Chapter 15 #2
I interpret here in the sense I wish, coming round his desk and standing between his legs.
“Sit.” He pats his thigh, and I happily perch on it.
He slides his hand down my hip, his cock hardening beneath me.
Startling slightly, he drags two fingers up my inner thigh.
I’m as nervous as I am thrilled he’s discovered my dirty little secret.
My pussy thrums, and juices trickle from me.
“Naughty wee Scheherazade, tempting her king.” Collecting my nectar on his fingers, he lifts them to his mouth and licks them clean.
He slips his hand into my shirt and plucks my erect nipple.
“You’re like a ripe melon. All sweetness, juice, and edible flesh.
” He bites the long muscle of my shoulder, making me cry out. “Did you dress for me?”
“Aye, sir.” The honorific slips out without my thinking.
I hear the smile in his voice. “When we’re alone you may address me thus.”
Strangely I relish this chance to honor his authority.
Not coming the other night was incredibly hard, but I was proud of holding out and doing his bidding.
The anal plug especially drove me insane, and when he had me pleasure him with all those toys inside me, it was almost impossible not to yield to an orgasm.
Yet the hierarchical structure in our current relationship lessens my fear that sex will trigger me.
Maybe the edging, the pressure of restraining myself, or the thrill of having sex in risky places distracts me from seeing Leith as a threat the way my assaulter was four years ago.
Maybe feeling like I have no choice in the matter is liberating. Maybe he’s just home.
However it is, sex with Leith is groundbreaking.
Before him, I never saw myself as a sexual being. Now I look in the mirror and get turned on by what I see.
He slicks two fingers along my divide, swirls my clit, bats it, and repeats the motion. My body instantly responds. I grind into him, running my fingers over his veiny forearm and dropping horny kisses along his jaw. He twists my nipple and pulls it to elongate it.
I whimper. “Leith.”
He breathes into my ear, till my pussy weeps. “Call your biological father, Flame.”
What? No!
He must see the horror splashed across my face. “I don’t like mysteries, so I’ve bumped this up my priority list.”
Ahead of revenge on Aaron, he doesn’t say.
“How?” I ask.
He slides his phone over, showing the number typed into the keypad. “Tap send.”
If he weren’t surrounding me on all sides, giving me strength, I would never undertake this task. Obeying, I tap speaker.
The call goes immediately to voicemail: Hello, you’ve reached Phyfe MacGilson. Please leave a message.
I choke. “Ehm, hi, Mr. MacGilson . . . this is Iona? Iona De Mo—Cargill. Your . . . I was calling because . . .” Fuck, why am I calling? “Because I need some information only you can give. Please call me back at”—I leave my own number, then end the call.
Leith hits send again. This time when it goes to voicemail he speaks. “Mr. MacGilson, this is Leith Cargill, Iona’s husband. You’ll want to call us back as soon as you get this message. We know about the experiment.” He kills the call.
“Fuck,” I breathe. “You’re frightening.”
I’m more aroused than I’ve ever been.
He toys with my other nipple, making me arch my back in frustration. “It’s 4 in the afternoon in Brazil. I’ll give him till we go to bed.”
“Then what?”
“Then I send Draven, McKinley, and a couple of soldiers to Salvador, Brazil.” He angles my face to feather my lips with his. Everything from my neck down melts. “They’ll convince him to come here soon enough.”
Barely processing the fact that he’s going to force my sperm donor’s hand, I writhe beneath his touch. “Please, sir.”
His tongue emerges to tease mine. “Dinner first, Flame. Then play.”
I groan. “Why?”
Why not before and after?
“It’s good for you to control your urges.” Infuriatingly, he slips his hands out of my shirt and skirt and sets me on my feet. “And Elsa always serves dinner promptly at 8. She’d be offended if we kept her waiting.”
* * *
Elsa and Amanda have barely left us for the evening when Leith pushes his chair back. “Stay where you are.”
My heart picks up speed, and I sit stock still as he prowls around behind me and gathers my hair above my neck.
Twisting it on top of my head, he pins it in place with two pens from his pocket.
He shunts aside my plate, elegantly lifts me onto the table, and presses me face down into the wood, kicking the chair forward so my feet rest on it and my arse juts up in the air.
He runs a palm down my spine, then rips my shirt open to expose my back.
I gasp as he grabs my wrists and ties them tight behind me with his belt.
Pushing my skirt up to my waist, he exposes my backside and gives one buttock a sharp smack. I jump and moan, feeling arousal drip down my slit.
A devilish smile laces his tone as he collects my juices. “You like that, eh?” He spanks the other cheek hard, eliciting a needy whimper. He chuckles darkly. “I wanted to see how much you enjoy impact play, Flame. Now I know.”
I find myself pushing my arse up further for more, near wriggling toward him.
He reaches out and takes two strands of fettuccini from my unfinished dish, laying them vertically over my skin from my sitbone to my pussy.
They’re covered in cream sauce. His tongue flattens against my folds, catching the ends of the pasta.
I cry out as he stabs me with his tip then nibbles his way up the noodles to my crack.
There he lingers with his tongue, delving it into my snug hole.
