Ashlei #2
“It’s maddening, isn’t it?” he rasps, leaning down to bite my neck. His finger presses just a centimeter deeper, and I moan, arching my back more as if that will force him all the way inside. “Being so close to something you want, something you desire, and yet not being able to have it?”
Oh, he’s good.
That power I thought I held over him is instantly reverted back to the original owner, and Brandon claims it proudly, as if it never left his hands in the first place.
Maybe it never did.
He’s the cat, I’m the mouse.
I like when he reminds me.
“Please,” I whisper, squirming. “You made your point. Let me touch you. Get inside me.”
“Which one first?”
“Both.”
He smirks, the curve of his smile on the skin of my neck as he pulls back from the table.
In an instant, I’m standing, ripping my jeans and panties down my legs in one fell swoop.
I don’t bother with my top, reaching for Brandon, instead.
He backs me up to the table, lifting me and spreading my legs wide.
“I’ll touch you,” he promises, his fingertips teasing my throbbing middle again. He pulls them away too quickly, running them up my arm until one hooks between my lips. “But I’m not done punishing you yet. Lie down.”
I do as he says, my ass still at the edge of the table as my head hits the other.
He walks around the edge of it slowly, unzipping his dress pants and pulling them down to his knees.
He stands wide once he’s above me at the other end, his erection posed above me, and then he leans forward, gently grabbing my hips and pulling until my head is hanging off the table.
My instinct is to clasp my legs together but he stops me, pressing one hand onto each knee to keep me spread eagle. Then, he stands again, smile wicked as he gazes down at my mouth.
“Open.”
Oh.
I swallow, heat pooling between my legs as I do as he demands, opening my mouth slowly with my eyes locked on his.
But when he steps forward, the tip of him touching my tongue, all I can see is his glorious shaft, his smooth balls, his slacks stretched around his knees, his designer shoes.
I take a breath and hold it as he slides all the way in, slowly, coating himself with my saliva before he hits the back of my throat.
“Goddamn,” he groans, withdrawing before flexing his hips into me again. He fills my mouth, pressing into my gag reflex as I gag, my back arching off the table. “Stick your tongue out, hold your breath.”
I do as he says, sticking my tongue out as far as I can and holding it there as he drives in again. He’s slower this time, careful, and with the new lubrication and angle, he slides even deeper — deeper than I even knew I could fit him.
“Yes,” he whispers, his voice heated. “Good girl.”
Why does it turn me on so much when he says that?
I’ve never been dominated like this, and yet I feel no desire to pull the power back into my own hands. I want him to own me, to use me, to find his pleasure in only me.
“Do it again,” he says, withdrawing to give me a breath. “And hold on, because this might be rough.”
I nod, inhaling and pressing my fingertips into the cool metal of the table for grip as I stick my tongue out again. He cradles my neck, sliding in slow and easy, somehow deeper than before, and then he lets out a long, animalistic groan of approval.
“Fuck yes, Ashlei. God, that’s incredible.”
He holds me there, one of his hands tracing my throat as if he can feel himself inside it. And then, slowly, carefully, he pumps.
In and out, just marginally, his shaft stretching my throat as I hold my breath and ride out his thrusts.
It’s uncomfortable, yet the powerful feeling of being so desired by him, and so sexually satisfying, has me fighting against the urge to push him away.
It’s only when my body reacts, when a gag heaves through me that I press one hand into his thigh and he backs off, stroking my hair.
“Are you okay?”
I nod, wiping my mouth. “Yes. More.”
He smiles, tracing my lips with his thumb. “That’s my girl. Open.”
This time when I open, his hard cock slides inside my mouth at the same time as he leans forward and slides two fingers inside my soaked pussy.
I moan around him at the feel, the ache inside me growing stronger.
He leans forward even more, his cock deeper in my throat, but then his mouth is on my clit.
Another moan surges through me, muffled around the fill of him as he carefully thrusts.
I find a breathing pattern, slowly and deliberately pulling oxygen through my nose so as not to gag again.
It’s hard to do when all I want is to focus on what he’s doing between my thighs.
His fingers work in and out effortlessly, his tongue circling in perfect rhythm, and when I reach forward to cup his balls in my hand, his guttural groan sends a wave of want through me.
“Oh, fuck, yes, I’m coming,” he grunts, and then he thrusts in one last, hard time, and I can’t fight the gag as he spills inside me.
His release is warm in my throat, but I swallow it down, and the god that he is — he never stops working me.
He sucks my clit between his teeth, sucking and letting me go with a pop as his fingers dive in deeper.
He’s still coming, his ass flexing, balls throbbing in my hand as he empties.
And it’s that reaction to what I do to him that makes me come, too.
I can’t scream, can’t say his name the way I want to as I fall apart under his touch, his cock still in my throat.
I just swallow as I can, eyes closed before they burst open with the incredible ecstasy surging through me.
My knees shake on the table, my glutes on fire as I squeeze, chasing my release until the very last vibration.
And when we’re both sated, when the final wave subsides, Brandon carefully removes his fingers first and stares down at me one last time with his softening cock in my mouth. When he pulls it out, I gag a little, but not a drop of his release is left.
“Damn, girl,” he says, holding out one hand. He helps me sit up and spin on the table before my feet find the ground, and he pulls me into him, hugging me tight before his lips press against my forehead. “You are phenomenal.”
I smile, inhaling the scent of his cologne on his collar as I blush. “And you are a sadist. That wasn’t just punishment, that was downright torture.”
“You loved it.”
I can’t even argue that.
When both of our pants are back on and the conference table wiped down, Brandon walks me back to my desk, watching me pack up my purse.
“Come stay with me this weekend.”
I smile. “On your yacht?”
“If you want. Or my apartment, or a hotel, or a fucking hotel in Paris. Where do you want to go?” he asks. “Just say it, and I’ll take you there.”
My eyes find his, flicking between the golden hue of them, trying my damnedest not to fall in love. Because that’s what I feel, I recognize, every time I’m with him. I feel desired, and wanted, and safe, and cared for. And if I’m not careful, I’ll make more of this than I should.
“Anywhere?”
“Anywhere.”
I smile, shaking my head as I toss my purse strap over my shoulder. “Happy Hour.”
He balks.
“You said anywhere,” I remind him, one finger extended. “And Mykayla is literally going to burst through that door in five minutes to drag me down if I don’t show up.”
“I can’t go with you.”
“Sure you can,” I say. “Stay up here another half hour and then casually show up. They’ll love it, getting to spend time with you outside of the office.”
“Sounds like more work. It’s the weekend.”
“It’ll be fun,” I promise him, leaning up on my tiptoes to plant a kiss on his lips. “And I’ll be there.”
He groans, conceding though he makes it seem like I’m twisting his arm. “Fine. And after? Will you come home with me then?”
At that, I press another kiss to his lips, sauntering off with him still standing at my cube.
“If you behave.”
I throw him a wink over my shoulder, blowing a kiss before I push through the glass door.