He’ll teach me how to behave.
That’s what he said. That’s what I heard, and yet I still can’t believe it.
I can’t believe a lot of things since last night.
When I woke up this morning, I thought maybe, just maybe, it was all a dream and I was still stuck in it, but then I smelled him. Those notes of spice and woods lingered on my sheets and on me long after he left my bedroom.
So it couldn’t have been a dream, because Nate never goes into my room. Never.
Oh, and my panties were missing. Yup. I slept all night without underwear and kept rubbing my thighs together in a desperate attempt to recreate the friction but failed miserably.
So I left early this morning because I didn’t know what would happen if I saw him hovering over me at breakfast. That’s what he does sometimes since he moved in. He hovers, leaning against the counter with his legs crossed at the ankles and drinking from his coffee until he makes sure I’ve eaten something. Because apparently, drinking my milkshake doesn’t count as breakfast.
And I didn’t want to be babied by him. I also didn’t want to be faced with his strict features and punishing eyes or the fact that he might pretend nothing happened.
It would have killed me slowly, and I wasn’t ready for the D-word yet. But here I am. Once again under his scrutiny, and he isn’t pretending that nothing happened.
Hell, he even called me his wife. In his office. During working hours. And why is that so hot? Because I feel myself on the verge of hyperventilating even as I step between his thighs. His strong, powerful thighs that can squeeze and bend me with ease.
“And now what?” I breathe out.
That’s how my voice becomes when he’s so close that I can soak in his warmth, so close that I can see the line of his jaw and trace the contours of his face, with my gaze, of course, because I don’t think I have the courage to touch him. Or if I’m allowed to. So I grip the desk behind me and lean against my hands so that I won’t have the chance to act on that compulsion.
“Not a word, Gwyneth.”
“Why?”
“You’re a bad girl, right?”
“I am. So, so bad.”
“Bad girls don’t get to talk, so when I tell you to shut up, you do.”
“Okay.”
“You’re still talking.”
I purse my lips, leaning further into my hands until my knuckles dig into the hollow of my back. And it’s tingling, my back or my spine, I’m not sure. The explosion of sensations is more than I can take or fathom.
“Now get on the desk.” The order in his voice is coupled with the gradual darkening of his irises.
My limbs shake as I use my hands to hop onto the desk until my feet are dangling and I can glance down and get a direct view of his erection.
Holy. Hell.
I hadn’t noticed it earlier—I didn’t get the chance when I was looking at his face—but now, there’s no mistaking the bulge in his dark pants. And I can’t take my eyes off of it. I can’t focus on anything but it, not even on my shaking insides.
“Do you like what you see?”
“Yeah…” I say absentmindedly.
“Why do you like it?”
“Because you want me.” The words leave me in a whoosh and my fractured breaths follow soon after when I finally meet his gaze.
A shadow crosses his face and a muscle tics in his jaw. The hardness in his expression robs me of air and leaves me heaving.
“I never thought you’d want me,” I confess in a low voice, urging whatever upset him to go away. But it gets worse. The veins in his neck tighten and bulge and his chest muscles expand so wide that I think it’ll explode out of his shirt and jacket.
“Who said I want you? Maybe I only want to play with you.”
“You’d have to want me to want to play with me, Nate.”
He narrows his eyes on me. “You’re supposed to say you’re not a toy and I shouldn’t want to play with you.”
I lift a shoulder. “I don’t care.”
“You don’t?”
“A normal person probably would, but I’m a little weird and a very bad girl, so you can play with me all you want. I’ll be your toy.” At least that way he’s not putting a thousand walls up between us.
That way, I can get close, even if only by sex. I’m fine with sex. I like the feelings it brings and the surrender of it all. And if what happened last night is any indication, sex with Nate will probably bulldoze through all my thoughts and expectations.
As if to prove that it’ll go way different than I’ve fantasized, Nate reaches a hand to the waistband of my skirt and toys with the zipper, his thumb grazing my hipbone beneath my shirt. “You’ll be my toy, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“I can play with you?”
“You can.”
“Do you let boys play with you often, Gwyneth?”
