He’s trying to flirt, but every painful, grating memory of today’s multitude of misogynies erupts from the mental box I tried so hard to keep locked. In a flash, I’m across the room and on him, bending him over the back of the couch and leaning into his face so that we’re eye to eye. With three of my fingers in his mouth, depressing his tongue, he’s finally unable to try to sweet-talk me, and I know he can feel the sharp points of my stiletto nails threatening the back of his throat.
Misha always made fun of me for choosing to keep long nails in our line of work, and there have certainly been times when they made a fight harder. But the fear mixed with lust in Thatcher’s eyes reminds me exactly why I like my claws.So I can dig into any men who get too close.
“Thelastthing I need is a fucking man.” Even I can hear the venom in my voice, and he doesn’t deserve to reap what other men have sown in my life, but he’s a captive audience. “You’ve been invading my space, myhome, as godforsaken as it is, for the past week. While I’ve been trying to prove to hundreds of strangers that I’m as worthy as anyone with a dick to lead their business and improve their lives, you’ve been trying to feed me egg whites and flexing your biceps for me. I have biceps of my own, haven’t you seen them? Andstill, you push your luck. I know you’ve seen me put Misha on his back on the sparring mat, so what can you—”
He whimpers, and I feel whatcan’tpossibly be…God.If that’s his cock hardening against me…it’s fuckingsubstantial.And if my degradation and manhandling are what have him so excited,maybe he and Misha are both right. Maybe he’s exactly what I need. Only if he can begood.
“Is that what you came to offer me?” I purr, digging my nails harder into his tongue. He’s drooling nicely for me, not fighting or trying to swallow, and he’s smart enough to keep his hands firmly on the couch instead of attempting to touch me. Briefly, the thought that someone else might have trained him as a submissive flashes across my mind, and the jealousy I feel is unwelcome and unexpected. I brush it off and grant myself one long grind on what’sdefinitelymore than enough to fulfill my needs.
“Mmmprh,” he gargles, eyes rolling back into his head. I have to agree with him. We might be onto something here.
“If you really want to impress me, you can kneel at my feet quietly like a good boy while I finish sending emails tonight.”
He nods pathetically, eyes begging to please me. How sweet.
“I don’t want to hear a peep. If you’re still and quiet, you might earn the privilege of resting your head on my thigh.Might.And only if you’re very,verygood. Do you understand?”
He nods again, and I remove my hand from his mouth, granting him the favor of wiping his spit on my robe instead of his face. This is a one-night release, after all. It’s not like I’m actually training him to keep him.
Moving to the desk that, while smaller than the one in the main office, is still tall enough for my purpose tonight, I grab a pillow off the bed and toss it underneath, in front of the chair.
“Kneel. Get comfortable and keep your eyes down. You can shift as you need to, but no noise, and don’t touch me. If you need something, you may ask respectfully. Is that clear?”
He nods and scrunches himself into position under the desk, eyes down and shoulder muscles taut as he rests his hands on his thighs. I pull the desk chair forward, realizing that with nothing under my robe, his face is about ten inches away from my barepussy. It’s been too long, and the thought of how easy it would be to force his head between my legs is intoxicating.
A few things must be handled this evening, though, so I send several emails over the course of fifteen minutes. Thatcher has made it without a peep or movement from under the desk, so it’s time for his reward. Rolling back my chair, I find him still kneeling, posture perfect.
“Thatcher, look at me.” His pupils are blown wide with lust, and his eyes are glazed, as if he’s found himself close to subspace, even if he doesn’t realize that’s what it’s called. I have a feeling that few people ever force him to sit still and do as he’s told, but maybe that’s exactly what he needs. “You’re doing well. Do you feel okay?”
He nods.
“Lean forward and get comfortable with your cheek resting on my thigh. I want to see if your hair is as soft as it looks while I read these last few reports.”
Thatcher leans forward, widening his knees and hinging at his waist to place his right cheek on my left thigh. As we arrange ourselves, though, there’s a problem. I didn’t account for how broad his shoulders are. Unless I want him with his cheek on my knee…
I open my legs, but even as my robe rides up higher and higher, Thatcher focuses on settling in. My pussy is exposed now, and I’m sure he caught a glimpse of my dark curls, but he’s either too blissed out to try to sneak another peek or he’s still trying very hard to be good.
As I scratch my nails into his scalp for the first time, his entire body melts. His hair is just as soft as I expected, and the thick waves mixed with more defined curls are the perfect sensory play to keep me calm as I read the increasingly incendiary emails from Zadorov’s secretary.
I’m so mad at the demands hedarestomake of me in the last email, dated just after he left the meeting today, that it takes far too long to realize that Thatcher hasmoved.Instead of sitting still, he’s turned his head to trail tiny, hot kisses up and down my inner thigh. His range of motion is limited by how we’re sitting, but he’s covering as much ground as he can. I want to be mad at him for disobeying, but I also really,reallylike his initiative. He’s been a ball of energy since the moment he arrived on my doorstep, and if that energy is directed toward my pleasure…at my command, well...
“Thatcher,” I scold, and he freezes like a child caught with a hand in the candy jar. “It’s naughty of you to move, don’t you think?”
He doesn’t answer, instinctively knowing that there’s no correct reply.Not trying to train him…let him get you off…The animal corner of my brain wins, and I bask in the lust filling his eyes as I spread my legs over the arms of the desk chair.
“If you want your mouth on me, I decide where it goes. Is this what you wanted?”
Nodding, he flicks his gaze between my core and my eyes.
“Do you think it was very nice of you to touch me before I told you to?”
This pulls his attention immediately, and contrition is evident in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. Not without your consent.”
“Hmm. You’re forgiven. But since you’re so eager, I haveveryhigh expectations for you. Starting with your words. You’ve been so chatty all week, wanting my attention. I promise you, you’ve got it now. So tell me. What do you think of my pussy?”
Reaching down, I spread myself for him, delighting in the way his gaze darkens as he notices how wet I already am. Gathering a bit of myself on a finger, I offer it to him, pulling back just before he can lick it off.
“Ah, ah, ah. Tell me what you think first. Then I’ll let you taste. If you’re going to be good, you need to learn to listen.”
