Chapter 11 Ethan #2
Just wait until he sees how good I can be.
For good measure, I turn the page to some lovely charts on the breakdown of the business hotel market.
Fascinating. Just fascinating. I pretend to scour the page for information as the extremely hot, controlling billionaire behind me continues to play with my breasts, cupping and stroking and kneading, his fingers teasing and rubbing my nipples, which are winning against my dress fabric.
And it feels so good. So, so good. My pussy is aching.
Blazing. I can’t squirm, but I can squeeze my thighs together, and I can secretly do my Kegels and try to find some relief that way, and I can—
‘Stop that at once.’
I stop.
‘What do you say?’
‘Sorry, Mr Kingsley.’ As if to underline my virtue, I scribble twenty-six percent down on my notepad.
He pinches my nipples through my dress, and I moan softly.
‘Apparently, I’ll have to teach you some self-control.’
‘I’ll enjoy every minute of being your pupil, Mr Kingsley.’
He blows out a ragged breath. He likes that. I bet he’s hard as a rock.
‘Keep reading.’
I flip to the next slide.
He bends over me and slides his hands down, down, down, until I can see them through the glass table, snagging on the hem of my dress. Behind me, his body is a wall of heat.
Yes yes yes!
‘This isn’t for you. You’re just a body for me to enjoy. Don’t let me interrupt you.’
Oh god, this is so hot. I give myself a gigantic silent round of applause for having had the foresight to lean the iPad vertically against my monitor rather than flat on the desk.
My notepad is off to my right, meaning we both have a clear view of him tugging up the hem, up over the lace tops of my stockings and the little clips of my suspender belt, until he unearths my pink lace thong.
(It’s the exact same shade as my dress. I’m a details girl.)
‘Open your legs. Slowly,’ he barks, with as much warning in his voice as if he’s asking an armed criminal to show him her hands. As I enthusiastically obey, he moves his hands around to the sides so he can ruck the hem of my dress up even further over my arse so it bands around my middle.
‘Next page. Keep reading. Out loud.’ He slides one hand beneath my legs and strokes a couple of fingers over my lace-clad pussy with maddeningly lightness as he releases my dress and sticks the other hand down the front of my dress and into my bra, his fingers finding and brushing softly over my nipple.
It’s utter, utter torture, having both his hands in exactly the right locations and yet refusing to touch me properly.
Desperately, I swipe and read. ‘Cost Efficiencies and Economies of Scale.’
‘Go on.’ His mouth is by my ear, his breath warm on my jaw, his fingers conducting some kind of diabolical warfare on my most erogenous zones. My nerve endings are screaming. He’s setting me up to fail and undoubtedly loving every minute of it.
‘Um, Integration of Kingsley Hotels and The Montague Group will enable significant reduction in duplicated corporate functions.’
‘What a good girl.’ Oh-so gently, he hooks a finger into the lace strip of my thong and pulls it aside, baring my molten pussy to the air. ‘I bet you can get those legs even wider for me too, can’t you?’
I practically pull a muscle with how quickly I spread ‘em. ‘Yes—I—’
‘Look at that.’ His voice is low and cajoling and vaguely patronising. ‘Such a pretty cunt. It’s just begging to be stroked. Keep reading.’
I’m sweating properly now. My clit is throbbing and straining. I’m so hyperaware of just how close his hand is to where I’m vibrating for him. I’m his slave, and he knows it, and I will do whatever I need to do to earn my reward.
‘Combined entity anticipates elimination of redundant positions across finance, human resources, legal, and procurement departments.’ My entire body is trembling with need.
My voice is so shaky I can barely get the words out.
And the sick bastard must like it, because he finally ups the ante, rolling my nipple around between his thumb and forefinger as he strokes two taut fingers down the slippery channel from my clit to my entrance and pushes them in, hard.
The unadulterated pleasure of it has me lightheaded; the sight of his hand through the glass, moving between my legs is filthy.
Nothing to see here—just me trying to do my job as my boss takes whatever he wants under my desk.
