“Don’t start something you’re not gonna finish again,” I warn him.
He spins me away from him and says, “Hands on the desk.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, following his orders as he kicks my feet apart.
He slides his hands up my thighs, my skirt hitching higher with each inch. My pulse is wild, my breath uneven.
“These tight little skirts,” he tsks, giving my ass a sharp smack.
I gasp at the impact.
I feel his fingers trail over the lace of my panties, and my body arches instinctively. I hear him stand and feel him lean over me, fisting my hair, pulling my head back until his mouth is next to my ear.
“You’ve been torturing me for weeks. I think it’s only right I return the favor, don’t you?”
“Mhmm,” is all I can manage as I push back against his hand, trying to increase the pressure.
Is this really happening? Right here in this office, with my boss? What am I doing? What about Nash? I shouldn’t, but I—
“Use your words, Avery,” his voice a low growl in my ear.
“Yes,” I gasp.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good girl,” he says, and the praise sends a jolt through me.
He releases his grip on my hair to grab my ass with both hands hard enough to leave bruises. I feel him yank my panties down, and I lift each foot to step out of them.
I’m completely exposed in my boss’s office. The thought barely has time to fully register before I hear his desk drawer slide open, then he places my panties inside and closes it back.
He grabs my elbow, pulling me up and spinning me around to face him. One of his hands slides up to my neck, squeezing lightly while his other hand slips between my legs, feeling how embarrassingly wet I already am.
“Is this what I do to you, Avery?”
“James, please…”
He swipes his hand through my slit once more before pulling away, and I gasp, leaving my mouth open enough for him to put his fingers inside.
I suck, tasting myself on his fingers as he hums his approval.
With one hand still around my throat, he withdraws his fingers from my mouth and kisses me. And it is a brutal and blinding kiss.
It’s rough, urgent, utterly consuming. He pulls me closer, his grip on my throat tightening, my body trapped between him and the edge of his desk. His hands move over me, but they don’t go where I want him most.
Instead, he places his hands on my hips, lifting me to sit on his desk, then moves one hand to my chest to lay me back until I’m resting on my elbows.
He pulls away, leaving me breathless as he sinks into his chair.
“Let me see you,” he says, grabbing my ankles and spreading my legs until my feet are propped on the armrest of his chair. The heels I’m still wearing dig into the leather.
“Fuck,” he breathes out, his pupils blown wide, full of hunger. “Show me how you touch yourself.”
He doesn’t move from his seat, only shifts his legs apart and leans back, hands splayed on my ankles. The predatory calm in his posture makes me even more self-conscious, and yet, underneath it, I feel his restraint gnawing to let loose.
I hesitate, unsure, but the look in his eyes urges me on. I move my hand between my legs, and the small sounds of pleasure thatescape me make him groan. I dip my fingers into my wetness, teasing myself, my breath catching with each stroke.