“Sometimes…”
He doesn’t like that. He doesn’t like it one bit, and that translates through the crowding tension in his shoulders and the way his touch turns from explorative to downright dominating. He grips me by the hip, hard, even though his tone is still calm. “You do, huh?”
“Uh…”
“Answer the question.”
“Yeah.”
I thought he was seeking confirmation of my earlier words, but his hold is tightening by the second. “What do you let them do?”
“I let them touch me, grope me, and take my nipples into their mouths.” I’m not sure why I’m saying this, but I like how it drags out the harsh dominance from inside him, so I don’t stop. “It feels good, when my nipples are between their teeth, when they’re tugging and pulling and biting.”
Still gripping me by the hip, he rips my shirt from inside my skirt and I jolt with the movement, sliding over his desk. I nearly squeal when his hand shoots up my bare stomach and beneath my bra.
When his thumb and forefinger grab hold of my nipple, my mouth falls open in a wordless whimper. He squeezes it, pressing his thumb on the tight bud that’s been aching ever since he touched me yesterday.
“These felt good when the boys played with them, huh?”
“Uh-huh. They did.”
He presses harder until pleasure pools between my thighs, and I clamp them shut in a helpless attempt to keep the wetness from leaking.
“Open your legs, Gwyneth.”
“But…”
“Open.”
My pulse roars in my ears at the non-negotiable order and I do. I let my legs part, releasing the friction I’ve been fruitlessly attempting to keep there.
“Now place your feet on the desk, bend your knees, and keep your legs wide apart.” With each order, he strokes and squeezes my nipple until I’m gasping for air.
But I do as I’m told, stretching my skirt up and opening my legs.
“Wider. Let me look at that pussy.”
Holy shit.
I’ve never felt as exposed as I do when he’s watching me intently, as if he didn’t get a full view of me only last night. As if his fingers didn’t wreak havoc inside me and leave me spent.
Still torturing my nipple, he reaches a hand up and cups me through my panties, and I shudder, head lolling to the side because I want to watch him watch me.
“Mmm. You’re wet, baby girl.”
“I am?”
“You are. Very, very wet.” He slides his fingers up and down my folds, and even though it’s only through the material, my pussy pulses with need.
“Nate…”
“Yes?”
“I need…I need…”
“What do you need? Tell me.”
“More…just more.”
“But you’re a bad girl. You let boys touch you, grope you, put their hands on these nipples and this pussy, don’t you?”
“I…won’t anymore…”
“You won’t, huh?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want them… I want you.”
He stills at that, both his hands halting their assault for a fraction of a second, and I look at him then.
I wish I hadn’t.
His expression knocks the living breath out of my lungs.
His jaw is clenched tight, but it’s not with displeasure, it’s with an emotion I’ve never seen on his face, or maybe he’s never allowed me to see.
Possession. Raw and deep and so damn dangerous.
But instead of running away from it, I barge straight toward it. I bare my soul and body for it. I want it. His possessiveness.
I want every last drop of it.
“Fuck, Gwyneth. Since when did you learn to say shit like that?”
“Since you.”
“Me?”
“Uh-huh. Because you made me want to be a woman.”
“You wanted to be a woman for me?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because you’d touch me. You’d want me.”
“That means these nipples belong to me, don’t they?” He squeezes one roughly, sternly, and I whimper, but it breaks into a moan when he cups my core just as hard. “This pussy is mine, too. It’s my pussy, isn’t it?”
“Oh, fuck…”
“Language.”
“Mmm.”
“Answer me, Gwyneth. Whose pussy is this?”
“Yours.”
“That’s right. Mine. So why did you give it to someone else? Why did another fucker look at my pussy, let alone touch it?”
God. If he keeps talking this dirty, I might come here and now.
“Because you weren’t there…you weren’t touching me, so I had to let the boys do it, but you know what?”
“What?” He’s pulling my panties down my legs, and I don’t focus on the trail of wetness that’s coating my thighs. I don’t focus on how shamelessly I’m drenching his fingers, because I’m preoccupied with something else.
His face holds me hostage. His beautiful, ethereal face that’s been stealing my dreams since I started seeing him as a man.
