by Alisha Rai
“You will address me with respect,” he said quietly. “You will do everything I say. Or you will be punished. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
He used his grip on her head to give her a small shake. “Yes, what?”
“Yes...sir.”
“Good.” He released her hair and walked over to the minibar. He didn't precisely need a drink, but he had to occupy his hands before he tore the dress off her and plunged his cock into her tight pussy. He pulled out a bottle of scotch, casually checking the label. “Did you masturbate when you came up here?”
“No, sir.”
“Why?”
“Because you told me not to.”
“Will you always do what I tell you?”
She paused. “In the bedroom, you know that I will.”
He had to bite back a smile at the caveat, and poured the scotch. “Undo that halter. I want to see your tits.”
She didn't hesitate, which told him that she needed to come almost as badly as he did. He watched in the mirror behind the bar as she lowered the top, baring her small breasts. They were round and firm, with hard apricot-colored nipples topping them. That gold necklace was still around her throat, the twisted strips of gold falling between her curves. A pagan sacrifice, all for him. Wyatt pressed his cock into the wood of the bar in the hopes of some relief. “Play with them.”
She cradled them from below, as if offering the flesh to him. Slowly, she circled the nipples, letting them grow harder and longer.
The mirror wasn’t enough for him. He turned to watch her, captivated by the way the sun bathed her from behind. It lit her hair so it glinted like a honey-colored nimbus around her face, burnishing her skin to a golden tone.
Her head was tilted back, a small frown wrinkling her forehead as she concentrated on the sensations in her body. He liked her focus, but at the same time, wanted to ruffle her up some more.
“Are you wet?”
“Yes...sir.”
He made a mental note of the hesitation, probably purposeful on her part. If ever he'd seen a woman who craved a good spanking, it was her. “Lift your skirt. Let me see.”
She kept one hand on her nipple, pressing it hard between her finger and thumb, and dropped the other to her thigh. Kneeling as she was, the fabric of her skirt had separated, the strips between her legs falling down to cover her. He would swear she was in even better shape now than she had been at eighteen.
Yeah. He was a jerk enough to be a little put out over that. He had spotted some grays in his hair the other day. Was it so much to ask for an ex to not look better than him?
Actually, he decided when she brushed the material of her skirt away so it bared her panties, scratch that. He was very, very happy with her appearance. Very happy indeed.
“I hope you don't mind, sir,” she whispered. “I know you sent up some lingerie, but I felt more comfortable in my own underwear.”
She also knew him too well, knew that the plain white cotton bikinis would tantalize him far more than the raciest of crotchless lace panties. He took a sip of his drink to give himself something to do, barely tasting the fiery alcohol.
There was a wet spot on her panties that had probably been there since he’d kissed her in his office. “Push them aside.”
Her French-manicure-tipped finger hooked the crotch of her panties and pulled them to the side, revealing a mound with trimmed blonde ringlets and her puffy pink pussy lips.
“Put your finger inside.”
She obeyed, sinking her finger deep and closing her eyes. A gasp left her lips, and she threw her head back, that topknot trembling. She used her other hand to grab her breast and squeeze, hard.
But, he noted with approval, she didn't do anything with that finger but insert it. He shifted, betraying his excitement. “How does that feel?”
“Good.”
“Stir it around. Get it really wet.”
She pulsed her finger in and out of her pussy a few times and made a small mewling sound.
“Do you want to fuck it?” he asked, as calmly as he could.
“Yes.”
“Fuck it then. Only five strokes.”
She pushed her finger in and out exactly five times and then stopped, waiting. Her breathing was so fast her pretty little tits were trembling. “Please. I need more.”
“More strokes?”
She licked her lips, eyeing his crotch. “More...everything.”
“Aren’t your fingers thick enough for you?”
“No, sir.”
“Aren’t they long enough for you?”
“No, sir.”
Every tremulous sir out of those lips raked across his balls. Jesus Christ. He drained his glass and placed it on the counter of the bar. He paced back over to where she knelt and stood over her. He tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear, and she shook.
Good. One day he would teach her to come when he touched her cheek. When he looked at her across the room.
You won't have her one day.
Wyatt paused. Right. Whatever. He’d just have to debauch her thoroughly now.
He ran his finger down her cheek. “You look like such a good girl, Tatiana. But you're so hungry for cock, aren't you?”
“Your cock. Sir.”
The flattery was part of the game, but it still pleased him. He grasped her nape. “Take your fingers off your body and unbutton me.”
She obeyed, eager, and he could smell the scent of her body on her finger where she fumbled with his fly. Once she had his trousers open, she reached inside and pulled out his cock.
He didn’t know if he’d ever been so engorged. “Get it wet. No.” He stopped her when she moved her head forward, mouth open. “I want to feel your pussy on me.”
She nodded, her hand sinking between her legs and under her panties before he even finished speaking. The sight of her fingers rubbing her muff would be one of those images he’d replay when he was aching and alone, fucking his own fist.
