The house opens up around us when he unlocks it, all clean lines and sparse furniture, the kind of place that screams control. No lights come on.
Moonlight filters through the big living room windows, casting a pale glow across the hardwood floors.
He shuts the door behind us and turns to face me. "Take off the dress."
My pulse races in my ears. I reach back for the zipper, fingers clumsy at first, but I manage to tug it down.
The fabric slides off my shoulders and pools at my feet, leaving me in nothing but my bra and panties.
The damp spot on the panties stares back at me in my mind, and heat floods my cheeks.
He stands there with his arms crossed, watching every move, his expression calm but intense.
"Now the rest."
I unhook the bra and let it drop. The panties follow, sliding down my legs until I kick them aside.
Naked skin prickles everywhere his gaze lands. He steps closer then, close enough that I feel the heat rolling off his body, but he doesn't touch me yet.
His finger traces a single line down my spine, from the nape of my neck all the way to the curve of my ass, and I shiver hard enough that my breasts bounce slightly.
"Good girl," he says, the words simple and approving. "Bedroom. Follow me."
His hand presses flat against the small of my back, guiding me down the short hallway.
The bedroom door swings open to reveal a big bed with sheets pulled tight, dark wood furniture, a full-length mirror dominating one wall, and tall windows on the opposite side.
He positions me right in front of the mirror, my back to his chest, his hands settling on my shoulders to hold me steady.
"Look at yourself in the mirror," he says right next to my ear. "Keep your eyes open the whole time."
I stare at our reflection. My face glows red, chest heaving, nipples peaked and begging for contact.
He towers behind me, still fully dressed in his shirt and jeans, the fabric straining across his shoulders.
His hands slide down my arms, then up to cup my breasts, squeezing with just enough force to make me gasp.
Thumbs circle my nipples, pinching lightly at first, then harder until I arch into his palms.
"You want more," he states, not asking. One hand stays kneading my breast while the other trails lower, over my stomach, fingers combing through the trimmed hair at the top of my pussy. He parts me with two fingers, stroking through the wetness there, and I watch it all happen in the mirror, the slick shine coating his skin.
"Yes," I breathe, hips shifting forward.
He presses his palm flat against my clit and rubs in firm circles. "Yes what?"
"Yes, sir."
His cock hardens against my ass, thick and insistent through the denim. "That's my girl." Fingers slide inside me, two at once, curling deep to hit that spot that makes stars burst behind my eyelids.
I grip the dresser’s edge for balance, but he bands his other arm across my chest and holds me upright.
In the mirror, I see his hand pumping steadily, knuckles disappearing into me over and over, my thighs trembling as wetness drips down.
"Don't come," he warns when my breath hitches. "You hold it until I give permission."
The pressure builds fast and brutal, every curl of his fingers pushing me closer.
I whimper and clench around him, fighting the wave, but he knows exactly when to speed up, grinding his palm against my clit until tears prick my eyes.