I’m not sure I’ve ever been so hyper-aware as I am in this moment.
‘Fuck. Keep going.’
‘Conservative estimates project three hundred and fifty to four hundred administrative role reductions within—oh my god.’
He halts. Stops rolling my nipple. Withdraws his fingers from my soaking pussy.
‘Wait. No—sorry—within eighteen months of completion, representing approximately eighteen to twenty-four million pounds in annual savings.’
He pinches my nipple hard and fucks me deep and slow with his fingers, the tendons in his hand flexing tantalisingly through the glass as he does. And finally, finally, finds my clit with his thumb and begins to circle it. God, that’s a really, really excellent rhythm.
It’s so much to focus on—his grip on my nipple, and staying perfectly still for him, and the burn of his fingers as he fucks me, and making sense of this dry finance mumbo-jumbo, and that rough drag of his thumb around and around my clit.
I shudder with the effort needed not to lose control right now and gush all over his fingers like a burst water main.
‘What else?’
‘What else, uh… Technology Infrastructure Rationalisation. Migration to unified Kingsley property management systems will eliminate dual-platform maintenance costs, shit, and enable staff reductions across IT support functions.’
‘I don’t think we really included the word shit in our deck, did we?’ Ethan says primly, fingers and thumbs stilling on my flesh.
Fuck. ‘No, I’m sorry, I’m—no.’
I’m barely holding it together. My body is vibrating as if I’m sitting through a spin cycle on a washing machine, and sweat is trickling between my breasts.
‘Just read the rest of this paragraph like a very good girl,’ he says in a kindly tone, ‘and then I’ll let you come.’
I can do this. I can. He’s finally shown me where the finish line is, and I’m so close. I really am. I grit my teeth and blink to focus my lust-blurred vision.
‘The estimated timeline to integrate the Kingsley legacy reservations system on a group-wide basis is twelve to fifteen months.’ I swallow hard. ‘Eliminating forty to fifty technology roles across both organisations.’
‘That was very good.’ He brushes his thumb over my slick clit, and I tremble. ‘Now, let’s see just how beautifully you can come for me.’
Finally. I let my eyes drift closed as he stays bent over me. He ramps up his ministrations, squeezing my nipple punishingly and pistoning into my pussy with his fingers, that thumb of his working my clit like a champ.
The heat where he’s touching my body is extraordinary, the pleasure breathtaking.
He’s breathing heavily against my ear, as if this is affecting him as much as it is me, and I woozily congratulate myself on having taken up the role as Eight’s official stress ball.
Rather, my body is his stress ball, my clit and my breasts there to soothe him and numb him… and boy is it working out well for me.
‘God,’ I say, my voice shuddery, and he huffs, pleased.
‘That’s it. That’s it. Show me.’
Of course he wants to undo me. However powerless he may have felt back there, he needs to feel just as powerful here, with me. If he needs a woman to fall apart in spectacular style in order to reclaim his sense of control, then he’s picked the right girl.
I need his fingers dragging through my flesh. Need his voice in my ear telling me how very well I’m doing. Need to cede all my agency to this beautiful, difficult, enigmatic man towering over me as he does wicked things to my body.
‘Omigod omigod omigod.’ That molten feeling has spread through every inch of me.
My nerve endings are tingling and dancing.
Crimson and orange and magenta dance across my eyelids.
I’m going to come. I arch my back and shove my pussy against his hand and take everything he has to give me, the pleasure cascading over me in beautiful, brilliant washes as my orgasm slams into me over and over and over.
Ethan’s teeth drag along my jawline. ‘So beautiful. Jesus, so beautiful.’ His voice is a rasp.
I ride out my climax, my entire body convulsing in my chair. Slowly, slowly, the waves ebb away, and I let my eyes drift open. The sight of his big, masculine hand clamped between my legs, my pink thong stretched tautly to one side, is filthily decadent.
Dreamily, I turn my head so that his lips skate closer along my jaw to mine.
But there’s no kiss.
Instead, he whispers in the fevered tone of a man driven to the brink of his control, ‘My turn now.’