7. Sutton #2
I begin to stand, but lightness rushes to my head, and a wave of dizziness hits. I wobble, immediately grab the front edge of his desk with both hands, and take a deep breath as my mind tries to catch up.
“Sutton?” Foster’s voice is tight with concern. Blinking, I gather my bearings as the dizziness begins to fade. “Are you okay?” Foster is already halfway to me.
“Yeah.” I’m unsure, actually.
“Do you want some water?” He reaches out to touch my arm, but I straighten my back in an attempt to regain professional composure, and his fingers stall in the air as he takes the hint not to touch.
“Nah, just stood up too fast,” I explain. “Went overboard on the caffeine today, I think.”
His eyes laser in on me as he frowns, unsure whether to let it be. “If you’re sure.”
“Totally.” I fake a smile to reassure him.
I slowly walk out of his office but stop at the exit, wanting one last look at him—truthfully, concerned Foster is kind of sexy.
I’m only half-turned when I notice his eyes still on me, almost predatory. He stands, hands tucked in his pockets, perched on the corner of his desk. “I’ll see you later? I can order something in. Can’t have you dizzy on us again.”
Ah, let’s add that suave move to his broody appearance to sweeten the view.
Nervously, I chuckle under my breath and claw at my hair as I grimace. “Off the record… don’t you meet a woman, then leave after gratification? Hotel escapades, I’m sure.”
He lets out a short laugh, cheeks tightening to suppress his grin. "I wouldn't touch that question with a ten-foot pole."
I throw him an unimpressed look because it’s a fair ask. “I’m trying to understand your style.”
His eyes grow bold, and his hand comes out of his pocket to pinch the tip of his nose as he takes a second to think. “Sutton.” The way he says my name tugs me closer to him, yet my feet remain planted. It’s firm and soothing at the same time. “You’ve seen my home, I don’t spend nights.”
That’s the subtle hint of clarity because he has spent the night with me.
I’m different, it seems.
“Right.” Our eyes hold for a long second in recognition of the fact.
Fluttering my eyes, I remember his original question.
“Dinner, uhm, maybe. I have a bunch of work that I want to get done. I still need to prove my worth in the department,” I half joke.
I don’t have doubts. The company needs me, appreciates me, and is afraid to do anything that might upset their talent.
I earned the title of being exceptional in my career long ago.
“Fair enough.”
I can’t help but smile; the way he looks at me is all persuasion, though he doesn’t need to convince me of anything.
Which is exactly why, six hours later, I’m crawling across Foster’s living room floor on hands and knees, wearing nothing but his shirt.
He’s propped against the sofa, shirtless, sweatpants slung low, that V at his waist on full display.
Chinese takeout litters the coffee table.
I shoot him my sultriest look and climb into his lap, straddling him like he’s the only thing I want.
Encircling my arms around his neck, I meet his eyes. “Are you okay? Since I got here, you’ve been a bit…” I wobble my head. “In your own world.”
He gives me a soft smile, honest on the surface, but underneath, there seems to be doubt. “The usual.”
“We leave the workday at the office, remember?”
He drops his gaze to his fingers that brush along my arm. “It’s not that. It’s family stuff.”
I’ve sensed from the get-go that it’s a sore spot for him. There is respect for his father, even love, but also a puzzle piece that never quite fits. I never wanted to pry, only give a listening ear.
“Unless you can fix it, you shouldn’t let it get to you. You have your own life to live.”
“Trust me, I’ve followed that policy more than you know. Don’t you find it… I don’t know…” His eyes fasten to mine again. “Everyone around us is moving. Friends settling down.”
“I haven’t noticed. It’s not like I got dragged to a wedding dress fitting, a bridesmaid dress fitting, or talking about kids with friends,” I say, sarcastic.
He sputters a laugh. “Exactly. A bachelor party is the highlight of all of this. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for them all. I have my career. It’s just… beyond. I’m not sure. It’s a complete gray area.”
