24. Ryker
24
RYKER
“ W hat do you need, Mr. President?” she asks in a teasing tone, and I am not entirely sure if she knows what that’s doing to me.
You.
Bend over my desk.
And then over your desk.
And then pressed against the window so everyone can see that you’re mine.
I mean, not mine-mine. Because that’s not an option. Just mine in a platonic, wanna screw your brains out 7 days of the week, 365 days of the year, 3650 days of the decade sort of way. You know, just… casual.
God damn it, I’m an idiot.
I try to focus and bring the plan back into my mind: revenge and punishment. Revenge and punishment by making her like me, not by starting to like her and punishing myself.
“Credit card,” I say and swallow. “How was food? I mean the food… at the restaurant.”
Trying to make normal conversation is surprisingly hard when you’re attempting not to picture someone naked.
“Good, good, interesting,” she mutters and obviously contemplates how to say what she actually wants to say while rummaging through her purse. “Barb is nice. You should feel lucky to have her. She didn’t have a single bad thing to say about you. Can you believe that?”
For a moment, I think that Sienna can almost believe it too. She is struggling with what she thought she knew about me. I can tell, and it’s making me happy.
Yes, you just start liking me.
My inner villain is laughing giddily.
She walks over and hands me the card. For some reason, I grab her hand instead. We feel the same sensation, the same tension, the same anticipation. It’s written all over her perfect little face.
But this can’t happen. It just can’t. One time was more than enough.
I let go of her and run my hand over the stubble on my face. I feel rough compared to her silky smoothness.
Sienna, without ever breaking eye contact, carefully places the credit card on my desk. For a millisecond, my eyes dart to her cleavage and I think, maybe, she knows exactly what’s happening to me, at least if I am judging her expression correctly.
I get up and close the distance between us. Her ass is now pressed against my desk. She lets herself slide onto it and places her hands on the surface behind her. I take one more step and watch as her legs part for me instinctually. She is panting audibly and she doesn’t look like someone who hates me anymore. On the contrary, she looks like she could want me as much as I want her.
I close the distance entirely and place myself in between her legs. Our thighs touch and I don’t think I have ever been more turned on in my entire life. It almost hurts.
I want to touch her, to let my thumb glide over her lips, to reach around her neck, to grab her hair, to pull her towards me, to make her mine. I want to do all of that and more.
I’ve never wanted to do anything more.
But I don’t.
Instead, I swallow hard, grab my credit card, and walk away.
When I make it to the bathroom, I lock the door behind me and look down. “No,” I say out loud, as if talking to a sentient being and not my brainless dick. I was never a fan of the joke that men are just guided by their cock, but it sure feels really fucking accurate these days. That’s all this is though. Physical attraction. Nothing more. It can’t be. I can’t set myself up to get betrayed again.
Her presence is haunting me. It’s like it’s radiating through space, following me wherever I go.
Touching her might be out of the question, but I sure as hell don’t need to torture myself like this. Desperate for relief, I unbutton my pants and pull them down. My cock jumps out of my boxers and it’s liberating in more ways than one to finally set it free. It’s pulsating already, without having even been touched. It’s still thinking of her. It’s imagining her warmth, her dripping pussy. It’s imagining what it would feel like to have her fingers reach around it once more, to have her tease it, provoke it, suck it.
I need for her to want me, as much as I want her.
I am clearly not thinking straight right now, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is release, to free my mind, to unburden myself from the haunting images of her .
From my pocket, I pull the scrunchy that I stole from her desk earlier. It smells like her. I rub my nose against it for a moment, absorbing every molecule that is still clinging to it. She smells like peonies and what will be associated with desperate desire from now on. Because that’s all I am capable of feeling right now. A thick drop of cum drips from my dick when I finally wrap the hairband around it. I wish I still had the little vial of perfume I stole from her, but I used that up days ago under similar circumstances.
For a moment, I imagine Sienna kneeling before me and I know I could explode right then and there. Then I remember that she is actually in the other room, and that thoughts of fucking her delicious mouth are probably not the best idea when trying to shut those cravings down in the first place. Instead, I need something different. A pallet cleanser. I need whatever the opposite of Sienna de la Vega’s perfection is.
With annoyance in my chest, I dig for my phone, activate voice control and tell it to open Pornhub. I click the first video in which the actress in the thumbnail looks nothing like Sienna. With the sound almost turned off, I begin stroking my cock.
My back falls against the door behind me. The woman in the video is doing the usual: blowjob, gagging, doe eyes. She is lifted up, thrown onto a couch and the anonymous stunt cock pounds into her like a jackhammer. I keep staring at it even though my erection said goodbye after the first thirty seconds. I try to will it back somehow because I really need to get rid of this pent-up frustration, this Sienna de la Vega infatuation.
“Fuck,” I finally mutter under my breath and hurl the phone against the wall.
It’s like I am being cucked by my very own cock. He decides for whom he shows up and for whom he doesn’t. And, apparently, fucking porn isn’t good enough for him anymore.
Angry at myself, I punch the wall and pull up my pants. Then I pick up my phone, wash my hands, try to do some breathing exercises, and eventually go back to my desk, where Sienna is already waiting for me. Well, she’s not waiting, she’s working. At her own desk. As if we didn’t just almost fuck all over this office.
Maybe I was misreading her. Maybe she doesn’t feel the same things I do.
She doesn’t acknowledge me in the slightest, but I notice she buttoned up her shirt while I was gone.
“I need you to tell Barb to get me a new phone,” I grunt more than anything, annoyance growing in my chest.
“The hell I will,” Sienna responds with little emotion. “I am not your personal slave whom you can just push around.”
God, I hate her rebellious side. It just makes me want her more.
Another grumble forces its way through my throat before I pick up the landline and call upstairs. “I need a new phone,” I instruct when someone answers. “And send Bruce down here. Now.”
Sienna ruffles her hair, and peonies appear before my eyes again. Maybe I should buy her some. Maybe I should buy her an entire farm of peonies. Maybe she doesn’t even like peonies. Then I should buy her two.
“Your brother Bruce?” she inquires, still serene as a spa day, once I hang up.
The only way for me to keep myself from going crazy at that moment is to ignore her question. I wait to speak until Bruce finally shows up a little later.
“Bruce, this is Sienna. Sienna, Bruce, yes, my brother.” I put on my jacket, grab my briefcase, and leave the mess on my desk to itself. Then I reach around Bruce, lead him away from Sienna, and towards the elevator. “I need you to take care of her for a day or two. I am going to be too busy. She’s the?—”
“PR girl,” he says. “Everyone knows.”
“Right.” I push the button. “Can you do that for me?”
“You’ll owe me.”
“Fine, whatever. Just be nice, alright?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I ignore his question and step into the elevator. Sienna is standing right behind us and I assume she probably heard everything I just told him.
It doesn’t matter.
I have to get out of here.