He folds them carefully and slips them into the inner pocket of his suit jacket.
My heart does a little flip.
I'm not sure if it's from the act itself, or the fact that he's wearing a ridiculously expensive suit and has just tucked my ruined panties into his pocket like a souvenir.
"They're mine now." His voice is low and seductive, possessive.
The words arrow straight between my legs, and I bite my lip to keep from moaning loudly.
He wets a cloth in the sink and turns to me. "Hold still," he says, his voice soft.
He gently wipes the evidence of my arousal from between my thighs, and I moan, digging my nails into his arm while my hips buck.
"Feeling a little needy, are we?" he asks, a glint of amusement in his eyes.
"You're an evil, evil man," I breathe.
He smirks. "You have no idea."
When he's satisfied I'm clean, he tosses the cloth in the hamper and turns back to me. His gaze travels down my body, and I feel a fresh wave of heat wash over me. His eyes are dark, intense, full of a hunger that makes my stomach clench.
"Not that you're going to stay dry for long," he teases.
He pulls me into a hard kiss, his tongue delving into my mouth, demanding a response.
I give it to him, kissing him back with a matching intensity, my hands tangling in his hair, my body pressing against his.
He breaks the kiss, leaving me breathless.
"I think you've been teased enough for one morning," he says, his voice husky.
I blink at him, not quite sure I heard him correctly, hopes rising.
"You're… letting me come?" I ask, my voice a little breathless.
He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that’s full of dark amusement.
"No," he says. "I'm letting you go back to your desk."
I stare at him, the words not quite processing. They bounce around in my head, nonsensical shapes that refuse to form a coherent thought.
"Go back to my desk?" I repeat, my voice thin and reedy. It doesn't even sound like my own. "You… you can't be serious."
He smooths my skirt down, his hands lingering on my hips for a second before he steps back completely. The sudden loss of histouch feels like a physical blow, a rush of cold air that leaves me shivering.
"Oh, but I am," he says, that infuriating smirk still playing on his lips. "Very serious. You're back at work, Ms. Crawford. And you need to get back to it.”
"But… but—" I sputter, my mind racing, trying to catch up. My body is a screaming, rioting mess of unfulfilled need. The ache between my legs is a constant, throbbing reminder of how close I was. How cruelly he's just denied me. "You can't just… leave me like this."
"Remember when we had that conversation, right at your kitchen table, about limits? About what was okay and what wasn't?" He straightens his tie, which was already perfectly straight. The movement is casual, deliberate. It’s a power move, and it’s working. "I gave you a full list, and you marked each one of them with a yes, no, or, maybe-but-let's-talk-about-it-first? We went over every single one."
"I…" I start, then trail off as I do, in fact, remember.
Next, he fixes his hair, which is tousled from my fingers.
"You said you wanted to try it," he says, his voice softer now, somehow more unsettling than the teasing from before. "Orgasm control. You said you were willing to try it for me."
He's right.
