26. PATIENCE
alistair
She had the nerve to defy me. Ariella didn’t wait in my office as I told her to.
But I know she’ll come back to me tonight in disguise. Even after the way I carved into her pride, I’d bet on anything she won’t resist the pull.
Which means I’m not pretending to sleep tonight. I stay perfectly still, with an intent to catch her mid-act. Like I promised last night.
With that in mind, I let my body go slack beneath the sheets—breathing shallow, controlled, every muscle deliberately loose, feigning that I’ve sunk into a deep, undisturbed sleep as usual.
It’s a careful performance, one I’m maintaining down to the smallest detail.
Underneath that stillness, my awareness is razor-sharp. My eyes remain barely open, hidden behind lowered lashes as I watch the room in fragments of shadow.
The darkness is working against me by distorting any movement. My vision strains, a slow ache building behind my eyes, the more the seconds stretch into minutes.
Then, finally, a flicker of movement appears behind the work table. There she is.
A small, slender silhouette detaches itself from the shadows and moves toward my side of the bed with measured steps.
Even in the dim light, the shape of her body is unmistakable—narrow waist, soft curves, an outline that shouldn’t look this tempting in near-complete darkness.
I barely contain my eyes from widening in surprise—she’s not wearing her usual full body suit. A pleated leather micro skirt flares around her hips. Her thighs shine from the black pantyhose. She paired it with her signature thigh-high leather boots.
And those pointed cat ears perched on her head… a quiet, dangerous amusement curls through me. Cute little kitty.
My heart betrays me instantly. It kicks hard against my ribs, loud enough that I’m certain she should be able to hear it.
This is the addictive excitement of anticipation. I don’t even know how volatile Ariella truly is.
This moment could fracture into a thousand different outcomes—some of them ending with me gutted open for the sheer stupidity of allowing a stranger this close.
I lie here, feigning vulnerability for the thrill of it.
A small part of it says—just as it did for the past nights—it can be anyone in disguise as her. But I know this is none other than Ariella Keinston.
So I’m letting this happen. Night after night, I let her slip into my space, let her watch me, let her exist this close—just to chase whatever fucked-up satisfaction this gives me.
She stops beside the bed, then lowers herself to her knees.
Slowly, she bites down on the leather of her gloves, tugging them off with her teeth in a way that’s far more suggestive than it has any right to be.
The sight alone is turning me on. I’m one step away from flipping this entire situation—pinning her down, binding her wrists, forcing control back to where it belongs, and shoving my cock down her throat.
That’s when her now-bare hands reach for me, nails dragging lightly across my chest—so gentle it’s almost nothing, yet it lands igniting sparks against my skin.
My breath nearly stumbles. I force it back into rhythm, force my body to stay under control even as I can feel my cock roaring back to life.
Her touch travels downward, tracing my ab-lines. Fingertips grazing over muscle, nails barely pressing, mapping me out, taking all the time in the world.
Muscles flex under her touch before I can stop it. It’s a minor reflex action, but a mistake nonetheless.
She stills instantly, studying my face.
Fuck. I stay just as I am. Forcing my eyes shut would only draw more attention and create suspicion.
Within seconds, she resumes dragging her nails lower with that same unhurried precision.
I release a slow, measured breath, careful to keep my chest steady and my body loose beneath her touch.
The blanket shifts next.
She lifts it just enough to slip beneath, still on her knees, draping the fabric over her upper body to shield herself—an instinctive attempt at concealment that only makes the act more illicit.
I track every movement through the dim outline, feeling the subtle fumbling of her hands beneath the covers until warm breaths brush against my skin.
I’m tempted to catch her right away just like I initially planned. However, I wait for a better opportunity.
Each exhale ghosts over my lower abdomen, teasing me in a way that feels far too personal for something so subtle.
I feel Ariella freeze. She’s found me exactly how I intended—bare, exposed, already hard beneath the sheets.
A slow smirk curls in my mind. Tonight wasn’t an accident. I dropped to bed naked on purpose.
She doesn’t waste any more moments to wrap her hand around my girth.
The first drag of her tongue starts from the base upward, following the length of me, feeling the throbbing veins, until it reaches the tip. Her tongue swirls around the flared head, then goes back down for another swipe.
My hands clench at the innocent act, fighting the urge to grab her nape and force the length all the way down her throat.
The next lick starts underneath. The velvety texture of her tongue runs repeatedly over my balls. Is she testing my damn limits?
A rough, silent inhale catches in my throat as her tongue glides along the sensitive underside, exactly where I wanted it.
My hand twitches, almost flying to my mouth to trap the groan that’s clawing its way up. I trap it in, not letting it escape.
She continues like that—unhurried, exploratory—licking me as if she’s savoring something sweet, something she has no right to indulge in.
Her lips close around the tip, soft and cautious, suction light before she releases me with a wet sound that hits harder than it should.
Then she’s repeating the filthy action.
Again.
And again.
I’m so fucking starved for a real human touch that such a small innocent act is driving me insane. It’s pathetic.
Ariella moves with an innocence that doesn’t belong in something this filthy.
My fingers curl into my palms, feeling the heat of the contrast, nails biting into skin as I fight to keep my body from reacting, from thrusting my hips into her touch, from taking control the way I want to.
The moment she’s satisfied—after dragging her tongue over me with deliberate thoroughness to clean off Delilah from me—she shifts.
Small hand wraps around my shaft, her grip firm but not demanding, and she starts to stroke me in slow, languid motions. Up—clockwise. Down—anticlockwise.
Her other hand slips lower, fingers brushing over my balls, massaging them lightly.
I feel my pulse spiking violently. My breathing shortens, slipping into shallow bursts I can’t fully suppress. Damn it.
She notices.
Her pace adjusts—faster now, but still careful, still controlled enough to make it seem nothing more than another dream-induced episode where my body is reacting this on its own imagination.
If only she knew how close I am to ruining that illusion.
I’m genuinely surprised I haven’t already grabbed her yet—haven’t fisted her hair and forced her down until she chokes on my cock and the control shifts back where it truly belongs.
The pressure builds fast.
A tight, coiling sensation gathers at the base of my spine, spreading upward, sharpening into something impossible to ignore. I’m getting close.
The thought of finishing anywhere but down her throat immediately turns sour. If she pulls away now, I swear I’ll turn pleasure into pain for her.
But she doesn’t. Instead, Ariella leans in further, adjusting her position beneath the blanket, and takes me deeper—far deeper than before, gagging in the process.
Not perfect, not practiced, but enough to push me over the edge.
A low, restrained groan finally breaks free, urging my body to give in with my hips subconsciously flexing upward.
The release hits hard and spills into her mouth. She holds steady, taking it enthusiastically and swallowing every single drop.
A dark satisfaction blooms in my chest at that. My good little kitty.
A few stray drops slip past her lips, trailing down onto my skin. The feeling—what little I can make out of it—creases my glabella.
She isn’t slipping away tonight.
I force myself to stay still for a little longer, letting her linger beneath the covers as if savoring the moment.
Then she pulls back. The blanket shifts again as she emerges from underneath it. Her eyes suck on my face.
For a brief second, I almost think she’s caught me—caught the way I’ve been watching her this entire time. But instead, she lifts her hand and licks it clean like a cat grooming itself.
The image stitches into my mind.
I don’t wait for another second. Before she can retreat the way she always does, I open my eyes fully.
“Hey there, little kitty,” I murmur, far too awake.