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His fingers expertly unbutton my shirt halfway down. Enough that he can slide my short sleeves off my shoulders, and the fabric of my blouse falls, bunching around my waist, fully exposing me from the bellybutton up.
A rush of cold air dances across my breasts, and my nipples harden.
He breaths in softly as he takes me in. He gently runs a thumb over my nipple, and my mouth parts, and a soft exhale escapes me at the sensation.
His other hand joins to play with my other breast. He rolls my nipples between his fingers, and I lean my head back against the chair with a soft moan.
A hand leaves one of my breasts, and I ache from the loss of sensation—that is, until I realize where he’s going. His fingers brush under the waistband of my skirt. He finds my underwear, slipping a finger beneath them.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his gaze meeting mine. “You’re so wet for me.”
I am. I am so fucking wet. I don’t think I’ve been this turned on, ever. None of my previous boyfriends compare to this. The way he caresses my breasts, the way he takes charge. I want to melt into him and let him have his way with me for as long as he wants.
“Open your legs,” he orders softly, and I do as he says.
His fingers dance around my bud, making slow, soft circles. His other hand mirrors the motion, but on my breast.
When his fingers finally reach my clit and nipple, I can’t help but cry out, arching my back and bucking against him.
He leans toward me, his breath against my neck. “So greedy,” he whispers in my ear.
He trails his finger lower, until he reaches my entrance, and then he slowly slips inside me.
I moan, arching my back. A deep, guttural moan I didn’t think was possible. He slides out and slides back in with two fingers. I buck my hips against him, wanting more,needingmore.
He laughs softly against my neck. Then he pulls back to look down at me. Our gazes meet. His expression is one of complete and absolute composure, while I’m sure mine is one of desperation.
“You like when I fingerfuck you?” he asks.
I nod.
“Use your words, sweetie.”
“Yes,” I breathe. “I love it.” I close my eyes as his fingers begin to thrust faster. I cry out, bucking my hips in time with him.
But suddenly, he pulls out. Not just out ofme, but he slowly sides his hand out of my skirt completely.
I let out a startled cry.
He shoots me one last smile before suddenly turning and walking back to his desk.
I take in a shaky breath at the sudden loss of his presence. Here I am, sitting in Asher’s office, my shirt pooled around my waist, my wetness dripping down my thighs. I can’t believe this is actually happening.
Asher looks to me. “Sit on the desk,” he instructs.
I do as he says, standing up and hopping up onto his desk, my legs dangling below me. It’s borderline humiliating, sitting here half naked on his desk, but my body is desperate for more.
He takes a step back and looks me up and down, taking all of me in. Then he reaches down to start pulling my skirt up my legs. “Lie back,” he says, and I obey.
The wood of the desk is cool against my bare upper body. I feel him slowly sliding my skirt up until most of it is bunched around my hips.
And then he pauses.
And just stares down at me.
For so long, I can feel the blush creeping over my skin. My neck, my breasts. To be so exposed, and in such a humiliating way is … oddly exhilarating in a way I never thought possible.
“Olivia,” he finally says, and I look up to meet his gaze. “Do you want me to fuck you?”
