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IVY
My hand shakes as I reach for a brush laid out on my workstation.
Come on, Ivy, pull yourself together. He’s just a client. One you’ve fantasized about for years.
I take a deep breath before turning to apply a thin coat of adhesive to Ford’s chest. I’m sure he can feel my hands shaking.
“No need to be afraid of me, princess. I don’t bite…unless you want me to.” His breath caresses my skin, making it even harder to concentrate on this simple task.
“It would be rather difficult for you to do anything other than let me do my job, Mr. Harmon.” I gather a few things off the counter before finally deciding to get to work. “I have a job to do, nothing more and nothing less. Now sit there quietly and let me make sure this adhesive works properly.”
I swear he mumbles something about taking me over his knee as he runs a hand through his wild mass of hair. I want to reach out and run my own hands through his curls. The little streak of white, front and center, shows his maturity.
No man of his caliber would want anything to do with someone like me. He probably has women falling at his feet.
I search for the proper piece of prosthetic, risking a glance at Ford in the mirror. I press my thighs together automatically, hoping to relieve the ache I feel. For a man who is close to fifty, Ford Harmon has the body of a god. I imagine what it would be like to kneel before him and run my tongue up the grooves of his washboard abs.
My breathing increases as my mind fills with images of him wrapping his strong hand in my hair and guiding his cock into my waiting mouth.
Will it even fit?
“If you keep looking at me like that, I won’t be able to control my actions for much longer.”
Our eyes meet, and I see nothing but hunger in his. This man is going to be nothing but trouble.
“I-I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Mr. Harmon. I’m trying to locate the proper prosthesis for your chest. This way I can complete the makeup test a-as quickly as possible. Mr. Archer wants everything to be p-perfect before filming starts,” I stutter.
“I won’t tell you again to call me Ford, princess.” He stands from his seat and takes a step toward me, caging me against the makeshift makeup bench.
“Ford,” I whisper as he presses his lean body against mine.
He groans in pleasure as his rock-hard cock rubs against my back.
“My name sounds good coming from your lips. Although I’d much rather you call me something else.”
“What would that be?” I drop the tools in my hand, gripping the top of the workstation.
He places his hands firmly on my shoulders and spins me until my nose brushes against the hollow of his throat. He places a finger under my chin, tilting my head upward so we’re eye-to-eye.
“Daddy.” Ford inches closer, our lips almost touching.
The desire to press up on my toes is overwhelming. Just this one time, to take what I want, consequences be damned.
Releasing my hold on the bench, I slide my hands around his neck and pull myself up on my tip toes before whispering into his ear.
“Daddy.”
Ford’s lips crash into mine as he wraps both his arms around my waist, lifting me on top of the counter. Trays of makeup and my utensils go crashing to the floor. There are no other thoughts in my mind, just the feeling of Ford’s body pressed into mine as he grips the hem of my t-shirt.
“I need to taste your skin before I explode.” He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, asking for permission.
“You’d better get to work.” I don’t hesitate before I release my hold on his neck as he pulls my shirt over my head.
“This is the most beautiful set of tits I’ve ever seen,” he mumbles before he takes my left nipple into his mouth, sucking it through the lacy fabric of my bra.
I bite my lip, hoping to stifle the moan of pleasure that rips through my body.
“Hey, Ivy! Are you done in there?”