I drop my voice, staring at him from beneath my lashes. “I was thinking about you the whole time they were touching me. I imagined your fingers inside me and your tongue licking me. Your hands were on me too, and they were so powerful and masculine that I can’t stop thinking about them.”
He pauses with my panties in his hand, his eyes turning a raging shade of delicious brown. “Fuck. You’ll be the death of me.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“It’s a fucking disaster.”
“Will I pay for that too?”
“You fucking will.” He lets go of my nipple and I release a noisy, disappointed sound at the loss of contact.
But I don’t have to wait on his next move for long, because he stuffs my panties in his pocket—again—and pulls my legs wide, wider than I thought was possible while my feet are still planted on his desk. And then he yanks the hem of my skirt up and jams it in my mouth. “Bite and don’t let go.”
I do, my teeth digging into the black material, but I don’t realize why he’s telling me not to let go until he lowers his head.
Until his mouth is on my throbbing pussy. And holy shit, if I thought his fingers were weapons of mass pleasure, his mouth is in an entirely different league.
He laps his tongue over my wet folds, making them wetter, sloppier, and my head rolls so far back, I’m surprised it doesn’t snap my neck. The pleasure is so damn strong that I can’t focus on anything except for where his body meets mine.
Where he’s closing his mouth on me and sucking hard. So hard that I’m shaking all over, so hard that I think he’s exorcising my soul.
The skirt falls from my teeth. I can’t help it. It just does. “Holy…shit…fuck…”
“What did I say about language?” He speaks against me and it’s like a rumble on my oversensitive skin.
“I can’t…can’t control it.”
“Because you’re close?”
“Yeah.” And because it’s him. But I don’t get to say that, because he sucks on something else.
My clit.
Holy shit. Shit!
The spasms take over me without warning and I’m falling. I’m falling so hard that I think it’ll never stop.
The fall.
The pleasure.
The depravity of it all.
It does, though, leaving me in a haze, and I think it’s over. But his stubble glides over the sensitive flesh of my thighs and he’s still lapping at me, sucking, nibbling, torturing my sensitive clit.
For some reason, I’m so much more tender now than when he fingered me. And it hurts. It hurts so good.
“Nate…I can’t…take it…” I reach a hand for his hair in an attempt to touch those strands, to push him back.
“Hands and feet on the desk, Gwyneth.”
I snap back into position, even though my thighs are clenching and I feel like I’m being set on fire. “It’s too much. I don’t think I can take it.”
He lifts his head from between my thighs and I’m a tiny bit disappointed, not sure why.
“Should I stop, baby girl?”
I don’t even think about it as I shake my head.
“Good, because I wasn’t planning to. Now bite the skirt before you bring the whole floor down.”
Oh, God. I forgot that this is a workplace and someone could hear. Please tell me he has some type of soundproof system here, because I can’t control the noises that spill free—even with the skirt between my lips—when he goes back to sucking and licking. But this time, it’s different. This time, he’s teaching me a lesson, he’s teaching me how to behave.
So when his mouth slides to my opening, I’m on the verge again. But he doesn’t stop there. He thrusts his tongue inside my tight opening, and it’s so narrow, I can’t believe it took three fingers in it only last night.
I’m a mumbling mess, my saliva pooling around my skirt as he fucks me with his tongue, in and out in a rhythm that turns me breathless and absolutely delirious.
If he fucks this way with his mouth, how will it feel with his cock? And the thought of his cock inside me makes me come.
Just like that, I’m spasming on the table, my legs falling and my heart lurching in my chest.
Nate continues sucking, licking, fucking, drawing out the wave over and over again until I’m on the verge of collapsing.
When he finally lifts his head from between my legs that have turned to Jell-O, I don’t really focus on that, because he licks his lips. The same lips that were sucking and nibbling and fucking my pussy.
I’m entranced by that view, by the way he makes a show of how he ate me, how he’s savoring me on his tongue. I’m unable to look away. Unable to even get air into my starved lungs.
“You do taste like a very bad girl.”
Well, fuck.
I think something just left me and jumped to him. I don’t know what that something is, but it feels important.
Vital.
And now, I can’t get it back.
