Charlotte
I’m trembling. It’s after dark and I’m standing on Emerson’s front porch about to rant at him, and I’m still not one hundred percent sure what I’m going to say. I feel the feelings, but I just don’t have the words to go with them. All I know is I’m tired of not having what I want—and I want him.
The light in the foyer comes on just before he opens the door. I hold my head up high and scramble to think of what to say.
“Charlotte?” he asks when he sees me. “Where’s Beau?”
“I drove him home.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want him anymore.”
“Don’t say that,” he snaps.
“Did you read the form? I filled it out. Did you read it?”
A small wrinkle forms between his brows, clearly confused by my rambling. Before he can shut me out, I storm through his front door, directly to his office. I hear his footsteps on my heels, and when I spin to face him, I catch the way he’s still wearing his work clothes from a couple hours ago, but the white shirt is unbuttoned, revealing his chest and the patch of hair peeking through. God, I want to touch it, run my fingers through it. Am I into chest hair now?
He reaches up to rub his forehead, looking exhausted as he says, “Charlotte, we really can’t be doing this. The form, the submission, any of it. We can’t.”
“Why not?” I snap back. If there was any semblance of me guarding my feelings, it’s gone now.
“You are my son’s girlfriend!” There’s so much desperation in his tone and turmoil in his expression.
“Ex!” I yell back.
“Does it really matter? Does it make me any less of a piece of shit if he’s your current or ex-boyfriend?”
“What about what I want? Why am I being denied?” I cry out.
“I never should have hired you. This was all a mistake.” He pulls at his hair, staring at the floor, and I’m left speechless. Too sad to be angry and too angry to be sad.
“Why would you say that?”
Suddenly, his body is pressed against me, one hand around my lower back and the other cupping my jaw. His face is only inches from mine as he whispers, “Because I didn’t expect you to be so perfect. I had no idea keeping my hands off you would be this hard. And then I walked in that day and found you on your knees…” He squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his forehead against mine. “Jesus Christ, Charlotte. You have no idea what you do to me.”
“Yes, I do. Because I love the way I feel when I’m with you. I see the way you want me, how much you adore me. How many people really get to feel that with someone? Why would I ever deny myself something like that?”
“We could never let anyone find out,” he replies, his gaze falling to my lips. “It could never be real. You deserve better than being someone’s dirty secret.”
I know he’s right and somewhere down the line, I’ll hate myself for this impulsive decision. But at this moment, I don’t care.
“I want whatever I can get,” I reply. “I want you.” I barely get the words out before his mouth comes crashing against mine. It happens so fast we are lost in the nuclear current of lips and tongues and teeth, starving for each other. His mouth tastes like bourbon and he kisses me with long, powerful strokes of his tongue that send butterflies straight to my stomach.
I’m practically levitating, trying to keep up with the ravenous movement of his mouth against mine. And when he growls with my bottom lip between his teeth, I hum softly in return. I need him like oxygen, gasping for air with every swipe of our tongues as our hands grasp and touch each other as much as we possibly can.
As suspected, the firm muscles of his body feel like heaven against my fingers. I cascade my hands up and down his back, reveling in how delicious he feels beneath this tight cotton shirt. There’s nothing in this moment that portrays Emerson as a man twenty years older than me. And I don’t feel like I don’t deserve him because he’s out of my league. It just feels like us, a moment months in the making and worth every torturous second of yearning.
My back is pressed against the wall as his mouth travels down to my neck. Emerson barely comes up for air. He’s like a man left to die of starvation and finally offered a meal. His hands grip my ass as he hoists me up, wrapping my legs around him as he grinds me into the wall. The rock-hard bulge in his pants rubs against my clit and I explode with sound, crying out for him.
“My girl wants this, doesn’t she?” he growls as he does it again.
“Yes!” I cry, pulling him in for another kiss.
“Then get on your knees and take it out.”
No one has ever scrambled to their knees faster than I do in this moment. Heat pummels my insides at just the sound of his sex commands. I want more—I need more. I want Emerson Grant to dominate me like he never has before, tell me every single dirty thing he wants to do to me and every dirty thing he wants me to do to him. I will obey every single command without hesitation. His voice is like lava dripping down my spine, and I am a gooey mess of a sub, willing to do literally anything he says.
I’m so eager to have his cock in my hand, my fingers fumble with his zipper while his hand gently brushes back my hair. I’m hit with a sudden sensation of I can’t believe this is happening mixed with Thank God this is finally happening creating one epic feeling of carnal elation and excitement.
When I finally get his button undone and his zipper down, I see the tip of his waiting cock, red and throbbing, poking out the top of his tight black boxers. Gently easing down the elastic, I slowly let this sight sink in. I’m looking at Emerson Grant’s cock, just inches away from my face.
Gazing up at him with my sex-crazed doe eyes, I whisper, “Now what?”
He smiles before biting his lip. “What do you want to do with it?”
Mirroring his expression, I bite my own lip. “I want to suck your cock,” I say, my sweet tone laced with false innocence.
He leans down and puts his face close to mine. “You have to ask nicely.”
“Sir,” I breathe, pressing against his lips. “Can I please suck your cock?”
He growls, squeezing his fist in my hair as he kisses me with so much strength it almost hurts.
“You’re so phenomenal,” and the praise lights a fire in my belly. My panties must be destroyed by now, and I swear it’ll take one touch against my clit and I’ll be done for. I thought the hallway moment was the hottest thing I’ve ever done, but that was before I had the full Emerson Grant experience.
