22. Helen #2
“No, no. I know you have other business to attend for the day. I won’t keep you from that.” His lips thinned at my obvious dismissal, and I wanted to kiss that frown on his face. “I promise I’m alright. Just be home in time for bed.”
He swiped one hand through his luscious dark hair, and I wished it was my fingers instead.
“I have to be, don’t I? Who else would cook dinner?”
“I’m not incapable of it, you know.” Crossing the desk with all the paperwork safely tucked into my bag, I placed a careful kiss on his already lipstick stained and kiss-swollen lips.
It might have gone further if we hadn’t been interrupted earlier, but there was always later to pick up where we left off.
“I’m not so sure,” he mumbled between locked lips. “I’ve seen the way you burn toast.”
Pulling back, I openly rolled my eyes. One hand on his tie kept him close and his cologne wrapped around me. “Don’t you have that event for your father’s work tonight? I didn’t expect you to be home for dinner.”
“I have a gift waiting for you at home. The least I can do is make a stop at the house to see you wearing them before I meet with him and all his boring business partners. It’ll give me a boost to get through the night.” He shrugged, with that insufferable, arrogant smirk on his lips.
“A gift?”
“I’m not telling you now.”
“Rude, really.”
“You’ll love it, I promise.” With one last kiss on my lips, he lightly smacked me on the ass and sent me through my office doors.
I was the one wearing a goofy grin all the way home.
Gizmo and Banjo posted up outside the house, per the new norm.
I locked the door and entered the house, fully prepared to march upstairs and bury myself in work.
A flash of color in the corner of my eye stopped me with one foot at the base of the stairs.
I turned my head and sucked in a breath at the lavender box sitting pretty in the middle of the living room on the coffee table.
I set down my bag on the entry table and entered the living room, only lit up by the afternoon sun slanting in through the tall windows.
My hands fluttered with excitement as I peeled away the artfully done lavender wrapping.
A wide smile made my cheeks ache, and a gasp escaped me as I uncovered a familiar logo within.
Another box for shoes sporting the Louboutin name.
I’d complained for hours after the attack about the blood on my shoes, and Drake had simply apologized with a smirk.
Gingerly, with buzzing hands, I lifted the shiny black pumps from the box.
I swiped my thumbs over the pristine red underside and admired the strappy open-toe pumps.
An idea formed in my mind while I internally gushed over the heels.
After checking the time, I rushed upstairs with them.
I still had some time before Drake arrived home, and it was just enough.
I quickly showered, lathered the lotion I knew he enjoyed all over, then styled my hair.
Mascara coated my lashes, and I painted my lips with the bright red lipstick that always made him obsess over my mouth.
In my excitement, I forgot all about the work I’d intended to do, and it hardly seemed to matter.
Why couldn’t I enjoy a gift from my husband and plan a surprise for him in return, like any other person might?
Why let the shadow hovering in the distance stop me from living my life and relishing in the thrill of my marriage?
I wouldn’t.
Drake had a business conference to attend at his father’s office that night.
An opportunity for lower-level managers to ass-kiss and for directors to schmooze and boast of their prowess.
Mingling, drinking, and a lame excuse for company awards at the end of the quarter.
I’d gone to my fair share of similar events on my mother’s behalf, and I didn’t envy him.
Of course, there was an open invitation for me to join him, but truly I couldn’t be assed to attend with all the work I needed to finish.
But I could provide him with a delicious distraction—something to think about while surrounded by all those stuffy businessmen.
Drake arrived exactly at 4 o’clock, the sound of the front door clicking downstairs sending a frisson of anticipation down my spine. I held my breath, leaning on the cleared away desk in the downstairs office. No matter how many times we were together, he always made my heart flutter in my chest.
“Monty?” Drake called out when he faced the silence.
“In here,” I said.
Soft thuds from his expensive Italian leather loafers echoed on the rug. Each thump drummed up the quivering suspense in my core. I bit my lower lip, cheeks heating when his tall, wide frame halted in the doorway. His rich eyes scanned my body and the way the light from the window dappled my skin.
“What are you?—”
Drake’s breath hitched as he noted the sheer black stockings stopping at the tops of my thighs and the garters keeping them in place.
He licked his lips as if hungry when he looked at the black lace thong covering my sex.
