I can't help but trail and swirl my fingers over his chest and stomach. My lower lip catches in my teeth at the warmth of his skin, the firmness of his muscles. I swallow hard. For a moment—or maybe two or three—I forget our circumstances. I forget how and why we met, why we're in this hotel room together—very easily the cheapest hotel I've ever stayed in. For a moment or two or three, I'm just a horny girl in bed with a hot guy…
A horny girl who hasn't gotten laid in almost an entire fiscal quarter.
As I feel the roiling of my libido in my blood and gut and bones and organs and brain and soul, Jakob stirs again. He makes that soft, growly, grumbling sound again. His eyes flutter, close again. The hand that's not clutching my thigh skitters to his belly; pauses, scratches compulsively. And then dives under the waistband of his underwear to grab his—oh. Oh my.
Wow.
He has an erection.
A very,veryimpressive erection. The length and breadth and girth of his penis boggles my mind—it stretches his underwear to a comical degree, and the tip protrudes, pink, above the elastic.
Sleepily, unthinking, he squeezes and shoves his erection this way and that—adjusting, seeking relief from the tension.
My teeth tighten on my lip as I stare unblinking at the beautiful beast within his boxer-briefs.
My god, what a lovely penis that is.
I want to help him relieve the tension.
I want to touch him.
I squeeze my eyes shut and tell myself no.
No.
Absolutely not.
But…why not?
Why on earth should I not enjoy what’s on offer here? I don't think he'd reject me if I were to make a move on him. Obviously, we both know it wouldn’t be a thing, or what-have-you. Just a mutual enjoyment of each other's bodies. Scratching an itch. Dealing with stress and adrenaline.
I've heard that adrenaline can make you horny; maybe that's all this is between us—adrenaline.
My hand rests on his abdomen, palm covering his navel. His breathing is uneven, now deep, now shallow, now fast, now slow.
He stirs. Shifts. His hips drive upward, relax back down, thrusting against nothing.
Arousal burns inside me like wildfire—my belly is hot and tight with need, my panties soaked with the leaking essence of my desire to touch and be touched. To be seen not just as a CEO and boss, but as a female. A woman. Someone to be touched, caressed, teased, taken.
Shawn was fun, but I was in charge—and let us be crystal clear, here:Iseducedhim. I allowed him to think it was his idea, naturally; rutting young bucks like that need to think it's their idea or they get weird about the power dynamic. Let him think it's his idea, and you can lead him around by the balls. Get him wanting you so bad he's damn near feral by the time the office is emptied out, and he will all but attack you when you haul him into your office and tint the electrochromatic glass. It’s fun and hot. Distracting and bad for productivity, so best reserved as an occasional treat rather than a regular habit.
But sometimes, a girl just wants to be ridden hard and put away wet, as it were.
Used.
Dominated.
Taken.
Controlled.
It's a secret fantasy of mine, one I've long harbored. It's the fantasy I go to when I'm masturbating: I’m the plaything of a man powerful enough to dominate even me. And to be quite clear, my entire career is predicated upon the exact opposite—I am where I am because I refuse to let any man eventhinkhe can exert any kind of authority over me. I'm violently allergic to commands, obedience, or authority of any kind. Despite my grades—and I was valedictorian at my elite prep school as well as Yale and MIT—I was constantly in trouble because I was so violently opposed to doing what I was told, especially if the one trying to tell me what to do was a male.
So yes, my secret fantasy of being dominated by a man is exactly that—a fantasy. An impossible fiction.
I feel Jakob stirring again, and my eyes flick to his face.
His eyes are open, heavy-lidded, sleepy, unfocused, unguarded. "Should be a law against being that beautiful in the morning," he murmurs.
