Twenty-Four
ESSIE
T he walk is a whirlwind, and holding Dalton’s bloodied hand and trailing him through the packed, post-concert streets outside the arena in Gallery Place is a version of foreplay I never envisioned.
He’s the human equivalent of a beacon on his feet, taller than everyone else—bigger than everyone else—and far more attractive than most people would ever be lucky enough to witness in a lifetime. I stay close, unsteady in my heels, marveling at the way the world seems to part for him—how the chatter of concertgoers and drunk Hill workers goes quieter for the brief moments when he’s around.
I don’t want to wait anymore; I’m going to let him fuck me.
And yet I understand how unfair this is to him. I can’t give him everything he wants, and taking what I need and depriving him of intimacy and affection and love feels borderline inhumane.
“Wait,” I protest.
He stops and faces me.
It’s the worst irony when I realize we’re mere feet from Hannington-Hale. The building is dark for once—Saturdays are the rare nights in banking when the world shuts down.
When I hesitate, Dalton pulls me close. “I had an epiphany,” he explains. “You were right when you told me I didn’t know you. The thought hurt me, Essie, because I like to think I know people. I’ve made a career remembering what they want and using that information when I need it.”
I don’t respond. To be honest, I’m not sure where he’s going with this.
“But you don’t totally know me either,” he goes on. “I can tell you though—and I can show you too. Will you let me?”
I nod, and to my surprise, Dalton leads me into Hannington-Hale.
The gloomy welcome screens in the lobby illuminate the marble tiles in faint white light, and the metronome click of our footsteps offsets the ping of my racing heartbeat. Dalton is moving fast, and the tightness of his hand around mine betrays his steadiness. He looks different. He feels different. There’s certainty in his motions like he knows exactly where he’s going and exactly what he’s doing, rather than operating on a whim as usual.
When the elevator arrives, the harsh lighting is jarring until we step into the car. Then Dalton has my back against the mirror lining the wall while he looms over me. He eyes me like he could devour me whole, and I let him, knowing my expression is likely just as ravenous.
“Fuck it,” I say before I throw my hands around his neck and kiss him again.
The heat deepens to the point of no return—where I’d be happy to hike up my dress and let Dalton fuck me in this elevator, but the ride stops far too soon.
He carries me.
The way he brings me straight to his office without stopping his indulgent exploration of my mouth is distressingly hot. He has muscle memory for this journey. This guy works so much that he could get here in his sleep—and I love that shit, I do, because how can I not be obsessed with a man who has ambition in his veins?
He shoves everything on his desk onto the floor—papers and pens and multimillion dollar deal packets—all to lay me over the surface. He scans my body, and his pupils are big and black and unceasing. “I’m never going to get over how beautiful you are,” he murmurs before he bends at the waist and presses his lips against mine.
I’m caught up in the kiss, in the weight of his body, and barely notice his movements—the rustling and shift of his figure before he holds up a mask: silky, black, and simple.
A frown conquers my face. “I thought…”
“Masks on,” he says needlessly. “I’d give anything to fuck you without one, but I want to prove I know what you need. Right now, all I want you to think about is fucking me. No worrying about tomorrow or my feelings—just this. This moment. You, me, our bodies—and doing what we both do best.”
What we both do best .
The mask sits comfortably on my face, and when I tie the satin ribbons in the back, the transformation sets in. Dalton’s mask covers half his face as well, and the stunning realization he planned this has me bursting at the seams.
He props my phone against the clear wall facing the pitch-black bullpen. Then, in true Dalton fashion, he’s unceremonious, tugging down the bodice of my dress and shoving up the skirt. “Jesus,” he blurts out. “Do you ever wear underwear?”
Elevating myself on my elbow, I look at my nearly naked body. “You said free-use, so…”
“But we were giving each other space tonight.”
“And neither of us believed you could actually stay away,” is my cheeky response.
Dalton lets out a slow sigh. “You’re so perfect,” he murmurs before he undoes the buttons on his shirt and strips. I can’t help but inhale.
The cords of muscles and carved undulations are something else entirely. He’s stunning—unbelievable as a specimen and even more unbelievable when I consider how much more there is to him. To look the way he does, but to also be captivating and intelligent—it’s nearly unfair.
It’s why I want him. It’s why I need him. There’s nobody better than Dalton Cavendish.
I think I deserve the best.
He leans forward and wraps his mouth around my nipple, running his tongue over the proudly beaded peak and sucking indulgently. “There,” he murmurs against my breast while he clutches the other one, covering it with his big hand. “God, I needed this. The thought of never making these wet and shiny with my mouth again was agony.”
His tongue leaves my breast and slides up the column of my neck, traveling to my jaw. He layers kisses on me, fast and heated, bringing them to my cheek, my chin—but never my lips.
No worrying about tomorrow—just this.
Dalton pulls back. “I’ve always wanted to fuck you here,” he murmurs. He positions his fingers at my pussy and pushes two in right off the bat. “Holy shit. Do you have any idea how wet you are?”
