Chapter 13 #2
I cry out instantly, pulsing around the two meticulous and demanding digits. My thighs tremble, useless in their attempt to steady me, the edge of the table biting into the front of my thighs as I arch back—an invitation, a surrender.
“Please, Sir.”
Don’t be mad.
He finger-fucks me against the table, keeping himself behind me, visibly and emotionally out of reach.
With just two fingers, he commands the rise and fall of my pulse. With his formidable body behind me, surrounding me, intimidating me, he maps my boundaries between need and fear, arousal and frustration.
There’s no warning before he presses his knuckles inside me, a deliberate thrust that makes my vision hazy and my neck arch backwards.
I tremble between him and the table.
Sweat slides down my throat. I flex my hands on the glossy surface as my pulse races and warmth simmers through me. I curl my toes, readying myself, taking his thrusts, but he speeds up, and my knees buckle.
Moaning, I peer over my shoulder and up into his gaze, craving reassurance and affection.
His eyes meet mine in a moment of love, tenderness, and ownership in equal measure.
He remains perfectly unruffled, every hair in place while I come undone.
The only hints of his arousal are in the pace and rhythm of his breathing and the warmth radiating from his chest against my spine.
I gasp as he builds and builds the pleasure inside my core, but holds me captive, balancing, high and then low, edging me closer to that wonderful release, then pulling me back to drive home his authority and control.
A frustrated groan escapes me. “Sir!”
Suddenly, he shoves his free hand into my back pocket and retrieves the sleek credit card. He holds it before me like a reward for a well-trained pet, but the message is clear—I am in trouble. Fuck.
With a deliberate gesture, he drops it on the table, inches from my fingertips, then flattens his palm over it, pinning it in place.
“Before we discuss shopping plans…” His voice is honey laced with gravel, every syllable curling around me like a beast holding its prey for the night.
“We need to address your curiosity about my mail.” He flexes his fingers inside me, dominating me with a pace so precise he makes my teeth clench between moans.
My thoughts narrow to his fingers, to the moments between one inward thrust and the outward draw, and the next and the next.
Each thrust.
So accurate.
I risk another glance over my shoulder. Sir’s eyes aren’t angry, maybe disappointed? I can’t tell.
No, no, no. I don’t want to disappoint him! He isn’t just finger-fucking me now, no, he’s teaching me—always with the lessons. Every scoop of his fingers, each twist, all the pressure points, a course in boundaries and consequences and who belongs to whom—I get it!
“I—” My protest stops on a deep moan when the heel of his palm connects with my clit, rubbing and massaging in warm, excruciatingly slow circles that feel fucking cruel.
Stars explode behind my eyelids.
“If you wish to play in my office,” he murmurs darkly, “you wait for my permission. Understand?” His tongue flicks the rim of my ear while his other hand leaves the card on the wood, pulling me flush against him.
His hard cock throbs at my lower back. I’m crushed between his body—that dangerous appendage—and the table.
His voice deepens to a low snarl. “You took something that belongs to me.”
My heart races. “No—”
“Yes.” His palm and his fingers work in unison—his pointer-finger and middle finger thrusting, stimulating the deep sensual muscle inside me, making my body quake, while his palm kneads my clit, causing my head to roll on my neck.
“That little smile when you first saw the credit card? That was mine. Those little dances of excitement? Mine. Every sound, every reaction—it’s all mine.
You stole them and gave them to Bolton,” he hisses the name. “Never again.”
I nod, frantic, unable to argue—too afraid I’ll stutter nonsense. “Never again.”
“Now, what do you want?”
“To come, Sir.”
“Ask me nicely, sweet girl.”
“Please, please. Please!”
“Such lovely manners.” He twists his fingers, aims with deadly precision, hits a temperamental set of nerves on the perfect angle, and bears down. He growls, “Come.”
“Sir!” I scream his name, shuddering and convulsing.
“That’s my good girl.” He withdraws his fingers, then steadies me, trailing kisses up my neck, nuzzling, showing me the gentle Clay Butcher. “That’s it.”
He smooths my denim shorts down, tucks the card back into my pocket, then helps me turn and straighten. He kisses my forehead, then my nose, then my lips, and my heart grows.
Flattening his hand down his tie, he says, “Now go change into something less revealing, sweet girl, and get my sons ready.”
I hesitate, lightheaded. With wobbly knees, I wander towards the door, but then he presses the intercom.
“Send Bolton to my office.”
I freeze.
My pleasure-state dissolves.
"Wait.” I turn to face him. “Please don't tell him off."
Clay looks smooth, unaffected, but there is something dark playing underneath his easy, calm exterior, and it frightens me. "You're not children, sweet girl."
"Please don't fire him." My voice comes out smaller than intended, my fingers nervously twisting the ends of my hair. “It’s my fault.”
"I will be as firm as required."
"What did he do wrong?" The words tumble out before I can stop them. “Whatever it is, I am sure I made him do it. Is it about being in here? He didn’t even walk inside. I did. He’s a scaredy-rat.”
His gaze hardens. "You're quite protective of him." His expression darkens, pupils dilating until they chew away the blue rings entirely.
“You said he was mine,” I say. “That I could tell him what to do and where to go. Why do you need to see him?”
"Little deer," he purrs, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that sends shivers racing across my skin, "if you continue to question me, I will have you over this table again with my cock so deep in your young pussy and for so long, you'll forget his name. Forever. And you’ll never need it again.” A chill races down my spine as he straightens his cuffs.
"Now go get ready. You don’t want to miss our shopping trip. "
"Please, Sir," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "He's my best friend."
The muscles in his jaw tighten visibly, punching outwards beneath firm tanned skin. "You're not helping his situation, little deer. Do you trust me?"
"Yes.”
"Then get ready."