He hissed when she wrapped her wet hand around him, the heat from her body scalding him. Christ. He had hoped to drag this out a little longer, but they were both too excited, too turned on. Her hand stole away for more lubrication—and maybe just to tease herself with her touch, though she didn’t linger. If he was capable at all of pretty speech, he’d heap praise on her for the way she was polishing his dick.
“Get up,” he said instead, guttural.
Sinuous as a cat, she released him and got to her feet. Her skirt dropped, hiding her pussy from his view. No. No. Nothing should conceal that pussy. She should walk around always bare and ready for him. Or in nothing but those tight, white, oh-so-easy-to-rip bikinis.
“Go stand in front of the window.”
She glanced behind her at the huge glass wall. The sun had sunk, dusk settling over the valley beneath them. “But...”
“But what?” He didn't have to force the sharpness of his tone. His cock wanted in this woman, damn it. The poor bastard didn’t understand the delay.
“Couldn't someone see us?”
“Maybe.” He walked over to the wall and hit the light switch, sliding it down so they were bathed in dim light. “Now they can, if anyone's looking.”
Her eyes narrowed, and for a second he found himself praying she would argue, if only so he could punish her insolence.
But instead, she turned and walked to the window, her breasts proudly bared and her shoulders straight. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a condom. His pants were bunched beneath his balls, but he liked being fully clothed while she was in disarray. It appealed to him. “Press your breasts against the window, Tatiana. Give everyone a good show now.”
“I don't want to.” But she didn't utter their safe word.
“Do you want this cock?” He passed his hand over it, fighting not to grimace. His own fist felt distasteful after the softness of her fingers, the wetness of her mouth. After he fucked her, he’d really be ruined.
Her glance ov
er her shoulder was full of yearning. “Yes, sir.”
“Then you'll obey.”
Hesitant, she pressed her breasts against the window. A gasp left her.
“Is it cold?”
“A little. Now that the sun is gone.”
The desert nights could get wickedly cold. “Is it cooling down that fire in your pussy?” He ripped open the foil package, grateful she had her back to him. She wouldn't be able to see the way he had to fumble the latex on.
“No, sir.”
He came to stand beside her, only then realizing she could see his face and his shaking hands in the reflection of the glass. He grasped her hips a little harder than he needed to. Both to show her he was still in control, and also because he knew it would ramp up her excitement. “What will?”
“You.”
Before she could finish breathing the word, he pulled her feet and hips backward until her back arched. She made a startled noise and braced her hands on the window.
He shoved her wispy skirt up and made a low growl at the sight of her round ass, still encased in the white panties. So many options. He could have that ass naked, but he knew he’d treasure the sight of his dick shoving the fragile cotton out of its way. Ruined innocence. Though innocence wasn't something either of them had ever cared much for. Not even when they'd had virginities to speak of.
He pulled the panties to the side and grasped his cock, arrowing it into the hot wet slit he knew was waiting for him.
He had to thrust hard to get past the initial tightness of her body. He wanted to remain silent and in control, but how could he be silent when he was sinking into heaven? If there was a way to bottle this feeling, getting sucked into her hot flesh, he would make a fortune. A small growl left his lips. “Has it been a while?”
“Yes,” she gasped.
How long? Is this better? Am I better? He bit back the words, and pressed her up against the window, until she was sandwiched between him and the glass. She pulsed her hips back at him in a subtle motion to get him to move, but he clamped her hips hard, holding her in place to be skewered by his cock. She whimpered.
“You're so tight, Tatiana. Like you're a fucking virgin again. Do you remember that? Remember that first night? I took you missionary, fucked you gentle.” He layered his body over hers until he could whisper in her ear. “We didn't stick to missionary for long, did we?”
“No. We didn't.”
“Or gentle.” Their debauchery had started when she came to him one night with a shy request to tie her down—something she had read in a dirty book that had turned her on. He'd made it clear she didn't need to be timid about asking for whatever she wanted. Particularly since the idea of domination had always turned his crank too. Hell, anything involving the two of them naked turned his crank. But especially the naughty stuff.
Neither of them had been made for vanilla.
She turned her head, resting her cheek against the cold glass, and cast him a glance. “We did gentle. In our own way. Did you forget?”
He froze. No. No, he hadn’t forgotten, but it was easier to pretend he had. The sex had always been explosive and raw and dark. But then they'd cuddled. Or she'd rubbed his back after a hard day of work. He'd made her sandwiches when she was studying late at night.
They'd been gentle with each other. In their own way, as she said.
Thought this was supposed to just be a hot fuck?
It was. Is.
“Eyes forward,” he said, voice hoarser than he would have liked.
Maybe she was awash in memories too, but she clearly saw the wisdom of his directive because she turned her head until her forehead rested against the glass. He tightened his hold on her hips and rammed inside, the blood rushing in his ears making her cry of pleasure sound distant.
Yes. This. This was all he wanted. All he needed.
Chapter Seven
Wyatt's first thrust made her toes curl. His second made her head want to explode.
She cried out, thankful he'd been smart enough to ignore her bleating about gentleness and kindness. This was all she craved, all she had signed up for. This hard, driving rhythm, a fucking to clear her head and tide her over for the blander partners she may have to settle for in her life.