His eyes nearly bugged from his head at my bare breasts, partially covered by honey-brown curls.
A tortured groan rumbled from his chest when his gaze dripped over my legs to the new heels on my feet.
“Fucking hell, Monty.” He brought his fist to his mouth and bit his knuckle, groaning deeply.
“Do you like the shoes?” I leaned back on the desk, feeling the cool surface kiss my spine as I braced my elbows. I lifted one foot, showing off the red and black pump.
His eyes greedily devoured the heel, the strap around my ankle, and the dark hose on my legs. He looked like a starving man waiting for his savior to offer him food—covetously staring at the meal he wanted restraining himself from taking it.
“Fuck.” He dropped his hand, fist opening and closing at his side. “You’re exquisite, Monty.”
“What do you want, Drake?” My voice lowered to a sultry whisper.
His dark eyes flashed, pupils blown wide as arousal overtook him. He sucked in a shaky inhale, and his loud swallow made my chest constrict.
“Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to be a good girl and listen to me, understand?
” I nodded, and he entered the office, tugging his tie from his neck and tossing it carelessly to the floor.
His fingers popped open the top two buttons of his white oxford shirt.
“I’m going to watch while you play with that pretty pussy. ”
“Yes,” I breathed. Lifting one leg to brace the heel on the edge of the desk, I parted my thighs to give him an unobstructed view of the lace covering my sex. Anyone else and I might have felt vulnerable under such searing scrutiny, but his gaze was reassuring and blatantly hungry.
Drake stopped a few feet from the desk, shoulders rising and falling with each breath he dragged in as if there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room.
He spent a moment staring at my chest and my nipples hardened under his warm stare.
Then his eyes darted back to the apex of my thighs as if he couldn’t look anywhere else.
Chestnut brown taking in every inch of me as if he wanted to soak up the view and imprint it in his memory forever.
“Touch yourself,” he commanded.
I smoothed one hand down my body, palming my breasts, tweaking my nipples before skimming my nails along my stomach.
Drake sucked in a sharp breath, eyes flashing dangerously when I reached the black lace.
Almost teasing us both, I lightly traced the line of my slit through the thin fabric, finding it already soaked through.
His heady stare watching me tease myself produced a heavy coiling behind my navel.
We both gasped when I rubbed a finger over my clit and rocked my hips into the touch.
“Good girl.” He heaved in a ragged breath. “Very good.” As if he couldn’t help himself, he palmed at the growing tent in his slacks, mirroring my slow strokes over my clit.
“Drake…”
“Faster. I know you want more.”
“Yes.” I circled two fingers over the nerves, feeling my swollen clit under the lace. Tingling pressure spread over my core as I played with myself for him.
“Does it feel good?”
“Almost,” I admitted. As good as it felt, I needed more. So much more. I needed his calloused fingers, his wicked tongue, or his cock. I needed to be tasted, stretched out, fucked hard to the point of ruin. “More. I need more.”
“You’re being so good, listening to me. What more do you want, Monty?”
“You. Please.”
“What do you need from me?” He stepped closer as if tugged by a leash.
My head dropped back as my fingers continued uselessly toying with my clit. Eyes fluttering shut, I begged. “Make me come. Please, I want you to make me come.”
His lips on my knee made me jolt. I peered down, holding his gaze as his mouth blazed a path up the inside of my leg.
His hand caught the ankle at the edge of the desk, thumb tracing the strap around my ankle.
That soft, villainous mouth went at an agonizing pace, leaving me breathless.
My heart quickened with each inch closer to my core.
When his tongue swiped over the bare flesh of my inner thigh, my toes curled and a wanton sound flitted from my throat.
“So pretty.” Drake kissed the tender skin where my thigh met my core and I clenched around nothing, achingly empty.
“Such a good girl for me.” Then he pressed his mouth to my mound right above my throbbing clit.
“I’m going to make you come. I’m going to draw my name on your clit with my tongue, so you never forget who made you feel this way. ”
“Drake,” I keened his name, barely able to contain a yelp when he fisted the lace and ripped it away from my body.
The torn material drifted to the rug as he dropped to his knees.
A powerful, deadly man on his knees for me, desperate to eat my cunt.
I reeled from the notion seconds before his tongue swiped over my slit in one long stroke and stole rational thoughts from my mind.