48. Lucy
48
Lucy
M y heart is doing a ridiculous tap dance as he leads me to the bedroom, his hand warm and firm in mine.
I tremble slightly as his other hand finds the small of my back, a familiar possessive heat spreading through me despite the cool air.
Why am I so nervous all of a sudden? It’s not like we haven’t done this before...
Okay, Lucy. Play it cool. You just said yes to moving in with the man who basically owns half of New York and makes rational thought flee your body. And now… now comes the other part. Sex. With Christopher. Again.
It feels like it’s been ages since… well, since my little encounter with his cock and a certain vibrator. Days? A week? With everything that’s happened... Dad’s second heart attack, the takeover bid craziness, becoming permanent CEO, pushing Christopher away, pulling him back... it feels like a goddamn century packed into a handful of days.
Suddenly I’m nervous all over again, this fluttering Jell-O feeling in my stomach .
Will it be awkward after everything we just navigated? God, what if I’ve forgotten how? What if he’s different now after declaring love and whatnot?
This feels monumental. Bigger than before. Not just intense make-up sex, but… sealing the deal on the ‘I love yous’ and ‘move in with me.’
No pressure.
Just act natural.
Whatever ‘natural’ means when your billionaire soulmate is about to use his pork sword (God, did I really just think that??) to batten down the hatches after averting corporate catastrophe.
Yes, he’s going to drive his corporate jet straight into my private hangar.
He’s going to wear me like a particularly well-loved finger puppet.
He’s going to—
Jesus, Lucy! Stop inventing weirdly specific, slightly disturbing Booktok euphemisms for getting laid and focus on the actual man right here, okay?
Inside the bedroom, the lights are low, casting long shadows. The enormous bed, draped in soft-looking dark linens, dominates the space, looking dangerously inviting.
He doesn’t rush. He turns me to face him, his hands coming up to cup my face, his thumbs tracing my cheekbones with a tenderness that makes my breath catch.
“I love you, Lucy,” he whispers again, his voice rough, his intense blue eyes searching mine as if memorizing my reaction. “God, I love you.”
“I love you too, Christopher,” I manage, my voice barely a whisper.
He smiles then, a slow, genuine curve of his lips that transforms his face, softening the hard edges, making him look younger, almost vulnerable.
Then the intensity returns, but changed. Deeper.
He leans down, kissing me softly at first, then with growing passion, his lips moving against mine with reverence.
He unbuttons my silk blouse, his fingers brushing against my skin, leaving trails of fire. His movements are slow. As if he’s savoring every moment.
He pushes the fabric aside, his lips following the path of his fingers, kissing the curve of my collarbone, the slope of my shoulder. Each touch feels like a prayer.
Okay, yep. Nerves? Officially evicted from the premises. Apparently, they can’t coexist with the full-body thrum of ‘oh my god, yes, please keep doing exactly that’.
Anticipation doesn’t even begin to cover it.
Maybe billionaire worship is my new kink?
Note to self: investigate further.
He unhooks my bra, letting it fall away. His gaze lingers on my breasts, a possessive heat flaring in his eyes, but his touch remains gentle as he cups my weight.
“Fucking gorgeous,” he murmurs, before lowering his head, his tongue tracing lazy circles around one nipple, teasing it into an aching peak before drawing it into his mouth with exquisite care.
I gasp in delight, my fingers clenching in his hair.
Fuck I love him.
He gives equal devotion to the other breast, his touch both gentle and demanding, until I’m trembling, aching for more.
He kneels before me then, his hands sliding down my waist, unzipping my trousers, pushing them down along with my panties until they pool around my ankles.
I step out of them, standing naked before him.
He doesn’t immediately touch me further. He just looks. His eyes roam over my body with an intensity that feels like a physical caress, as usual making my skin flush hot under his appreciative gaze.
“I want to worship you, Lucy,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion I’ve never heard from him before. “Every fucking perfect inch of you.”
And then he starts doing just that.
Oh god.
First my feet. Kissing the arches, licking the sensitive skin between my toes, sending unexpected jolts of pleasure up my legs.
Seriously? My feet? Nobody’s ever paid attention to my feet! Is this a billionaire thing? Do they have, like, foot fetish seminars at Davos?
Not that I mind.
