Chapter 32 #2
“Shh.” His palm splays over my stomach, pinning me. “I asked if you love it.” His tongue flicks my nipple. “Not if you need it.”
I’m dying.
“Answer.” He swirls his tongue around the peak, sucking hard.
“I—” His teeth scrape the tender flesh. Oh fuck. “I love it! Please—”
“Please what?” His mouth abandons my breast, trailing lower. Over ribs. Down my trembling abdomen. His tongue dips into my navel. “Use your words.”
“Please make me submit,” I beg, shameless. “In all ways.”
He pulls back suddenly and his eyes flash. Predatory, pleased. “All ways?”
I nod quickly.
He gets up, and reaches into his nightstand. The snick of a hidden drawer. Silk whispers through the air, pure liquid night in his hands. A blindfold I’ve never seen.
“Trust me?” He doesn’t wait for an answer.
I pull away. “Wait!”
He pauses.
I remove my bracelet and set it on the nightstand. The signal we’ve used before. Permission without words. Then I look at him. “Okay.”
The silk blindfold settles over my eyes, plunging me into velvety darkness. Instantly, the world narrows again.
His world.
Marco’s breath ghosts over my collarbone, warm and steady, and the weight of his hands anchors me to the bed. I’m trembling, but not from fear. From anticipation. From the delicious, terrifying yes of it all.
Professional boundaries who?
His knuckles brush my ribcage. Then his voice cuts through the silence, low and commanding. “Hands above your head. Keep them there.”
I obey, wrists pressed to the headboard, and feel him tie silk knots around my wrists.
The restraint feels like surrender.
And safety.
His fingers trace my inner arm, worshipful and slow, mapping every inch of skin as if I’m a relic he’s rediscovered.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs, the praise spooling more and more heat low in my belly. “Every part of you, Jess. Perfect incarnate.”
He kisses the hollow of my throat, then lower, branding my sternum.
“Tell me if you need to stop,” he murmurs against my ear.
“I will,” I mutter shakily.
“Good girl.”
My pussy involuntarily clenches.
Oh God those two words should not do what they do to me.
His mouth finds my left nipple, and I arch into his touch, a whimper escaping before I can bite it back.
“Shh,” he soothes, but there’s steel beneath the velvet. “Wait.”
Wait.
Again?
The word coils in my veins.
He’s everywhere, lips on my hipbone, tongue tracing the curve of my breast, hands skimming my thighs, but he avoids where I ache for him most.
Teasing.
Tormenting.
Building the pressure until I’m literally squirming against the sheets.
“Please,” I gasp into the darkness, all of my other senses enhanced courtesy of the blindfold.
“Not yet.” His palm flattens over my abdomen, holding me down. “I want to hear you beg properly.”
When your boss turns out to be really, really good at this.
The absurdity almost makes me laugh, but then his thumb brushes my clit, light as a whisper, and my thoughts dissolve into static.
Finally!!
Pleasure sparks, white-hot, but he pulls back before it crests.
“Patience,” he chides, his voice rough with approval. “Such a good girl for me.”
Oh God, those words.
He repeats them like a mantra as he worships my body.
Good girl.
Perfect.
Mine.
His tongue dips into my navel. His teeth graze the inside of my thigh. Every touch is deliberate, reverent, and I’m unraveling beneath him.
Then his mouth is on my pussy.
Fully.
Yes yes yes!
Sucking, licking, devouring.
I cry out, and rock my hips up and down, frantically fucking his face.
His hands suddenly clamp down on my waist. “Stay still.”
The order is a growl.
I whimper, trembling, as he drags me to the edge again and again.
Each time when I’m close, my breath hitching, my muscles locking, he stops.
Pulls away.
Leaves me hollow and shaking.
It’s getting to be unbearable.
And then he does it again. Devours me. Brings me right to the edge. And—
“Now,” he commands, and his tongue flicks hard over my clit.
I shatter.
Flashes of light fill my vision—
Too much—
Can’t—
Falling—
The orgasm rips through me, violent and blinding.
My back arches right off the bed, lifting his head, a raw scream tearing from my throat as the pleasure detonates.
Just wave after fucking wave.
Too much.
I feel wetness bursting forth with each pulse. This gushing, hot, uncontrollable wetness. Soaking the sheets, his chin, everything.
Oh.
Oh no.
No no no.
The aftermath is a haze of panting breaths and trembling limbs. Marco releases my wrists, pulling at the silk ties so they fall loose. I fumble frantically for the blindfold, tearing it off.
