Chapter 27
Gen
Ican’t drag my gaze away from Anton as he takes me in. His face may be admirably impassive, but his eyes are burning at what they see, and the strained way he says beautiful about my breasts hints that he may be struggling more than he’ll ever admit to maintain this facade of control.
Max has my zip undone so my dress bundles around my waist. A few more inches and he’ll be able to slide it over my hips and expose my body in just its lingerie.
His mouth returns to my neck, my shoulders, his lips and nose skating over my skin as his fingers tease the exposed base of my spine. It’s delicious, but I need far more.
As soon as Anton gives the order, David cups my breasts through my bra, his thumbs going to strum my nipples softly through the lace.
It feels so good I gasp, my eyes shooting to David’s face.
The intensity in his dark eyes tells me his gentle touch is less about being respectful and more about torturing me.
At my gasp, his tongue peeks out through his lips and he grants me a rougher touch, one that uses the lace to chafe at my aching nipples. Oh, God. I arch my back, a tiny sound escaping me.
‘Fucking yes,’ David groans, and I wonder if I’ve underestimated him. He seems quiet. Gentle. But he’s partaking in this scene, isn’t he?
Anton laughs. ‘She likes that,’ he tells David. ‘Back off.’
He does as he’s told, and Max slides my zip the rest of the way open, tugging my dress over my hips until it pools around my ankles. David stoops to help me step out of it, affording Anton a clear view of me.
I have a man kneeling at my feet.
Another right behind me, one hand sliding over my bare hip as the other traces its fingers oh-so-lightly along the back of my thong where it disappears between my cheeks.
And a third, the one whose attention, whose approval, makes me light up in ways I despise and adore in equal measure, staring at me like he’d love to shove his henchmen out of the way and pillage me right here.
How did I ever think this was a bad idea?
Alchemy has saved me in so many ways, but being in Anton Wolff’s office while his men put their hands on me and he tries not to salivate is another level. The unfamiliar corporate setting gives it a raw, dangerous edge that’s jacking up my heart rate with every passing minute.
Anton’s intent on undoing me, and I have no doubt he will. That’s what I’m here for. At least, that’s why I’ve stayed. But I’ll be damned if I don’t take him down with me.
There’s nothing better than reducing a man who likes to be in control to a desperate, ravenous animal who’ll fuck any hole he can find to slake his need.
I put a hand on my hip and lick my lips. My body’s curvy as hell, yes, but I’m in great shape and I’m fucking proud of these curves. My lingerie is beautiful. These heels make my legs look endless. And hopefully my up-do’s made my hair soft and wavy.
I don’t need to imagine the picture I make.
I can see it reflected in Anton Wolff’s eyes.
So yeah, I’m ready to submit. I want these guys to do their worst.
His eyes drag up my body. Up my legs. Over my thong. My stomach. My breasts. To my face, where my smile spurs him into action.
‘Touch her,’ he commands. ‘But don’t take off her underwear quite yet.’
I widen my stance a little, both to stabilise myself in these heels and in the hope that someone will touch my pussy, which is warm and damp and needy. In response, Anton does the same, planting his feet further apart and crossing his arms over his chest.
He looks like he’s inspecting a prize pony or racing car, and I fucking love it.
‘Your eyes don’t leave mine,’ he tells me through gritted teeth. ‘Got it? They stay on me.’
I nod. I’m playing nicely, but it’s all part of the game to me. The more I submit, the more I yield to his power and to the power David and Max have over my body, the more exquisite my reward will be.
David stays on his knees having disposed of my dress. He plants his warm hands on my thighs and strokes up, around, and back down to my knees. His touch is sure, and I want his hands higher. He doesn’t give me that, but he does bend his closely-shaven head to my pelvic bone and inhale hard.
‘Jesus,’ he rasps. ‘You were right. She smells fucking amazing. She’s so turned on.’
‘You can touch her over her thong,’ Anton says, and David dutifully skims a large hand up my thigh, tracing the lightest line over the fabric of my thong, back to front.
It feels so tantalising against my sensitised flesh that I jolt.
Jesus—staying standing in heels might be more difficult than I thought if they’re going to touch me like this.
In an instant, Max is pressing right up behind me, hard muscle and crisp cotton hitting my back as his undeniable erection pushes against my bottom. He bands a strong arm around my waist, holding me to him, as his other hand threads through my arm and caresses my breasts.
Mmm. I lean my head back against him, my eyelids flickering shut in pleasure as he takes his hand on a meandering tour.
‘Eyes on me,’ Anton says tersely, and I jerk my head upright. My guess is the guy’s FOMO is ratcheting right up. I flick my gaze to his crotch, and yep. His trouser FOMO indicator looks pretty fucking hard to me.
‘Pinch her nipples,’ he tells Max. ‘Hard. I want her feeling like she needs to come just from that. David, hold off.’
And just like that, Max ramps up and David, agonisingly, holds off.
The cliché about billionaires being control freaks is definitely true of Anton Wolff. And I love it. I love everything about this scenario.
His bossiness.
His distance.
His scrutiny.
His command of the situation.
His knowledge of my desires—how to fan them, and, I’m sure, how to use them to torment me.
If I’m the instrument, he’s most definitely the maestro, conducting this exploration, this celebration, of my body. And there’s no doubt this composition is one of his own creation.
He may not be the one touching me, but as I keep my eyes locked on him, he’s the only one who matters.