He works his way slowly upwards, kissing my ankles, the backs of my knees, the soft skin of my inner thighs, his tongue tracing patterns, his lips leaving trails of heat.
Every touch is deliberate. Reverent.
By the time his mouth reaches the juncture of my thighs, I’m practically vibrating with anticipation, my core clenched, already dangerously close.
He settles between my legs, parting me gently. His gaze meets mine for a fleeting second, filled with love and fierce intent, before he lowers his head.
And oh god.
His mouth on my pussy… it’s devastating, as always.
He uses his tongue, his lips, sometimes the faint stubble on his chin, creating sensations that are both exquisitely gentle and unbearably intense.
He brings me to the edge, that familiar coiling tightness building low in my belly, then eases back, letting me hover there, trembling, before starting again.
He whispers my name, whispers words of love against my most sensitive skin, his breath hot, his touch maddeningly precise.
“Touch yourself, Lucy,” he murmurs, his tongue flicking against my clit, making me cry out.
He pulls back, giving me room.
My hands tremble as I mirror his touch, fingers skimming my slick folds, each movement a battle against the ache to plunge deeper, to chase the release throbbing low in my belly, to masturbate the shit out of myself and find the release I so desperately want.
“ Slowly. ” His voice cracks like a whip, yet velvet-soft, a paradox that stills me. “You don’t cum until I say.”
His gaze pins me. Dark, hungry, a predator savoring the hunt. A rumble escapes him, primal and approving, as I slow down and slip two fingers inside myself.
I bite my lower lip, my breath shuddering as I drag my fingertips in slow, agonizing circles.
He shifts closer, the heat of his body searing my skin.
“Good girl,” he purrs, but there’s steel beneath the sweetness. His hand closes over mine, guiding my rhythm, his palm rough against my knuckles.
“Let me show you how I want you.” His words aren’t a request. They’re a decree, edged with the tenderness he reserves only for me.
His fingers replace mine, deliberate, possessive, curling just so until my hips jerk. “See?”
His thumb brushes my clit, feather-light, and I whimper. “Every gasp, every shiver. Mine.”
His eyes never waver, drinking in every flinch of pleasure, every tremor he orchestrates.
When his mouth crashes over me again, it’s relentless. Sucking, lashing, owning.
I fist the sheets, a broken chant of his name on my lips as he drives me higher. “Chris— Christ... opher.”
“Now, Lucy!” The order is a growl against my skin, his tongue circling faster. “Let. Go.”
I shatter, his name a scream, his grip anchoring me as the world blurs.
Pleasure rips through me in wave after powerful wave. It feels different this time. Deeper. Not just physical release, but an emotional catharsis, tears falling from my eyes as the shudders wrack my body.
I’m his.
Completely, utterly his.
He holds me through it, murmuring reassurances. “You did well. You’re such a good girl.”
He kisses my trembling thighs until the last wave fades.
I lie there, breathless, boneless, completely undone.
He strokes my hair back from my damp forehead, his expression filled with fierce tenderness.
“Trust me?” he asks suddenly, his eyes searching mine.
“Always,” I whisper without hesitation. Because I do. Completely. After everything we’ve been through.
He reaches over to the nightstand drawer, retrieves something small. My heart gives a nervous flutter. The vibrator?
But when he brings his hand back, I see… my silk scarf from last time? The one I wore to hide his marks. A hand towel.
And something else… something smooth, dark, elegantly curved, made of silicone.
An anal plug.
Oh. My. God.
My eyes widen and my cheeks flame instantly.
He wants to put that… where?!
Panic, sharp and unexpected, claws at my throat. I’ve never… not ever…
If any of my past boyfriends had even suggested that, I would have told them exactly where they could shove it. Literally.
This feels… incredibly vulnerable. Exposed in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
“Christopher…” I start, my voice shaky.
“Shh,” he murmurs, noticing my sudden tension.
He brings the plug closer, letting me see it. It’s smaller than I initially thought, sleek and non-threatening, almost elegant.
“Just something I thought… we might explore. Together.” He brushes a kiss across my lips. “Something new. But only if you want to, Lucy. Only if you trust me. Tell me no, and it disappears.”
I look into his eyes. No pressure. No demand. Just… offering. An exploration, together.
And beneath the initial shock, beneath the mortification… there’s that absolute trust again.