He places a saucy scallop over my puckered rosette and slurps around it, activating dozens of pleasure sensors I never knew I had.
Then he eats the scallop.
“You taste divine, wee wife.” He takes my half-full glass of white wine and pours some of it into the gully formed by my arching back.
I groan as he proceeds to slurp it up from my flesh.
This is the hottest foreplay I’ve ever had, and that’s saying a lot, since Leith has aroused me plenty in the last five days.
Heat explodes in every cell along my spine, all the way down to my core.
Taking four more strands of fettuccini, he wraps them around my neck before placing a scallop at the base of my nape. Leaving the pasta necklace, he picks up the scallop in his teeth and feeds it to me. I open my lips to receive it, tangling tongues with him before chewing and swallowing.
“So salty, earthy, and delicious,” he murmurs, humming his approval. He breathes over my neck, making me shiver, and takes a bite of pasta from my noodle necklace, making it fall apart.
Taking a number of peas from my pasta dish, he dots them down my vertebrae to my back hole. “Such a tasty morsel of flesh. I’ll devour every ounce of you before I’m done.”
I shiver as his lips graze my skin and suck me in the process of culling each pea.
He pours more wine in the groove of my back and laps it up.
Reaching the pea covering my back pucker, he scoops it up with his tongue and brings it to my mouth, offering it to me like a pearl of great price.
I nibble it from his tongue, and he smothers me in an intoxicating kiss that has my thighs quivering.
“You’ve earned another day of life, Scheherazade,” he says in low, plush tones that vibrate straight to my hot center. “Now I’m going to fuck your appetite out of you.”
I’m wetter than the sauce that coated the pasta. I think I have an addiction problem, and the only answer is his cock.
“Please,” I moan.
I’ve barely pronounced the word when he pushes me further across the table, straddles me from behind, and ruts into me, bottoming out in one stroke.
“Oh, Leith!” I groan, relishing his hugeness.
“Good girl, taking all of my cock,” he praises, grabbing a handful of hip and buttock. “So tight, slick, and fillable.”
He fucks me like we’re on a self-destruct mission headed toward a post-apocalyptic world. I love every bestial thrust and carnal grunt he emits. It’s not long before I feel inklings of my O.
“Leith,” I plead.
“Not yet, Flame.” Pulling out, he cracks his palm over my buttock, making me cry out. “Not till I say.”
Long, deep, and brutal, his strokes bring me inches closer with each pounding of his hips into my backside.
He undoes my hair and fists it, pulling hard. “Come for me, slave.”
His enticing voice and hot command push me over the edge, and I rupture at the seams, bursting with heat, light, and friction. My pleasure extends for miles and miles like ribbons of stardust in the wake of a comet. I’m igniting, on fire, and detonating, all at once.
Screaming his name, I buck up into his thrusting pelvis, so wet and sloppy I can hear the smack of our hips over his bellow, my cries, and the thump of the table beneath us.
“Come again, Iona,” he commands fiercely, still pumping me.
Before long my pussy walls flutter into him again, and a second explosion chases the first, no less intense or cataclysmic.
He collapses over me, our chests heaving against each other.
My mind is blank and my body finally at peace, after hours of being keyed up.
“You ruined my shirt,” I say mildly.
“I’ll get you a better one.” He brushes my hair behind my head.
“How did you get hold of all my claes?”
“I made a copy of your spare key, that first day I came to your apartment.”
I try to sit up, but he’s got me pinned against the table. “That’s insane, Leith.”
“It’s nothing to what I can, would, and will do, Iona.”
* * *
It’s Saturday, exactly four weeks after I met Leith, and I’m setting up my own office down the hall from his, in preparation for another installment of Iona’s Bookish Rambles.
I plan to talk briefly about our visit to London before segueing into a discussion of Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine, which I’ve been reviewing since the honeymoon.
When we had no word from Phyfe MacGilson on Thursday night, Leith sent Draven, McKinley, and two Syndicate soldiers to Brazil to look for him.
On Friday Draven reported back that MacGilson had disappeared.
Since last Saturday morning neither his family nor his colleagues had seen him at home or work, and no one knows where he went.
According to Draven, the last person who saw him was a garage attendant who filled up MacGilson’s tank.
“His wife was genuinely distraught,” Draven told us over speaker.
A wolfish glint entered Leith’s eye. “Keep looking till you find something. The man is an academic with a wife and two kids. He has to surface at some point—if he’s still alive.”
Recently Lachlan and Skye found out MacGilson is a clinical psychologist before they paid him a visit at his home in Salvador.
After Leith and Draven had rung off, I asked, “Where do you think he went?”
Leith’s intent expression deepened. “I think he’s on the run. From us.”
“How?”?2
His jaw muscles flexed. “It’s no coincidence he disappeared the day of our wedding. He’s afraid we’ll confront him about your and Grizel’s assaults—and the so-called experiment.”
“But he can’t stay in hiding forever,” I pointed out.
Leith’s lips curved in a cunning smile. “Exactly. And I have a few strategies for driving him out into the open.”
Now, looking back on our conversation, I wonder if MacGilson is protecting Grizel’s and my assailants. Are they too in Brazil, still working with him?
If so, are they also hiding from us?
1?football
2?Why?