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The word intrigues me. From her first read of the contract until now, I haven’t allowed her much time to consider anything. I actively did not want her considering anything. I only wanted her signature.
So where does “nautilus” come from?
Somewhere in her past, I surmise. Somewhere from deep within her.
Someplace I don’t want to go because that’s not our deal.
Katelyn squeezes at me again as her teeth draw fresh blood from her bottom lip.
She thinks she’s earned her reward.
She is so very wrong. She has only earned her punishment.
I withdraw from the sweet heat of her cunt, my balls pulling tight in protest. Reaching down, I jerk my running pants up.
Katelyn whimpers. The sound is sexy as hell, but I won’t give her what she wants. She needs to be disciplined, has to learn there are consequences for defying me, for holding back when she clearly wanted my cock inside her every bit as badly as I did.
I drag the side chair a few feet from the desk and sit down, my gaze glued to her exposed pussy as she squirms. I want her waxed, smoothed with nothing to hide my view, but, at this moment, the hair captures her intoxicating scent. Staring mesmerized by the magnificent ass and cunt I want to bury my face against, I inhale.
My cock twitches, the lurching need so strong that I grip the armrests to quell the urge to slowly fuck my way back into that sweet pussy.
Her knees buckle for a second. It makes her luscious ass bob and my cock ache with the need to penetrate.
“Please.”
The needy whisper doesn’t reach my dick—it plunges straight into my chest and squeezes.
“What did you say?” I bark the question, instantly regretting the harsh tone when Katelyn flinches.
“Please.” Her ass dips again, only to be propped back up as she clenches her muscular thighs together. “I thought you wanted me.”
You have no idea how badly.
“Quiet,” I growl.
I can’t take the ache in her voice. It’s not like me to cave, but she wants pleasure and I need to give it to her.
“Spread your legs.” I drawl the order, make it sound bored, make it sound like I am not in pain with the same need running through her.
Stepping the rest of the way out of her panties and slacks, Katelyn complies.
Despite yesterday’s injury, she arrived wearing heels. Watching old videos of her performance at the Olympic trials, I expected as much. The alluring footwear confirmed two things for me when I saw them. First, she is tough. For all the slick juices coating her needy pussy as she awaits my next order, she still warrants the nickname one of the sportscasters gave her.
She is still Iron Kate.
Second, despite the conservative blouse and pants, a part of her craves my attention and knows how to get it. For different reasons, she has studied me almost as much as I have studied her.
Straightening in my seat, I growl lightly in appreciation at the way the three-inch elevation of the heels accentuates the curve of her calves. Her sculpted muscles bulge from the position I left her in.
I lean forward, rest my elbows on my knees and savor the view.
“Touch yourself,” I roughly command.
She stiffens. I growl again, this time with displeasure.
“Every time you hesitate, I'm going to punish you. Touch yourself—now.”
She reaches down, her hand shaking as she takes the first wet stroke.