With him? Maybe… maybe I could. Maybe I want to, just because it’s him asking, him leading.
“I trust you,” I whisper, the words feeling huge. I take a shaky breath. “ Okay. Yes. Okay.”
His eyes flare with possessive heat, and pride even, but his touch remains incredibly gentle as he reaches for the lube on the nightstand.
He places the hand towel beneath my butt on the bed, and prepares me slowly, carefully, murmuring reassurances, his fingers working magic until I’m pliant, open.
The insertion is… strange. I flinch as the plug enters. It’s a feeling of fullness, slight pressure, and intense vulnerability. Not painful. Just… intensely there .
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yes,” I manage, my voice breathless. “Better than okay, actually. Just… different.”
Definitely different.
He smiles, a slow, knowing curve of his lips. “Good.” Then, he reaches for the silk scarf. “Now for part two.”
He carefully ties the blindfold around my eyes, plunging me into darkness, heightening every other sense.
My heart hammers against my ribs. Blindfolded and plugged?
This is officially the craziest, most vulnerable thing I have ever done.
But the trust holds. It’s Christopher.
I lie there, senses on high alert, listening to the sounds around me. The rustle of sheets. His soft breathing.
Then, the distinctive crackle as he rips open a condom packet. The faint slide as he sheathes his cock.
My pussy clenches involuntarily, already slick with anticipation, the pressure of the plug inside me a constant, throbbing reminder of my vulnerability, my surrender.
Then his hands are on my thighs, positioning me, spreading me open. I feel the blunt head of his cock press against my entrance. Hot. Hard. Huge.
He enters me slowly, deliberately, filling me inch by agonizing inch. I gasp as my body stretches to accommodate both him and the plug. It’s… impossibly full. Tight. Almost overwhelmingly intense.
“Are you okay?” he asks again.
“I am,” I tell him. “It feels... intense.”
Finally he plunges the last little bit, and I flinch.
“Fuck, Lucy,” he groans, his voice thick, strained. “You feel so fucking tight like this.”
He starts to move, his thrusts slow, deep, measured. Each stroke sends ripples of sensation through my entire body, amplified by the darkness, by the constant, insistent pressure of the plug.
It’s almost too much.
He kisses me deeply, swallowing my moans, his body moving against mine with a tenderness that belies the intensity of the sensations he’s creating.
“I love you, Lucy,” he whispers against my lips, his thrusts punctuating the words. “So fucking much.”
Then, I feel another vibration. Low at first, then intensifying.
The vibrator.
Oh god, not that, too??
He presses it against my clit, and the combined sensations of his cock inside me, the intense buzzing against my happy button, and the pressure of the plug tips me over the edge almost instantly.
“Oh god! Christopher!” I scream as my pussy clenches violently around his thick, hard cock. I’m completely overwhelmed, my body shattering into a million pieces.
It’s the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had in my life, period. Almost unbearable.
He doesn’t stop. He keeps fucking me, keeps the vibrator pressed against my clit, riding out my climax, pushing me further.
“That feels so fucking good!” I sob out, completely lost in the sensations.
“ Again, ” he demands.
“Christopher—” I choke on his name as the vibrator surges harder against my clit, its buzz syncing with the brutal pace of his thrusts.
The world narrows to his voice, his hands, the relentless swell of pleasure tightening like a vise. The plug buried inside me pulses with every snap of his hips, a wicked counterpoint to the stretch of him filling me.
Too much, not enough .
My thighs tremble, slick with sweat, as the next orgasm crests without mercy. “Christopher, I can’t—!”
“You can.” His palm slams down beside my head, the mattress shuddering. “You can. ”
His teeth graze my earlobe, possessive, as his other hand twists the vibrator in cruel, perfect circles.
The next orgasm rips through me like a live wire, my back arching off the bed, a raw scream tearing from my throat this time.
He doesn’t relent. Faster , deeper, the plug a relentless anchor as I clench around him, every nerve alight.
“ Mine, ” he snarls, breath ragged now, his control fraying. “Cum for me like you mean it. Cum! ”
I shatter again, my vision whiting out behind the blindfold, my body a taut bowstring.
His rhythm finally stutters, a guttural roar escaping him as he slams home one last time, hips grinding, his release shuddering through us both.
