His smile grows so wide it surely qualifies as a grin, but he moves to my side and takes it from my fingers. “It’s an anal douche.”
I keep a straight face. Kind of. “That sounds more like an insult than a gift.”
“You fill it with warm water, put some lube on this tip”—he fiddles in his desk drawer and pulls out a tube, leaving me to wonder what on earth goes on in here when I’m not around—“then squeeze it gently.”
He pumps the rubber bulb and I pull it out of his hand so I can hide it behind my back. My cheeks are bright red. Probably more so than my other set.
“Do you want me to help you?”
“No. I don’t want you to help me. Are you crazy?” I wave a hand at my face. “It’s hard enough to keep a man interested in this side without him delving into my non-public-facing end.”
Suddenly, I feel about twelve. That was the age when I first noticed people giggling and chatting about things I didn’t understand. Most of them didn’t either but at the time I didn’t know that. It had felt like everyone else was attending a wild party and my invite had got lost in the post.
“I promise you. It’s not as scary as your face is making it seem right now.”
“I’m not scared. It’s just…” I bite on my thumb, frowning at the bulb. “What if I don’t like it?”
“Then stop. It’s just water.”
“No, not the…” I hum, rocking back and forth on my good foot. “What if I don’t like what comes after?”
He snags my hand and pulls me over to his desk, unlocking a drawer and pulling it open. Inside sit a variety of plugs, from tiny to so large that my eyes water looking at them. Another tube of lube rests beside them.
“We can start you with something small. Not much bigger than a finger.”
When I can’t tear my eyes from the drawer contents, he swivels me around until my arse rests on the edge of the desk. “If that feels okay, we can work our way up until you’re ready for me.”
I fiddle at the buttons of his shirt, unable to hold his gaze.
He takes the douche from my hand and rests it on the desk, then puts a hand either side of my face, drawing me closer until our foreheads are touching. “If you prefer, we don’t have to do any of that preparation. I could just turn you over this desk right now, tug your dress up, tear your panties down and force my way into you. Would you like that?”
I’m appalled. And even more horrified to find my hips bucking up so his leg rests more squarely against my centre. He feels the shift, twisting his body away and replacing the pressure of his thigh with the palm of his hand.
As he rubs, my breaths shorten to pants, chasing his touch as he increases the pressure. He moves his head to rest alongside mine so he can whisper into my ear. “It would tear at you, stretching you so far that you’d grip your muscles tighter, trying to expel me, but that would just make the pain more intense.”
His free hand clasps my buttocks, reigniting the firestorm from my trail of welts. It pushes me forward, ensuring I can’t break contact with his palm.
Surging, then retreating. Surging. “Every time I thrust into you, my cock would lodge deeper, forcing its way; tight, burning, scraping in and out until you can’t stand it any longer and you have to scream. Do you want to scream for me, baby?”
My hands fist in his shirt as I come, pressing my mouth against his shoulder to smother the noise.
“No,” he snaps my head back, mid-cry. “I want to hear you. I want everything.”
He pulls me so I ride his palm again, deepening the orgasm until my feet can’t support my weight any longer. But he has me, holding me, wrenching another high moan from my lips before he covers them with his own, swallowing when I call his name.
When I fall back to earth, he’s still holding me. A light sheen of sweat clings to my hairline, a high buzz sounds in my left ear.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he growls while I feel stupid, hot, messy.
I try to meet his gaze but my eyes dip instead. I don’t have the skills to navigate this; everything inside me is screaming at me to run. Get out now.
Like I’d have anywhere to escape to even if I did.
Instead, I let him pull me back into his embrace. He’s hard against me but when I reach down with my hand, he pulls it away. “Not now. I want to think about you all day long.”
I pick up the bulb and lube, frowning into the open drawer.
“You know, you have the power of veto just the same as I do. If you don’t want to do something, that’s fine.”
