Chapter Thirty-Four Rae
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Rae
IT’S HAPPENING. IT’S HAPPENING.
My hands shake as I grasp the sweaterdress and slowly drag it up, up, up, baring tall boots with long socks beneath them, and above that… That’s right.
Nothing. It’s what I decided to wear to work today.
The moment I woke up this morning, I knew I was done with the silly rules, one way or another. Grant would have to suffer. The fact that I still wanted him after Friday, despite his rejection, really annoyed me. So cute sweaterdress it was.
I’m not sure I’m supposed to hear the whispered “Holy fuck” he lets out as the hem reaches my hips. “Turn around,” he says in a quiet, stern voice. “Hands on your desk.”
Oh god. Oh god. Oh gods.
My brain’s a wild thing, flailing around like it doesn’t know up from down and side from side, and it is way too much. I’m almost outside of my body with how big this feels.
My body, apparently, doesn’t require a brain to function. There’s no hesitation before I turn, take three steps, push everything on the surface to one side, and plant my hands on the edge.
“Bend over.”
What? No! Yes! Oh god, god, god, god, god. Tell me what to do. Make me, make me, make me, make me.
I’m a hot mess.
The sound of Grant moving closer makes me jump and breathe deeply through my nose and then whimper silently when his hand lands on my nape.
Warm. Dry. Solid.
My eyelids sink closed. A long, relieved sigh oozes out of my lungs.
“That’s it. That’s it,” Grant says.
Oh wow. That feels… like a drug. Calming. Steadying.
“Do you want to please me, Sunny?”
I nod.
No pressure on my neck. Just the light rub of rough fingers. “Then you’ll bend over this desk.”
And I’m down. Was there ever any doubt that I’d obey? But the heavy hand on my back tells me it’s not enough. Hands sliding along my desk, I go lower, lower, until my forehead presses to cold wood.
“You don’t get it, do you?”
Something brushes against my naked ass, startling me. A heartbeat later, his hand skates over my skin again, and my back arches of its own volition.
“Ge’ wha’?” I attempt to ask.
“No questions.” He pinches my ass, too gently to hurt, but my god, does it have an effect on my libido.
As if I weren’t turned on enough by this situation, the quick twist of flesh makes me squirm uncontrollably.
“If you want to stop, or if you’re not sure, you smack the desk.
Got it?” A quick, painless slap of my butt to illustrate, and I’m so far gone, I swear I’ll cry if he stops.
“Got it, Sunny?”
I lift my head and give a frantic nod.
He laughs darkly, moves back a step, and, I suspect, just watches the show. “Yeah. That’s it. Show me what’s mine. What I get to play with.”
His? Oh god. His.
I swallow around the list in my mouth and turn my head to the side, catching the eye of my capybara pen cup, judging me from the other side of the desk. I reach out and turn it around.
Grant’s footsteps recede but then return. He throws his jacket over my copious desktop tchotchkes. “Better?” At my nod, he says, “Shut your eyes.”
I obey.
“Good girl.” Slowly, barely touching me, Grant runs the backs of his knuckles over my skin.
Up and down over one butt cheek, to the other side.
After a few slow strokes, his knuckles press in harder, moving my flesh in something almost like a massage.
Down, left, a quick dip into the crevice, and up.
“You flaunted this sweet, soft body all day, didn’t you?”
I shake my head, and suddenly it’s not knuckles anymore. It’s a thwack, swift and startling. The sting is quick, bright. Barely registers as pain at all.
“Liar. You wanted me to look.”
I react, pressing my breasts against the desk and my ass out.
“That’s it. Show me. Look at you, all soft curves and dimples and this…
” He slides his hand down, down, and then in to where my thighs press tightly together.
It’s the very worst place for chub rub. The seat of pain and shame for so many years of my youth.
“This curve right here,” he says, slipping his hand between my thighs and gently cupping one side.
“Just…” A loud exhale. “Turns me on so hard.”
Oh god, he is so close to touching me right where I want him. So close, and yet the jerk won’t do it. I try to say his name through my improvised gag, but it comes out garbled.
“I know what you’re trying to do. You’ll have to be patient, Sunny. I’m not ready to touch you there yet. Remember, your orgasms are mine now.”
They are?
“It’s what being a Pleasure Dom is about. You heard of it before?”
At my headshake, he goes on, one hand lazily trailing the skin of my back and butt.
“It means that your pleasure is my entire wheelhouse. I want to control your orgasms.”