Before I can answer, he inserts his fingers into my mouth, forcing me to taste my arousal. He leaves them there, even when I’ve slid my tongue between the split in his fingers, and switches his other hand to my pussy.
“Three fingers,” he says above a groan. “You’re taking them so good. I think this pussy could take anything, couldn’t it?”
The stretch is divine, but short of what I want. I want to be filled and split open, and until then, I’ll be thrumming with need. But Dalton continues to finger me, teasing me, giving me so much and still withholding the indulgent thickness he wields so masterfully.
“Do you know what I do in this office?” he asks, touching his thumb to my clit and sending a wave of pleasure that unfurls my desperation. He works another finger into me, extending the glorious stretch. “Four—baby, that’s amazing. This pussy is fucking amazing . You think you could take my whole hand?”
Yes.
Yes. Yes.
Fucking yes.
The thought of Dalton fisting me makes my heart rate peak, and I thrust—tacitly telling him I want it.
“Good girl.” Finally, he takes his fingers out of my mouth and presses his lips against my neck, sucking to leave a mark. “How much will you let me do to your body? Everything?”
I hold his head in place, urging him to make the hickey dark, but to my chagrin, he pulls back again.
Is this motherfucker edging me ?
He stares into my eyes, and the gentle brown connects with mine through the holes in our masks. “I make money in here,” he clarifies. “Unreasonable, unnecessary amounts of money—and I love it . Every dollar in my bank account. Every bonus. Every time I add another zero to my net worth. I crave it. Live for it. It’s an aphrodisiac, and I’m not ashamed. I’m smug about it, actually.” He grins and unzips his pants one-handed. “What do you think of my money, sweetheart?”
“I love it,” I admit, bringing my hands to my breasts and massaging them. “I really, really love it.”
“Of course you do. I know you do because I finally figured you out,” he states, removing his fingers from my pussy and spitting right on it.
“Did you just—”
“Spit on your cunt? Yes. I do whatever the fuck I want to the things I own,” he answers before he does it again. “I admit, it took me longer than it should have, but I finally get why you wanted to cam with me so badly.” He slips his fingers in again, fucking his spit into me as he lets out a soft hum. “Such a sweet pussy. When are you going to let me eat it from behind?”
If he doesn’t get inside me soon, I may combust. “Please,” I beg. “Please, I need your—”
“Baby, stop begging. You know you’re going to get it.” Dalton smirks and leans closer, still penetrating me over and over again with his sinful fingers. “Give me the filth I like. That makes me happy.”
Demands? I’m going to screw him and then murder him—but I’m a professional for a reason. “I want your cock to fill me, not just with inches, but with cum. I won’t waste any of it—promise. I promise . I’ll keep it tight in me, and if I lose a drop, you can feed it to me.” Dalton is nodding as I speak, and a proud smile forms on his lips. “I’ll lick it off your fingers. Off your tongue. Off your big dick if I have to. I won’t waste any of it—but please, please , you have to let me milk it out of you first.”
“You’re talented, sweet girl,” he murmurs before he takes out his cock—and it’s magnificent . “I thought this was about debt, but it’s different, isn’t it?”
His dick is so thick and full of blood that it doesn’t even angle upwards when he’s erect. It elevates slightly from his body, weighty enough to succumb to the pull of gravity, sporting a drop of pre-cum at the tip. He notches the head against my entrance, holding it there—but he doesn’t enter me.
“Admit it,” he demands. “Admit why you cam—and why you need me to do it with you.”
I whimper. All those heavenly inches and warm cum are so close. “I’m tight. Just put it in—just the tip—and then we can talk.”
“I can stand here and fuck my hand and stare at you, baby, but I’d prefer to have you. I need to hear it.” He offers a probing thrust, barely breaching my entrance. “Tell me why you wanted to do this with me. Tell me why you need me. Tell me why I’m the only cock you ask for.”
“I will beg for it,” I warn, wiggling my hips to invite his intrusion.
“Say it.”
I’m starting to sweat. I’m starting to quiver. I’ve never been horny like this, and my body is panicking. “You’re sick.”
“I am sick—shamelessly so. And I can fuck you far dirtier than this, but you’re never going to know until you say it.” He catches my wrist when I try to reach for his cock. “Say it and I’ll give you all the cock you want, but say—”
“ Because I want to make money ,” I finally blurt out, wrenching my hand from his grasp. “There—there, you giant asshole. I love how much money we can make together, and I want you to throw me around like a fuck doll for tips. I want to put a camera on my asshole and film you eating it. I want to do every depraved thing there is to do and to make people pay us for it. ”
Dalton watches me, eyes fixed on mine through the eyeholes in his mask. He hasn’t moved once since I started speaking.
I prop myself up onto my elbows. “Even before Halloween, I loved the payouts, I loved taking money from men, and I would never let an opportunity like you pass me by.” I roll my eyes. “I can think of ten ways to make a grand off your cock right now, and I wouldn’t even have to use my hands.”
