by Marie James
My cock is in my hand a second later.
“That’s it, baby,” I groan. “Grind on my mouth. It’s yours, sweetheart. Take it.”
She whimpers in the mic, and my eyes flutter closed. I’m no longer interested in what’s on the screen because the green—albeit gorgeous—orc doesn’t hold a candle to the gorgeous woman I had my lips on two weeks ago.
When she moans again, I know the real reason. She’s no longer playing the game, opting to play with herself. God, to be a fly on the wall in her apartment right now.
“Oh God,” she whispers, and I know she doesn’t mean for me to hear her.
I keep my mouth clamped closed, not wanting to make her stop.
“Wren,” she whimpers just before a long sigh escapes her lips.
“Fuck,” I groan, spraying my t-shirt in cum.
She squeaks. “Wren?”
“Yeah, baby?”
I’m spent, this orgasm is better than many of the ones I’ve had in person with one of my online hookups, better than the times I called those shady sex lines and had women describe to me what they’d do to me if they were there.
Okay, not just better than… the actual best.
“Oh my God!” she screeches a second before I get the disconnect notification.
She’s disappeared… again.
We’ve played numerous times since that after-party celebration in-game. Not once did we mention the sexual nature of it until tonight. Of course, this goes hand in hand with what I discovered online with the forum posts she’s made, but I just can’t leave it alone. I don’t want her afraid to express herself around me or even on the damn game.
I clean myself up, which actually requires a quick shower and change of clothes because I was so in the moment, I didn’t bother paying attention to the mess I was making, then I head down to the ninth floor.
I hesitate so long in the elevator that the door closes on me before I can step off. It opens immediately when I press the button again, which sets my nerves on edge. I had a lot of bravado leaving my apartment, but standing mere yards from the door makes my nerves ratchet up several notches.
Before I can talk myself out of turning around and walking away, I lift my hand and knock on her door. No sound comes from her apartment, so I knock a second time.
I’m about to turn away when I hear her screech on the other side of the door.
“I can’t open this door,” she says from the other side.
I nod at her response. What did I expect? Her to swing open the door and tug me inside for round two?
“I just want to kiss you,” I explain.
It may not be much of an incentive to change her mind about the doors seeing as how she’s refused to go out with me again since our last kiss, but I figure it’s worth a shot.
I give myself thirty seconds to stand here, giving her the opportunity to change her mind and that’s it. I’m not trying to freak the girl out. Thankfully, seventeen seconds in, the sound of her lock disengaging echoes down the empty hallway.
“Hi,” she whispers, pulling the door open enough for me to see her freshly washed face.
Maybe she wasn’t avoiding me just moments ago because she looks like she just got out of the shower herself.
I swallow as my mind drifts to the mystery of what her pretty pussy would taste like straight from the shower.
“Just a kiss?” she bargains as she inches the door open a little more.
“A kiss,” I confirm, and take a step closer.
Her eyes flutter, her chin lifts in preparation, but I need her to know what she’s getting from me. I took a chance while we were playing to reveal my own desires, and she was all for it. There’s no sense in pretending now.
Without warning, I grip the back of her neck and drag her to me, lining our bodies up as best I can with our height difference.
“Open your mouth,” I command.
She obeys on a sigh, giving me more of her body weight for me to hold.
This kiss doesn’t even start like the first one. I don’t peck her lips tentatively. I devour. I nip. I explore. I take every breath she exhales and use it to fuel me.
This little vixen gives as good as she gets, and I’m hard as a rock when I inch my face away.
“I always kiss a girl after making her come,” I whisper against her puffy lips.
She tries to bury her flushed face in my neck, but my grip on her hair doesn’t allow for it.
I kiss her again, starting out just as brutally and then slowing things down.
“Thank you.”
“For what?” she asks, slightly breathless and a little dazed as she backs up a few inches.
“I’ve never come so hard in my life.”
I wink at her before turning and walking away like a complete badass.
I can still feel her eyes burning into my back as I press the call button, but I don’t look over my shoulder. I’m too busy throwing a party for myself in my head. I handled myself like a boss for the first time in my life without having preplanned for it. I’m feeling like a complete rock star, nothing could bring me down right now. I’m ruling my own fucking world right now.
Then, I trip on the threshold walking onto the elevator.
Chapter 14
Whitney
I press my fingertips to my cheeks. I’m still flushed from that devastatingly amazing kiss last night, and I must’ve grinned all night in my sleep because my face is sore.
The perfect kiss. The perfect response. Even him tripping getting on the elevator was perfect. It made the night more real because Lord knows I thought I was in the middle of a dream when I saw him standing there through the peephole last night.
How could I get so wrapped up in that game last night that I forgot about the mic as I played with myself? Somehow, my little fantasy turned real and he heard every damn sound. I’m not embarrassed for coming. My body needed that more than I knew, but I have no idea what I said. Hell, I could’ve called him daddy for all I know.
Then he showed up and didn’t seem at all disappointed in the way things went down.
I always kiss a girl after making her come.
