It could, right? It’s possible this isn’t just because his body is relaxed, but it’s because of me? Because he finds me attractive?
Finishing his arms, I move to his legs, working on his left foot and calf, then move up to his thigh. As I work on his quads, I lose count of the number of times his dick bobs under the blanket. I stare at it, hoping for the blanket to darken with a wet spot.
Making this man come with nothing but my hands massaging his body might give me a heart attack, but it would be a good way to go. Even at only twenty-one.
Get your head together, Sera. You’re being a creep!
I move to the other side of him, starting on his other foot and moving my way up. My gaze locks onto the tent in the sheets, and my stomach warms when I see a dark spot on the sheet, no bigger than a dime. He didn’t come, but that’s precum leaking from him. Heneedsto, and I want to be the one to make him. I don’t know why, I’ve never thought anything like this before, but there’s just something about him and this situation…
I want to make my ex-boyfriend’s father come.
“I won’t tell, if you don’t.”
I snap my gaze up, meeting Elliot Caldwell’s opened eyes. How long has he been staring? Hell, how long haveIbeen staring?
“Wh-what?” I stammer, my hands still firmly grasping his calf.
“You’re so beautiful, and so fucking good with your hands,” he says in a near groan, his dick twitching again. Warmth pools in my lower belly, traveling up and out, heating my skin.
“You won’t tell?” I whisper.
What if I want you to? What if I want Harrison to know? Am I doing this for revenge? As some kind of after-break-up crisis? Or am I just being a normal twenty-one-year-old girl who is taking advantage of a situation she found herself in? Screw it. I don’t care what the answer is. I want this.
“I won’t tell,” he reiterates, then grips the sheet and tosses them away, widening his legs just a little.
His body is firm, muscled, tanned all over. Dark hair covers his thighs and groin. Everything about him is masculine and damn sexy. His abs are defined, chest chiseled, with strong, broad shoulders. His dick is big—bigger than I thought. Thick, veiny, and so desperate to come.
I blink a few times, bringing my gaze to Mr. Caldwell’s. He looks almost pained, desperate even. His breaths come slow but heavy, his throat working as he swallows thickly.
“We shouldn’t,” I say, giving one last go at denial. One last chance tonotmake this mistake, because that’s exactly what it’ll be.
“I don’t care.”
Neither do I.
I pump some oil into my hand and take a step closer to his upper body before squeezing my hand into a fist above his dick, letting the oil drip onto him. He lets out a raspy breath, hips moving just the smallest bit when the liquid hits him. Pumping more into my hand, I do it again, and this time he moans louder.
The vibrating need between my legs is almost too much to handle, making me want to beg him for relief, but there’s something else inside me fueling me on, wanting to give this big bad powerful man some pleasure. Me, someone who means nothing to this world, giving someone like him pleasure? It’s inconceivable.
I wrap my hand around him, my fingers barely touching. He’s hard as steel, but so very warm. I bet if he were to be inside me, it would hurt. But I bet it would be the best hurt of my life. An ache that I would beg for; one I would crave.
“Fuck,” he hisses, thrusting his hips up. “Move. Please, for fuck’s sake.”
I lick my lips before slowly sliding my hand up to the head, squeezing gently before gliding my hand back down. Up and down, up and down, I move in a near-teasing way.
He just lies there, eyes closed, lips parted, hips grinding, enjoying what I’m giving him.
I’ve never felt so powerful in my entire life. Never. Not once. I’ve never cared about having control or power, in or out of the bedroom. I’ve been perfectly content with how things are. But now that I have a taste of this? Now that I know what it feels like to have someone so damn vulnerable, literally in the palm of my hand? How will I ever give this up?
“Faster,” he growls.
I do not move faster. I keep up what I’m doing, watching in awe as his hands grip the edges of the table. His body tenses, teeth gritting together, but he doesn’t force me. He could. There are so many things he could do to get what he wants, but he does none of them. He just lies there, allowing me to do what I want, while begging me for more.
Begging? Maybe not quite, but almost.
Harrison would never let me do this to him. He always had to be in charge, always had to be on top. But something about this,even though I’m the one in control, I don’t think I’m really the one in charge. I hold the power of him coming, but something tells me this man is still very much in charge of this situation. This is happening because he wants it to, because it’s what he wants from me.
From me.