I nod in understanding. “Just going through the motions of day-to-day. Feeling fulfilled yet not quite? As if you’re stuck behind a wall, but you’re not sure what’s on the other side or if you even would want it? That kind of gray area?”
Foster raises his brows, impressed by my explanation. “Happy to hear that I’m not the only one borderline considering if I drank the wrong water or something.”
Shaking my head, my body eases because, honestly, it feels good to hear someone else saying what you’ve been feeling.
“I’m not sure what’s next. I try to focus on the now.
I’m sure one day that will come back to bite me in the ass.
But at least I have a cute ass.” I try to make him laugh, and it works.
He swipes my long hair to the side. “You do. There are some positions where it looks even better.” Fisting my hair, I see the flare of desire in his eyes. His eyes are tense and have me mesmerized.
“I think all of those numbers you work with have stressed you out a little this week. Let me help you.” My voice is sultry, and my smirk is sly.
His face is unreadable, but his lips part as my fingers dip down between us to sneak into the waistband of his sweats. I tug, and he lifts his hips to help me, guiding me off to stand with him as he disrobes.
“I like it when you obey, Sutton.” His voice is deep and commanding. The beginning of the dominant Foster.
Kneeling down, he’s already hard when I settle between his knees, peering up for approval. My hands slide up his stomach, and he collects my wrists, holding them together.
“I might need those,” I whisper.
“You might need your mouth more,” he counters.
My tongue darts out to lick the tip of his cock that is at full attention.
Slowly, I take more into my mouth, and with every stroke, he goes deeper.
He drops my arms, and my hands instantly seek his hips to hold on for stability.
He wraps my hair around his fists and pulls slightly, almost painfully, but I want it.
I’m not vanilla by any means. I’m good at this, and I know he will reward me after. But it’s not tit for tat either.
He helps guide my rhythm; he moans as I suck the way he wants it.
His thighs are tight muscles as his body seeks an orgasm, one that I’m going to give him.
Bringing my right hand to the base of his cock, I pump him a few times while I gather a fresh round of breath.
He’s slick with my saliva, and looking at his cock, I crave more.
Stuffing my mouth full of him again, my sounds are muffled.
I nearly gag, but he pulls back enough, and my response is to tighten my suction on his length.
“Such a dirty girl. You like my cock?” His eyes are hooded as he stares up at the ceiling, enjoying using me.
I mumble my answer as my nails claw into his skin because I take him as deep as I possibly can, tears almost stinging my eyes and mouth properly stretched as I wrap tightly around him. Both of his hands frame my head as he has me do what he wants, and every second increases my own arousal.
“Want my cum?”
I attempt to nod.
“I know you love swallowing, such a good girl. Just like you want me to come inside that pussy of yours.” His words are thick with lust and cause my body to feel like it’s on fire.
Finding my tempo and doing all of the movements I’ve learned he likes, he roars into an orgasm. Squirts of his cum shoot down my throat. When he pulls out, his breath heavy, I sit back on my heels and take the back of my long finger to wipe my mouth.
Foster stares down at me, completely tranquil. “I fucking love when your mouth looks thoroughly fucked.”
Slowly standing up, I feel satisfied with my performance. “You’re very welcome.”
“I didn’t thank you.” His words are sinister, especially as he pushes me down onto the couch. “But I will now. Open those legs and let me fuck that pussy as deep as I got to fuck your throat.”
My clit is throbbing from his words. I love it when the man is crazed with desire.
He comes down to his knees, throwing both of my legs over his shoulders, spreading me wide.
He nearly tears my panties when he pulls them to the side.
A few strokes with his thumb against my clit and I’m already seeing stars, and I haven’t even come yet.
But that’s Foster.
He knows my body now. Which buttons to press, what I like, what I need. I’m an instrument he knows how to play.
Which is why the entire evening, the whisper in my mind reminds me that explosive chemistry can mean one of two things:
Lust and infatuation.
Or something far more powerful.