A smile spreads across his face. “You like making money,” he says—and it’s not a question. “You’re obsessed with it, aren’t you? It’s practically a kink to you.”
I nod—and I don’t stop nodding. “Please. Please, please, please , I need it.” I claw at his arms. “Put your cock in me. Let me bounce on it. Don’t you want to see my pretty tits shake? Please—”
“Will you take it raw?” he asks, jerking himself lightly.
“ Yes . No condoms—ever.”
Without hesitation, Dalton enters me, gritting, “You can take it, can’t you, baby?”
I can. It’s just an inch of him—hardly anything for a regular dick, but Dalton’s is spectacular. It stings, and it aches, and it’s gloriously raw—and my body wants more.
“Another,” I encourage, grabbing his forearms and bringing him close. “More inches. More of it. I want more.”
“More,” he murmurs. “More.” And with a second stroke, his cock fills my pussy—and god, it’s so much.
“How much is left?” I question, breathless, straining to see the junction where our bodies meet.
“Three?” he responds, eyebrow high. He smirks. “Show me how you like to fuck if you want them.”
“You,” I urge, wrapping my hands over my knees and opening them, baring myself for him like a spread little slut. “I want you to do it.”
His expression takes on heat and resolve all at once. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, pushing more of those elusive inches into my body, giving me more of the harsh stretch I crave. I like it when it’s painful like this—when my body feels tested. I like when the thin line between decadence and discomfort melds into the mere milliseconds between a thrust and removal, being filled and emptied. With Dalton, those milliseconds feel devastating.
I never want him to leave. I want to feel the stretch of this cock in me for as long as he’ll loan it, and I rise my hips to meet his strokes.
“You like making money,” he states, pulling out. “Just.” Thrust . “Like.” Thrust . “I.” Thrust . “Do.”
“I do,” I promise, gripping the edge of the desk with a flat palm and clawed fingers.
He pinches my nipple, holding it tight while he angles his hips, delving back into me. Again. Again. The sensation leaves me panting and desperate. “I missed you, baby,” he murmurs, speaking through his teeth.
“We were apart for ten hours.”
“ I missed you, ” he reiterates. “Are you going to show me how much you missed me?”
“Tell me what to do,” I reply. “Make me take you.”
Dalton pulls his cock out of me, and before I can protest, he brings it to my lips. “Spit on it,” he orders.
I don’t hesitate. I spit loudly—without grace—right onto his wet cock. He shoves it back into me. “I’m going to do whatever it takes to get you ahead,” he promises. “Streams. Tips. I’m going to do all of it for you. His hand wraps around my jaw and turns my face. “Look at the camera. Look at yourself getting fucked.”
And I want to give everything to this man who understands my needs unlike any man has—who defined them for me. He feels indescribably sinful inside me, and the way hot sensation passes through me borders on spiritual. The coals of a climax warm my core, growing bigger, searing, forming an inferno as more of his body enters mine. I’m moaning, I’m sweating—I’m demanding his hands and his lips and his hair in my fist—any place I can weave our bodies together, I take it.
“Harder, Daddy,” I urge, crying out when his thumb strides over my clit, swelling it and sating it, kindling on embers. “ Please .”
Daddy . It just slipped out.
“That’s it, my girl,” he replies, fucking me relentlessly, moving my body up the unforgiving surface of his desk. “Spread your cunt and take it.” He pushes more vigorously, thrusting his length. “Show Daddy how you squirt.”
And everything ignites. My climax is more than a release; it’s a revelation. I’m gushing, squirting on him and coating his cock with it, making the most absurd mess I’ve ever made. I’m crying out, nearly screaming, pawing at his arms, at my tits, at the desk—but I can’t find stability in my own body.
I don’t even care.
Dalton doesn’t stop. “So good, baby. So pretty when you come. Eyes on me. Tell me you want mine too.”
“I want it.”
“Every drop is yours, sweetheart,” he grits like gravel, filling me with a generous spurt and the murmured sounds of his approval when I squeeze around his dick, milking his cum into my body. He pulls out and shoves his cock back once, pushing all that cum deeper into me before he replaces his cock with his fingers. “Look at you,” he whispers, sliding them through the mess of cum and fluid on my pussy. “Look what I did to you.”
I look down—and I look so fucked . My dress is wrinkled and wet, my pussy is covered—and Dalton’s clothes look just as bad.
The guy couldn’t care less.
“For the next three weeks, I’m going to make you so much goddamn money,” he promises before laying a single chaste kiss on my mouth.
Then Dalton goes and turns off the camera.
When he returns to me, he takes in my exposed body. His big hand rises and rests on my tummy. “I’m going to fuck you like that until you tell me it’s enough,” he promises. “Anytime you want, anywhere you want—whatever you need to make your money, Essie. I’m yours—and I’m going to take care of everything.”