Even from three floors above my apartment, he made me come. He claimed it as if he were in the room with me, commanding me to give it to him. He owned it. Fuck, he’s beginning to own me.
Simon expresses his distaste for my still lounging in bed by walking in circles at my feet and bellowing like a fool. So, like any good cat mom, I climb out of bed to do his bidding.
Of course, he only thought he was hungry because he follows me back down the hallway when I leave the room to get changed into gym clothes.
“That’s rude,” I tell him as I zip up the front of my sports bra. “I could’ve stayed in bed longer.”
He meows at me again with his demands to be petted, uncaring that I’m busy.
I oblige because he’s the cutest thing in the world before finishing up with my clothes. I’m in the best mood as I wait for the elevator, refusing to get agitated when I end up having to take the stairs. I don’t even plan to cut my exercise short today. The orgasm was great last night, but I still have all sorts of other stuff built up, especially after that kiss that rivaled all other kisses last night.
My headphones are in, synched to an upbeat playlist before I even look around the room to see who else is in here. Instead of the angry old man in the corner, my eyes meet bright blue ones. They shine just above a smiling, knowing mouth. Are his lips swollen and tender this morning like mine are?
His tongue snakes out as if he can read my mind, and when he winks, my feet stutter on the treadmill.
I give him a little wave and vow to pay attention to what I’m doing, but after breaking eye contact with him, it’s impossible to keep my mind from the corner of the room. If I stare hard at the television on the wall, my vision adjusts and I can see just the edge of his gloved hands as he curls the bar from his waist to his chest.
Several times he catches me looking in his
direction, but once I see the way his biceps flex, I can’t be bothered to be embarrassed. He doesn’t seem to mind either because his eyes are locked on me as well. He’s across the room and somehow, I still feel him on my skin.
Almost as if he’s possessed me in some way, I find it nearly impossible to look away. Once I manage, I quickly decide that it’s just too intense with him in here. Anyone that walks in will be able to feel the sexual tension between us.
I hit the stop button on the treadmill and scurry away, stopping by the first sauna room I come across because I’ve got to catch my breath before even attempting to get back on the elevator. I sit, the humid air making it difficult to breathe, deciding that maybe if I stay in here long enough, he’ll be gone by the time I get out and I can complete my jog.
Instead of leaving, he opens the door to the sauna room before closing us in together.
My mouth is hanging open, and I’m panting like a tired dog when he inches near.
“Stand up,” he commands, and I’m on my feet immediately.
Exactly like last night, his fingers tangle in my hair, palm resting on the back of my neck and he just looks down, watching my responses to him. Can he see the way my eyes dilate or the way my breathing grows even more ragged? Can he see the gooseflesh forming on my arms despite the heat of the room?
My guess is yes to all of those questions. He’s well aware of what he does to me, just like there’s no way around him hiding what I do to him. The evidence of it isn’t hidden very well behind his basketball shorts.
“Wren,” I whisper when he continues to look down at me without speaking.
It’s nerve-wracking and makes me anxious.
It’s thrilling and fills me with unspoken promises.
It’s absolute perfection.
Several long moments pass before he lowers his head, inching his mouth closer to mine, but he doesn’t kiss me. Instead, he nips at my bottom lip, pulling a frenzied gasp from my lungs.
My skin is on fire, sweaty and damp, and honestly, I’m wet everywhere. He makes me like this, all slick and ready. Before long he’ll be able to smell my desire because it’s going to permeate the humidity surrounding us.
From the way his eyes watch mine, I don’t think that would disappoint him much. Hell, it may be his goal.
He pulls a few inches back, and I want to move closer, but he hasn’t given me permission. The grip of my hair in his fingers is a command, and I have every intention of obeying.
“Tomorrow,” he husks out as his tongue dips to lick away the saltwater dripping down the column of my neck. “Dinner.”
I’m gasping now, ready to strip down and service him, but he doesn’t give me the order.
“I’ll message you the details.”
My skin is still tingling when he walks away. Even the cold that manages to infiltrate when he swings the door open doesn’t do a thing to cool my overheated skin.
I’m more breathless now than when I ran in here to hide. I should be freaking out. I should call Sarah and have her talk me off the ledge.
He’s exactly what I want, but at the same time he’s too much. My desires have always seemed to be too extreme. I don’t know where the guilt came from, but it’s been with me as long as I can remember. What I wanted never matched what my friends from school were experiencing, but high school boys really aren’t interested in foreplay and exploring. Get in, get out, move on. That’s what I saw happening. Even waiting until I was older and in college, I didn’t see much difference.
Sarah has told me once I need an older Dom, someone with more experience. Trying things out that I think I want with an inexperienced person isn’t a smart idea. She explained I could get hurt or they could do something wrong that would make me form wrong opinions.
So, although I want many things, although I feel these things deep in my bones, I’m close to completely inexperienced myself. I’ve done the spanking, tied up, let-me-take-care-of-you-baby sex before. It was lackluster at best. I’ve never had a serious conversation about limits, hard or soft, and because of that, my college boyfriend never took things seriously. He didn’t understand my needs. Thankfully, he was the type of guy that checked in all the time.