I feel him tremble, and I mean really tremble , his forehead pressed to my shoulder, his fingers digging into my hipbone like he’ll die if he lets go.
“Lucy,” he grits out, my name a wrecked prayer. Finally, the god kneels.
He collapses against me, spent.
The vibrator still hums, forgotten against my oversensitive flesh.
I twitch, gasping, as he reaches down to flick it off, his chuckle dark, satisfied.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, thumb swiping through the mess he’s made of me. “ Perfect. ”
The plug shifts as he moves, a sweet, filthy reminder.
I don’t speak. Can’t.
We lie tangled together, breathless, sweat-slicked. He gently removes the blindfold.
The room slowly stops spinning, and his eyes, dark with sated desire and profound emotion, meet mine.
He pulls me close, holding me tightly. “I’m so proud of you.”
Carefully, gently, he removes the plug. The sudden release of pressure is almost as intense as the feeling of fullness was.
Whoa.
He wipes it clean with another towel from the nightstand before dropping it and both towels onto the floor beside the bed.
He gathers me into his arms, tucking me against his side, pulling the covers over us. We lie in comfortable silence for a moment, just breathing, hearts gradually slowing, skin cooling against skin. It’s perfect. Peaceful. Until...
Oh my god. Oh no. Wait. Did I just…? Is that… dripping?
Where dripping definitely shouldn’t be right now?
Mortification floods me, hot and immediate. I’m probably glowing brighter than a radioactive tomato.
“Uh, Christopher?” I whisper against the solid warmth of his chest, wishing fervently I could spontaneously dematerialize.
His arms tighten around me almost imperceptibly.
“Hmm?” His voice is a low rumble, already half-relaxed.
“Tiny… tiny potential issue here,” I manage, keeping my voice muffled against his skin. “Regarding, perhaps… post-plug protocols? Possible… leakage?”
God, just kill me now. Strike me down with lightning. Anything.
He actually chuckles, the sound vibrating against my ear, warm and infuriatingly unconcerned.
“ What? ” I tell him. “I don’t want to ruin your obscenely expensive sheets! We should at least put the towels back!”
“Lucy,” he murmurs, nuzzling my hair. “First, they’re sheets. They exist to be used, occasionally soiled, and then replaced by the invisible sheet fairies.”
I manage a weak giggle despite myself.
Invisible sheet fairies? When did the big, bad Executioner develop a sense of humor?
“Second,” he continues, his voice dropping lower, husky again, pulling me even closer, “I don’t give a flying fuck about the sheets right now. Or potential leakage. Or anything else besides having you right here.” His hand strokes down my back possessively. “So just relax.”
“Oh.” Heat suffuses my face, but… okay.
If the billionaire whose bed might currently be suffering a minor biohazard incident doesn’t care… maybe I can unclench my entire body for the first time in approximately forever.
After all, if the invisible sheet fairies are on call, who am I to argue?
Slowly, tentatively, I let my body go loose against his, melting into his warmth.
After a long while, I turn my head slightly on his chest, a goofy, satisfied smile playing on my lips despite the lingering throb between my legs and, well, the ‘leakage.’
“You know,” I murmur, tracing a pattern on his ridiculously defined abs. “If you’re going to have make-up sex…” Even though it wasn’t really make-up sex, more like declaration-of-love-and-let’s-move-in-together sex, but still. “…you might as well make it good.”
He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest.
“So was it?” he asks, his voice still rough.
“Totally fucking amazing,” I confirm readily. “No one has ever given me an orgasm like that.”
“And no one ever will,” he counters. “Only me. Because you’re mine.”
“And you’re mine,” I agree. I pause. “Though... I may need a donut cushion soon, at this rate...”
He laughs, then tightens his arm around me, pulling me impossibly closer.
As I lay there next to him, I reflect on the evening.
His dominance tonight felt… different. Still absolute, still commanding, but layered with so much emotion, so much focused attention on my pleasure, my boundaries, my trust.
It wasn’t just about control; it was about connection.
Deep, profound, terrifyingly wonderful connection.
Maybe we can actually make this work.
At work, we’re CEO Hammond and CEO Blackwell.
But at home, we’re Lucy and Christopher.
It won’t be easy.
But lying here, safe in his arms, loved, cherished, and utterly pleasured… it feels worth fighting for.