With his hand still in my hair, he stands upright and guides my face toward his crotch. Pulling his waistband down even farther, I run my tongue along the length of his shaft, reaching the head and circling my lips around it. He gasps and shifts his hips forward. I love his reactions, and I want to make him do more. So I lick his cock again and again, teasing him just to feel him tense and hear him pant.
When I finally open my mouth and slide him in along the length of my tongue, he moans so loud, the vibrations rattle through me.
“Fuck, Charlotte.”
Yes. I need more of that, I think as I bob up and down on his shaft, finding my rhythm and coating his dick with saliva. When he touches the back of my throat, I gag and take a breath, before letting him go deeper and deeper. He stops breathing at one point and I’m almost certain he’s going to unload in my mouth. I’ve never experienced spitting or swallowing before, but I would for him. I would do anything for him.
Instead of coming in my mouth, he lets out a guttural roar and yanks me off the floor.
“Not yet,” he barks as he carries me to his desk, kissing my mouth with a fierce hunger.
He drops me on his desk and grabs my blouse at the center. With one quick jerk, he tears it apart, sending buttons flying across the room. There is no pacing himself as he yanks down my bra. I let out a gasp when his mouth finds my breasts.
My hips are writhing against him as his teeth gently close around my right nipple. He massages my other breast with his hand, tugging on the sensitive bud and making my body light up with fireworks.
“Oh my God…” I gasp
Moving his mouth downward, he drags up my skirt to find my panties underneath.
“Lie down,” he growls in a sexy command, so I do. Staring up at the ceiling, feeling like I’m drunk as it sways and blurs in my vision, I feel Emerson’s face between my thighs. He takes a long inhale through his nose, nuzzled against the moisture of my panties.
I want to be self-conscious. In any other scenario or with any other man, I would be, but with him, I just let myself feel it, without thinking too much about the smell, or how it’s been a couple days since I shaved, or if the fact that I’m so turned on is somehow embarrassing.
“God, you’re soaked,” he whispers. His fingers dig under the waistband of my panties, and he tears them off with violent eagerness. And he doesn’t hesitate before drawing his broad tongue along the crevice with an edacious moan.
“You taste so fucking good.”
I swear he doesn’t come up for air, and I have no idea how after at least five minutes of him lapping hungrily at my cunt, he hasn’t suffocated. The sounds I’m making are not anything like the sounds I’ve ever made before. There is no faking or forcing it with Emerson. Everything feels so good.
“I’m gonna come,” I pant with my legs clenching around his ears. He hums even louder, sending delicate vibrations straight to my core. When he feels my thighs start to tremble, he slides in a finger and sucks eagerly on my clit.
Thrusting one, then two, inside me, he curls them just right and I’m reminded of that elusive G-spot that I didn’t know even existed until yesterday. It all feels like too much and not enough at the same time, like I can’t take another second but never, ever want it to stop. I’m going to explode or die or scream or something. Then, he picks up speed and growls hungrily between my legs.
My body erupts in pleasure. With my fists in his hair, I come so hard, my hips lift from the desk, and I start to lose track of time. My body is locked in euphoria for hours instead of seconds, and when I start to come back down from the orgasm I never want to end, there is a gentle buzzing in my fingers and toes.
Emerson stands up and wipes his mouth. “You are so beautiful when you come,” he groans, kissing my stomach and then my breasts. I’m subtly aware of him opening a drawer and fishing around for something. When I look up, he’s already sheathing his cock in a rubber.
“I need to fuck you now,” he murmurs against my neck. Excitement strikes my core like lightning. I may have just orgasmed my face off, but I want more. Latching my ankles around his waist, I look him in the eye as I pull him toward me.
“I’m ready.”
The blunt end of his cock presses against my soaking center as he drapes each of my legs over his arms. And with one rapid jerk, he drags me onto his cock, impaling me quickly and sinking all the way in. The actual roar that escapes his lips is surreal. With his gaze locked on mine, he plunges inside me hard, pausing once he’s seated all the way, only to pull out and slam in again. My toes curl and my fingers grip the desk. The pleasure of having him inside me is so intense, I could cry.
He starts to pick up speed, grunting with each thrust, and whatever spot he’s hitting inside me feels like he’s untapped some hidden code of bliss, because I’m already feeling the urge to come again. With my legs in his arms, he slams into me again and again. It’s rapture, another onslaught of sensation, but this time different, less intense but more consuming…and so, fucking good.
“I’m coming again,” I cry out, and he keeps the hard speed while I lie there with my eyes closed lost in absolute bliss. Pulling me upright, he kisses my mouth with a harsh bite.
“Open your eyes, Charlotte,” he commands, and I do. As our eyes meet, he growls, “God, I love fucking you.”
I latch my arms around his neck, watching his expression as he pounds into me. I memorize the look of pleasure on his face, the sounds he makes as he grunts and groans with each thrust. I do this to him, I remind myself. I drive him crazy and make him act out of control, and he knows it.
With our gazes locked on each other, he slams into me even harder and faster, his groans turning into loud bellowing cries of pleasure. My nails dig into his back as I cling to his body. When he comes, the room practically rattles with the sound coming out of his mouth.
I’m left speechless, staring up at him without a rational thought in my head. There are only emotions flowing through me at the moment—emotions like contentment, adoration, and desire. So much desire.
I kiss him again, holding his chest against mine, feeling his rapid heartbeat while we both catch our breaths. And as we hold each other, I say a silent prayer in my head.
Dear God, please let this be the only man I fuck for the rest of my life because there’s not a chance in Hell anyone else could ever top that.