“Pull my hair,” I’d tell him, and he’d do it, only to ask if it’s too hard a second later. He couldn’t read my body, blaming me instead of his lack of skill when I wasn’t turned on and ready for him after he put so much effort into helping me through discovery. I remember thinking he was a great guy. He was kind and attentive until the last time. Leaving me tied up—not very well I might add as I was able to escape his knots in seconds—and telling me that pussy wasn’t worth this much effort. He could easily hit the frat house and have his cock in a girl’s throat in minutes.
Okay… maybe I do know where my apprehension and trauma came from, but that was so long ago. I never imagined it would still be affecting me now.
Clearly, I’m not over it.
When I leave the sauna, I almost convince myself to just head straight back up to my apartment, but I turn to the right and get back on the treadmill instead. I need something to keep me focused because if I head up now, I’m going to be very tempted to message Wren and tell him there’s no need in waiting for dinner tomorrow when he can have me for lunch today.
Chapter 15
Wren
“Where did this guy come from?” I mutter as I look down at the message I just sent to Whitney.
Me: Be ready for dinner at seven. Wear a dress. No panties.
More importantly, why did I schedule the date tomorrow and not for tonight? Waiting another twenty-four hours seems impossible. The anticipation is killing me, especially when I’ve been hard since last night. I wanted to hide out after tripping like a clumsy fool, but the desire to see her won out. God, did that pay off in dividends this morning.
The elevator dings, opening up to the BBS offices just as her return message comes in.
Whitney: So nothing to cover my *cat emoji?
I stumble over my own two feet, my phone flying out of my hands.
“Way to make an entrance, klutz,” Ignacio says as he reaches for my phone that’s near his feet.
I lunge for him. “I’ll murder you.”
He backs away, hands held in mock surrender near his ears, but my reaction was clearly an overreaction judging by the sets of eyes locked on me.
“You shouldn’t watch your anime porn in public spaces,” Jude chides, his eyes lighting up with his joke.
“Is he still doing that?” Deacon asks as he pulls a cup of coffee from under the machine. “Are you still doing that? If I lose Pam because you can’t keep your di—”
“I’m not looking at porn!”
Ignacio snorts, making me wonder just how much of my screen he saw before I scooped up my phone.
“Murder,” I warn again under my breath.
“You’re acting weird,” Brooks says.
“He’s always weird,” Flynn adds, his British accent making it seem even more insulting.
“This is about a girl,” Deacon says, walking closer as his eyes narrow. “I recognize that look on your face because I see it every day in the mirror.”
Gaige makes a gagging noise as if the thought of falling or being in love is disgusting. He’s our acquisitions guy, excellent at catching women too, but he just never has any intentions of keeping them for very long.
“Is it about Whitney?” Finn asks, his red hair all over the place like he fell asleep on the couch and didn’t bother to freshen up. “Have you met her in person?”
I hate the hopeful look on his face.
“Aye,” I answer in a mocking tone.
“I’m Irish, not Scottish, you gobshite!”
Several of the guys chuckle, but like always, I hate being the center of attention. Now that the conversation has predictably turned to Whitney, I want even less to do with speaking to them about it.
“As a matter of fact,” I find myself saying, “I had coffee with her two week
s ago, and we’re going to dinner tomorrow.”
“Chuck E. Cheese?” Jude asks. “Did you embarrass yourself on your coffee date?”
Finn and Gaige both perk up with his question, and I’m ecstatic to ruin their hopefulness.
“Our first date was a complete success. Looks like you guys are out of the pool.”
All three of them groan good naturedly just as Ignacio, Brooks, and Quinten high five each other for still being in the running. They look at me with expectation, as if I’m going to give them details of what happened between Whitney and me. Not gonna happen guys.
I head to my office, knowing at least one of them will follow me.
Unfortunately, rather than Gaige or Finn tagging along to continue roasting me, it’s Deacon who closes us in my office together.
“Did you give her the box back?”
“Nosy fucker!” Puff Daddy squawks.
Deacon doesn’t even bat an eye at my bird.
“Did you?” he asks again when I don’t answer.
“I took care of it.”
He narrows his eyes, and internally I’m praying that he doesn’t dig any deeper which will force me to lie to him. I won’t tell him the truth. This is my business, not his.
“Did you get the information on Bushman?”
Now this I can handle. I tug open the file cabinet to the left of my chair and pull out the file in reference. “He’s a fucking snake.”
Deacon takes the file and looks through the information I gathered. “I got that feeling when he came into the office.”
“He’s got four kids with three different women and he’s giving them all the runaround, refusing paternity tests, and hiding money. He even transferred thirty grand out of his account and into another.”
“Whose?”
“His secretary’s. According to their cell phone pings, they hookup at the hotel down the street from their office at least twice a week.”
“He’d have money for child support if he stopped getting hotel rooms.”
