Page 78 of Becoming His Mistress

“It’s not that simple,” I look down at my coffee-stained white shirt and blow out a breath.

“You’re staying at my parents’. You don’t even have a phone.”

“I’m not,” I snap, looking around to make sure nobody is listening. “I’m going home. If you want me to be safe so bad, then stay with me.”

His eyes flare, the gray flashing with excitement. “You know I would if I could.”

“I need to get out of these clothes.”

When he raises a brow, I flick him on the forehead. “You know what I mean. Jerk.”

“I’d like a demonstration.”

“You’re okay, you have spare clothes in your office. I don’t have anything.” I sigh and pull on the bottom of my shirt again. This is torture. “I’m going to keep a spare in my desk from now on.”

“Does that mean you’re not quitting?”

I flick his head again making him wince and grab my hand with a big grin on his face. “Stay on topic.”

“Right… clothes.”

We head across the road to a small boutique and I pick out some light jeans and a sky-blue shirt. There is no formalwear but considering the circumstances I think I’ll get off without a warning this time.

I’m not even sure if these clothes will fit. I hope so. I went up a size just in case. It’s not like I can try them on while I’m all gross and wet in the bad way.

We head back to the office, ignoring everybody on the way. My clothes feel tight and uncomfortable, the coffee is damp and sticky. This is hell on earth for me.

The second I’m in his office I head to the en suite and strip out of my clothes. I don’t pay Ezra any mind because I’m silently freaking out.

He locks his office door; I hear the telltale click. Then his footsteps pad closer slowly as I use a wet flannel on my body, leaving a pool of water on the tiles beneath my feet.

“I watched you do this before,” he murmurs, leaning against the doorjamb, his shirt on the floor with my soiled clothes. His chest is as chiseled as a statue… his body like Brad Pitt in Troy. One of my favorite movies… ahem.

I’m so lost in how he lets his trousers drop, revealing his massive erection, that I almost forget what he said.

“What?”

“Halloween,” he mutters coming closer, stopping when his glorious chest is against my back and his cock is trapped between us, separated by a thin layer of fabric. “I was in my office having a breather when this big, inflatable—”

“Sex doll.”

He chuckles. “—T-rex came inside, inebriated. She went into my personal bathroom, turned on the light and rid her delectable body of what little clothing she had on.” His hands wrap around my waist which is damp from where I just cleaned it.

“I’m so glad I didn’t need to pee,” I grumble, and he laughs at our reflections, his chin on my bare shoulder. “I thought we weren’t doing this anymore?”

“We’re not,” he whispers, biting my ear and slipping his hand into the front of my damp panties. Damp because I was hoping they’d wash, and I wouldn’t have to go commando for the rest of the day. Also damp because just looking at him makes me gush like a waterfall. “We’re never doing this again.”

His finger sinks into me and then drags the moisture back to my clit.

I moan, tilting my head back, giving him space to bite and lick the skin of my neck.

“Never again,” I breathe, “it can’t happen.”

“We’re not doing anything,” he replies, his tone hushed too. The way his breath fans across my sensitive flesh has me gripping the counter for support. “Nothing at all.”

His solid length presses against my ass, trapped by the fabric of his boxers. He tugs them down and I feel his skin against mine.

“Nothing,” he grits as I close my legs around it, squeezing it between the apex of my thighs.

He starts thrusting, finding grip between my pussy lips. My wetness makes him slide back and forth with ease, so he removes his hand and massages my breasts instead. He hits my clit every time and I almost scream with the ecstasy of it.

Why does sex feel this good with him? Why do we connect like this?

“I want you inside of me so bad,” I plead, reaching between us to try and get him to adjust his angle. “Please.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he pants as he lifts my leg, ducks down a bit, and then thrusts all the way in without hesitation.

“Ezra,” I breathe, putting my knee on the vanity’s edge.

“Look at me.”

My eyes open slowly and find his in the mirror. His large hands massage my swaying breasts and pinch my nipples.

“What are we doing?” he asks me breathlessly, his eyes dangerous, his lips terse.

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