Wow. Wow. Okay.
“Sometimes it’s easy.” He leans in to whisper, “Like in the kitchen. Remember how you gave me that climax? Mm, so fucking good.”
At my gasp, he says, “Other times, I use tools. To build you up…” His knuckles rasp over my hip, down to my thigh, around to where they meet again. Close, so close to where I’m needy and aching for his touch. “… and up and up, building it so high that there’s nothing left but want.”
I whimper, my eyes blurring as I concentrate on that touch.
“And sometimes? That means withholding.”
When I whine, he chuckles, comes around the side of the desk, where he squats, and tilts my face so I’m looking right at him.
I don’t know what I thought I’d see in his expression. Excitement, maybe, to match what I’m feeling inside. Instead, he looks almost… I don’t know, peaceful? It’s both unexpected and sort of comforting.
“But here’s the thing: When I make you wait for that climax, like the good girl you are, and you’re stretched out at my mercy, wanting it so bad you’ll cry, then…”
I’m waiting, breath bated… suspended on his words like they’re the only thing in the world.
“When I let you have it, finally? You’ll come so hard you won’t know who you are. You want that, Sunny? Huh?”
I nod, embarrassingly eager for whatever he wants to do.
My mouth’s dry, and while some small part of me acknowledges that making me hydrate wasn’t a bad idea, the rest of me is gone already, a spinning top, lost to entropy. In it to the end.
His attention shifts back up to my ass as he mutters, “As I was saying, you deserve this spanking, sweetheart. The way you flaunted yourself today? Sorry to say it, but you do.”
The feminist inside me wants to scream that I can wear what I want, dammit. It’s not teasing. It’s living my darn life, and if a man can’t control himself, then he’s the problem, not the woman.
Given that I wore the dress for the very specific purpose of riling this man up, I decide to let it slide. We’re both playing this game, and right now, the rules say that I get punished for looking sexy. I want the rules, I want the game, and I really, really want the punishment.
He clicks his teeth together and moves to the back of my body slowly, like he’s got all the time in the world, while I’m bent here, soaking wet and straining, straining for contact. I want it. Now. Now, now, now.
“You deserve a flogging, quite frankly, but I’ll go easy on this perfect ass. This time.” A pause while he skates lightly—so lightly—over the place he smacked a moment ago, and then—
Another smack. I grunt.
Was that harder? I don’t know because, by the time the sound’s passed and the sensation reaches my brain, I want to beg for more. So hungry and aching, I’d let him do me right here. I’d let him do anything he wants.
“Shhhhhhh,” he says, easing that hand over my sore butt. “Good. Good.”
A pause. There’s sound, like he’s shifting, but nothing more.
I strain back to get a look but see only a slice of his wide frame before he spanks me again.
Oh god. The sound of flesh hitting flesh is quiet, but the feel of this one’s a sharp sting that brings tears to my eyes and makes my hips press to the desk in search of some sort of friction.
“Oh, sweet girl, trying to get off before I’m done. No. I told you, Sunny, the orgasms… are mine.” His hand lands on my lower back and presses down, and at the same time, he moves in and pushes his hips to mine, and he is hard and…
For a handful of seconds, I lose all track of reality.
He is big. Huge. Even through his pants, I feel the heft of him. I got a hint of it in the kitchen and then up against the club door, but this position is forcing me to face the fact that it would absolutely be a struggle to get him inside me.
That shouldn’t be so exciting.
“Your ass is beautiful,” he whispers, kneading with one hand before the other joins in.
Kneading, kneading, and pressing with his hips, and then the kneading hands hold me open, and his still-clothed cock is right there between my ass cheeks, and I groan, the sound loud, even with the paper in my mouth.
“No. No, sweetheart, you can’t make noise or we’ll have to stop. You know that, right?”
I nod, frantic to make him understand.
“Good. Good. Now let me play.”
He pumps his hips in a very good imitation of sex, pressing his weight into me, his hands keeping my ass open to him, and I’m in a weird, hovering sort of shock about it all until he says, “Can’t stop thinking about this. Constantly.”
This? Which part? I mean, is this a scene he’s pictured before? Because yeah, I mean, I literally pictured him spanking me over the desk, so my fantasies were pretty accurate, actually.
But the part where he makes me feel like I’m giving up more of myself than I’ve ever done in bed before… that part’s new. There’s a vulnerability to it that’s somehow intimidating and unbearably sexy.
Out in the lobby, a door slams.
We both go still.