Her musings over whether the man could still fuck? Fruitless. Holy crap could he fuck.
The glass was smooth and possibly the most diabolical thing for him to fuck her against, since there wasn’t a single damn thing she could grab and brace herself with. His hands captured her wrists, pinning them to the window. Her entire body followed suit when he used his thrusting hips to press her tight against it, her breasts flattening, her clit loving the hard pressure. She was caught, helpless as his cock moved inside of her in tight, rapid jabs.
“Is it still cold?”
Smug bastard. She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. Cold was the least applicable adjective. The glass was slick and hot. Her necklace ground into her skin, the bite of metal delicious. He chuckled and released her to insert his hand between the window and her clit. His thick cock continued to rock inside of her, his thrusts becoming more fierce. Two fingers found her clit and pinched it. Even if she wanted to get away, she couldn’t. He was in front of her, behind her, inside of her, and she’d never be able to escape him.
His breath came hot and fast on her neck, the panting telling her he was as overwhelmed with sensation as she was. “Come on my cock. Let everyone see who owns this little pussy. Who's always owned it.”
Always? Yellow cautionary lights flashed in her brain at his too-intimate words, but they were eclipsed by her body's hell yes. Her body was ruled by a ho.
She strained, her hips trying in vain to work his pistoning hard-on, but he easily held her still, forcing her to accept only what he gave her. She loved that he could overpower her.
She stopped struggling and let her orgasm build, her fingers curling. It coursed up from the balls of her feet, sensation exploding, her pussy clenching around him in tight contractions. He dropped his head to her shoulder and gave a short groan, his hips jerking against her. The condom muted the heat of his release, and she briefly fantasized that he was bare, filling her with his come. Since he was the only man she’d allowed that particular liberty, she knew exactly how she would feel, all luxuriously creamy and overfilled, the thick semen dripping out of her when he pulled away.
He grunted when another small orgasm rocked her, and nipped her shoulder like a stallion correcting his mare. She dropped her hand to his thigh, the muscle hard and tense beneath his trousers.
“I'm going to fall down,” Tatiana whispered. Weakness—real weakness, not the play weakness she reveled in in bed—was one of those things she’d rather die than admit, but she was pretty certain all that was keeping her boneless body up was him and the glass.
He muttered something that sounded like, “Me too,” but she wasn't sure. He pulled away from her, his still-large cock slipping out. Its absence left her empty and aching.
She made a subtle movement backwards, as if she could recapture him inside of her. He cupped her hip, his touch oddly protective. “I'll fill you up again soon, Tatiana. Don’t worry. The night's just starting.”
She wasn't sure if that was a threat or a promise. Frankly, she really didn't care.
Tatiana was looking shakier than he’d like. Only his own wobbly knees kept him from sweeping her up and carrying her to the couch. He led her there instead, and after she had collapsed on to the leather, he fled. No. Walked. He walked calmly, at a rather brisk pace, to the bathroom.
His motions were mechanical as he tossed the condom and rebuttoned his pants. He turned the faucet on and after washing his hands, splashed the cold water on his face. It didn’t clear the fog in his brain one little bit. Wyatt braced his hands on the counter and hung his head, watching the running water swirl down the drain.
Holy shit. What had happened?
An orgasm, yes, but possibly one of the best orgasms of his life. Her body wasn
’t just more amazing now. She was more amazing now. They were more amazing now.
No. No, no, no. It was the novelty. The excitement of being with an old flame. Nothing more than that. It had been a while for him. They had been together for a long time. She knew how to push his sexual buttons. All she wanted was for him to play the stud and service her, not think or feel. So be a man, stop trying to Dr. Phil this to death, and get out there and fuck her some more.
He took a deep breath, ran a hand through his hair and went back out into the living room.
Tatiana remained where he'd left her on the couch, still bare-chested, and of course his cock gave a leap at that pretty sight. He couldn't read the expression on her face, but then, reading women outside of sex wasn’t his strong suit.
Her attention was fixed on the window. He followed her gaze and smiled at the smears they'd left on the previously spotless glass. “Housekeeping is going to be confused.”
She jumped, her breasts giving a slight jiggle, and turned to look at him. “What?”
He gestured to the window. “The maid. When she cleans tomorrow. Then again, I may try to preserve the image of your breasts there.”
Ah, he loved that she could still flush. Pink stained her cheeks. “I didn't think of that.”
Neither had he when he’d ordered her to press herself against the window. Nor would he tell her that he fully intended to clean up any signs of their rendezvous before any maids stumbled across them. Spraying a bit of Windex wasn’t so far beneath him.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, changing the subject.
She paused. “Yes. I guess I am.”
“Pasta, beef, or chicken?” Pasta. She’d never been a big meat eater.
“Pasta. Thank you.”
He went to the phone and lifted it, dialing down to the kitchen. “Send up a full spread for two, please. One beef, one pasta. Chocolate for dessert.” He hung up. “It should be here in about fifteen minutes.”
“That's fast.”
“It's a fast kitchen. And I write their paychecks.”