Light stings my eyes.
The room swims into focus. His dark gaze is locked on mine, his mouth glistening. Mortification floods me.
“That was,” I stammer. “Oh shit. I think I just— peed on you. Oh God, Marco, I’m so sorry—”
He laughs, low and unbothered, wiping his jaw with the back of his hand. “You didn’t pee. You squirted. There’s a difference.”
“I don’t believe you.” Heat scalds my cheeks. I’m trying to pull the blindfold off but my hands are still tied. “Let me up. I need to clean up.”
He stands. He’s still fully dressed, but I can clearly see his cock bulging in his tight jeans.
“Come here,” he says, grabbing my hand and guiding me to the en suite bathroom. The tiles are cool under my bare feet.
“This is humiliating,” I tell him.
“It’s not.” He’s matter-of-fact about it. Turning on the light. He nudges me toward the toilet. “Sit. Try to pee.”
“Marco...”
“Humor me,” he insists.
I sit because arguing feels pointless when I’m naked and mortified and still shaking from what just happened.
I try to pee. Nothing comes out.
“See?” He’s leaning against the counter watching me like this is totally normal. “Not urine.”
“Maybe that’s because I drained myself on your face!” I exclaim.
He smiles, but shakes his head. “Nope. That’s not it.”
“Fine, then maybe I just can’t go with you staring at me like a creeper!” I counter.
He shrugs. “I’ll wait.”
He does. Patient and completely unbothered while I try again.
A tiny drizzle... barely a trickle... hits the water.
He nods approvingly. “There. See? Told you. Totally different.”
“This is the weirdest aftercare ever,” I mutter.
He grins. Actually grins. “Who says this is aftercare? Who says we’re done?”
Then he drops to his knees in front of the toilet.
His hands grip my thighs, spreading them.
“What are you doing?” My voice goes high.
“Proving a point.” His mouth crashes against my core, hungry, possessive. No teasing this time, just relentless pressure, tongue circling, sucking, owning me.
I gasp, squirming, my fingers frantically tangling in his hair as he drags me back to the brink.
Pleasure coils, tighter, hotter—
Now—
Yes—
There—
I cum with a choked sob, my back slamming against the toilet. This time, no gush. Just sweet, shuddering release. He pulls back, lips swollen, eyes burning into mine. “See? Different.”
My chest heaves. “Okay. Fine. You win.”
He strokes my inner thigh. “We’re going to keep doing this until you’re unashamed of squirting.”
A traitorous thrill shoots through me. Until.
Like a promise.
Like forever.
I bite my lip.
“Maybe I’ll pretend I’m ashamed. If it means you keep doing that.” My voice drops to a whisper. “Because honestly? Kind of hot.”
“Was it?” His thumb lightly brushes my clit, taunting me.
“Yeah.”
He grins. “Good.”
He doesn’t hesitate. His mouth descends again, slower now. Worshipful. He licks a long stripe up my slit, then closes his lips over my clit, sucking gently. Building the fire all over again.
Too slow—
Now too fast—
His fingers join, thrusting deep, curling just right.
Please—
More—
Don’t stop—
The pressure builds, unbearable, exquisite. I’m babbling, words fracturing.
“Marco— I can’t—”
“Let go,” he orders against my skin.
And I do.
Hot—
Wet—
Yes—
A small gush pulses out, soaking his chin. He doesn’t flinch. Just drinks it in, eyes locked on mine, dark with triumph.
“That’s my good girl,” he rasps, licking his lips. “Perfect. You taste so good. Like liquid candy.”
Later, we’re on the landing with tea. Real aftercare. Not the bathroom kind.
I’m wearing his T-shirt. He’s in sweats. We’re sitting on the floor with our backs against the wall because apparently tonight is a night for doing things that don’t make sense.
“Stay,” he says quietly.
“I am staying. Having tea. See?” I lift my mug.
“No.” He sets his mug down. Turns to look at me. “Stay tonight. Not as my employee. As my lover.”
The word hits different than I expect. Lover. Like something from a different era. More intimate than girlfriend. More honest than whatever we’ve been pretending this is.
“Okay,” I tell him. Because what else can I say?
We go back to the primary suite. The bed we’ve shared during crisis nights but never like this. Never on purpose.
He pulls me against him. My back to his chest. His arm around my waist.
“Sleep,” he murmurs into my hair.
And somehow, impossibly, I do.