growls.
"I think I do." I slide back, then skim my fingers down the length of him and squeeze. His dick throbs and grows bigger. My mouth waters, and I swallow. My nipples are throbbing with need, hurting to feel his hands on me. "Touch me, please."
He brings one big palm up and squeezes my breast.
"Oh, god!" I throw my head back as he relinquishes his hold on my hip and cups my other breast. He kneads my flesh, and I thrust my chest forward, chasing more of his touch.
"You like that, hmm?" His gravelly voice chafes across my sensitized skin.
I open my mouth to reply, but no words emerge. He’s barely begun touching me, and I’m lost in a miasma of sensations. He releases his hold on one breast, and the next second, I scream as he replaces it with his mouth. He bites down on my nipple through the thin lace of my bra. He tugs on it, and I pant. He swirls his tongue around the pulsing flesh, and my heart threatens to jump out of my chest.
"Sir, please, Sir," I whimper.
The next second, he’s rising to his feet. I wrap my legs around his waist and cling to his shoulders as he carries me over to the window nearest the bed. He pushes me into the glass wall, then hooks his finger inside the strap of panties. He tugs, and it snaps. He slides a finger inside me, and I groan, "Oh, my god."
"You’re so wet for me, Little Dove. Do you like what I do to you?"
I open my mouth to answer, but he begins to move his finger in and out of me, in and out. My eyes roll back in my head, and all I can do is whimper and push my hips out to meet his thrusts. It’s so good. So very good.
"Open your eyes."
When did I close them? I raise my heavy-eyelids, and once more, am held captive by his powerful gaze. I’ll never forget the possessiveness in his eyes as he slides a second finger inside of me and curls them. I groan and shiver as he stretches me around the girth of his thick digits. I’m so full, and he’s only fucking me with his fingers. He slides out his fingers, then back in, then again. A trembling grips me. My thighs quiver and I begin to slide down the glass as only his grip on my hip holds me up. He pulls his fingers out, then pushes them between my lips.
"Suck."
I obey. The taste of my cum mixed with that of his skin makes my head spin. He watches me closely as if gauging my response, then nods. He slides his fingers under the thin material of my bra. He tugs on it, and it snaps. My breasts spill out of the restraint. A gasp spills from my lips. He glances down at my breasts and when he licks his lips, moisture bathes the space between my legs. I want him to squeeze my nipples again. I want him to stuff his fingers—no, his cock—inside my slit. I need him to drill into me right now and fill this yawning emptiness inside of me. "Fuck me, please," I beg.
He smirks. Asshole smirks. For the first time since I met him, my Sir has a twinkle in his eyes and oh, lordy, it’s the most gorgeous sight ever. This is how Knight would have been if he wasn’t suffering from the trauma that he went through. And I’m the one who’s revealed this part of him. He might deny it, but spending time with me is doing him a world of good. It’s what makes me reach up and slap him.
