I’m surprised when he doesn’t reach for me. Instead, he moves to his chair, settling into it like a king on his throne.
“Adrian’s been waiting for this,” Tony says, casual as if we’re discussing the weather. “I think he earned the right to go first, don’t you?”
I stay silent, uncertain if I’m supposed to agree, as Adrian turns me to face him. His eyes rake over me, lingering on the swell of my breasts above the dress. My nipples harden as I imagine him fucking me and not letting me come.
He circles me slowly, trailing his fingers across my collarbone and down my side to the curve of my ass. My pulse races as my body responds.
“Undress.” The command is flat, with no warmth in it. “Slowly. I want to see what I’m getting.”
I set my purse on a chair, and my fingers tremble as they find the zipper at my side. I pull it down, trying to be slow, but when my dress pools at my feet, I’m standing in front of them in nothing but heels. Just bare skin and the pounding of my heart.
Adrian looks me over, and I watch his composure crack. Just barely. The first sign he’s affected.
“She came ready.” Tony’s voice drifts from his chair.
“She came hungry,” Adrian corrects. “There’s a difference.”
Tony steeples his fingers like he’s about to watch a show, and I guess he is. The show is me, naked and dripping, about to be used by Adrian.
This is officially the sluttiest thing I’ve ever done.
“Let’s see if you learned anything since the last time I used you.” The words are quiet and almost gentle. Which makes them worse… or better. My brain and body are at war over how much I like him treating me like a fucktoy.
“I learned that you’re an asshole who doesn’t let women come.”
Tony barks a laugh from his chair. Adrian’s mouth twitches. For one second, there’s something close to amusement in those cold eyes.
“You learned exactly what I wanted you to learn.” His hand slides between my thighs from behind. My knees nearly buckle when his fingers find my clit. “I knew you’d come back begging.”
“I’m not begging.” Yet. Give it five minutes.
He pushes two fingers inside me, and I gasp. “How often did you touch yourself this week?”
“Every day.” The confession comes out shaky as his fingers curl inside me, hitting a spot that makes my vision blur.
“What did you think about?”
“You. Inside me. Telling me I can’t come.”
He adds a third finger. The stretch makes me moan, and I grab his forearm for balance.
“And did you come? When you touched yourself?”
“Yes, but it wasn’t—“
“Wasn’t enough.” He withdraws his fingers, and I whimper at the sudden emptiness. “Because you need someone to own the orgasm. You need it to not be yours to take.”
Jesus Christ. How does he know me better than I know myself?
“Turn around. Face the window.”
Seattle sprawls below us. Thousands of lit windows, and behind any one of them, someone with binoculars could look up at Tony’s office and see a naked woman pressed against the glass.
The thought should terrify me. My pussy has other ideas. She practically presses herself forward like she’s posing for the city.
Adrian walks me forward until my breasts press against the cold glass. I gasp as my nipples scrape against the smooth surface. My breath fogs the window in quick bursts.
“Hands on the glass. Don’t move them.”
