Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Skye
I close my phone after I order the Uber to pick me up.
While I was in the shower, I came up with the idea to make dinner this weekend—not tonight because Harper and I are going to Obsidian, but maybe Saturday and Sunday I can cook for the three of us.
I came to the kitchen to take inventory of the things I need, making a mental list of ingredients before ordering the car.
It should be here in fifteen minutes, so I need to change real quick. Back in my room, I grab clothes and make the decision to leave the plug behind. I just can't go out in public with this thing in. The fullness, the constant reminder of Dom—it's too much for grocery shopping.
I slowly ease it out, wincing slightly at the sensation, and clean it before hiding it in the drawer. My body feels strangely empty without it, but also relieved.
I throw on some cut-off shorts and my Sublime cropped t-shirt, letting my hair fall in messy waves that are still air drying. When I'm ready, I shove my debit card and phone in my back pocket and leave a note for Harper in the kitchen before I walk outside to wait for the car.
When I'm inside the Uber, I tell the driver where to drop me off and pull out my phone to text Dom.
Me: Had to remove it, going shopping.
I bite my lip nervously after sending it. Will he be mad? The three dots appear almost immediately.
Cindy: Where are you going?
Me: To the grocery store, I wanted to cook dinner this weekend.
Cindy: You with Harper?
Me: No, she was still asleep.
Cindy: Did you take one of the cars?
Me: I Called an Uber.
Cindy: 1028 Flowers Drive, tell your driver to bring you here. Come to the 5th floor and tell me when you get here.
My stomach flips. Is he angry? His texts are so short and direct.
Me: To your office?
Cindy: Yes
I swallow hard and lean forward to give the driver the new address. My hands are trembling slightly as I type again.
Me: I'm not really dressed appropriately to come to your office.
Cindy: You think I give a fuck what you're wearing? You're sexy as hell in anything…or nothing.
Wow. He thinks I'm sexy in anything. What is this man doing to me?
It takes almost an hour, but when we get to the address, I thank the driver and get out, looking up at the building that's nothing but windows. Modern, sleek, intimidating—like Dominic himself. I pull out my phone and text Dom.
Me: Here
I make my way inside and take the elevator to the fifth floor.
When the doors open, Dom is standing there looking pissed and turned on at the same time, and I'm not sure how to react.
His jaw is clenched, eyes dark with heat, and he's still wearing that perfectly tailored button-down with sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms.
"Follow me," he says, voice low and controlled.
I do. The whole time I feel like a kid on the way to the principal's office. I don't notice anyone around, but there are a lot of closed office doors, so who knows who might see us. Is that why he looks so tense? Or is it because I removed the plug?
He opens a door at the end of the hall and motions for me to enter.
I do and walk around, looking at his office.
It's beautiful—minimalist but warm somehow, with large windows and sleek furniture.
I stop at his drafting table and look at the design he's working on.
The lines are bold and confident, the structure both innovative and elegant.
"It looks amazing," I think out loud, just as I hear the door shut and lock.
I turn around to face him, and he stalks over to me with heat in his eyes. His gaze rakes over my body—my shorts, my crop top that exposes my midriff, my bare legs.
"Turn around," he commands.
My heart pounds as I slowly turn to face the drafting table again, my fingertips resting lightly on its surface. I can feel him close behind me, his body heat radiating against my back. He doesn't touch me yet, just stands there, making me wait, making me wonder what he's going to do.
"I gave you one rule this morning," he says, his voice low near my ear. "Just one."
I shiver, not from fear but from anticipation. "I'm sorry," I whisper. "I didn't think I could walk around the grocery store with it in."
I feel the heat of his body radiating just inches behind me, but he hasn't touched me yet. The anticipation alone makes every nerve ending in my skin come alive, hyperaware of the space between us—the charged air that feels like it's crackling with electricity.
He reaches around me slowly, deliberately, his fingers finding the button of my shorts. The metal releases with a soft pop, and then he's sliding both my panties and shorts down my legs in one smooth motion. The fabric whispers against my thighs as it falls to my ankles.
"And you didn't think to ask me first?" His voice is low, controlled, but there's an edge to it that makes my stomach flip.
His hand comes to rest on my hip—just his palm against my bare skin—but the touch sends electricity racing through my entire body. My breath catches in my throat.
"I—I didn't want to bother you at work." The words come out smaller than I intended, almost breathless.
His soft laugh against my ear makes me tremble, goosebumps erupting across my shoulders and down my arms. "Yet here you are... in my office without the plug."
The way he says it—that quiet, dangerous tone—makes heat pool low in my belly even as anxiety twists there too.
"I'm sorry," I say again, meaning it, and he steps back. The sudden absence of his warmth makes me relax for just a second before his hand comes down on my ass hard enough that the crack echoes in the quiet office.
"Shit!" The word bursts out of me before I can stop it, and then I'm biting my lip hard because I didn't mean to be so loud. The sting spreads across my skin in waves, sharp and hot.
"Good girls get rewarded and bad girls get punished," he says, his voice still maddeningly calm, and then his hand connects again with the other cheek. I gasp, my fingers gripping the edge of the drafting table.
I hear rustling behind me—the distinct sound of leather sliding through fabric loops—and my heart starts hammering as I realize he's taking off his belt. Oh god.
"You remember your safe word?" he asks, and I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. He gathers my hair in his fist, pulling my head back gently but firmly until I can see his face. His dark eyes are intense, searching mine. "Do you?"
"Yes, sir," I manage to say, my voice shaky.
"Good girl," he murmurs, and then the belt comes down across my ass.
It's like fire blooming across my skin—so different from his hand, sharper, more intense.
I fall forward instinctively, my cheek pressing against the cool surface of the drafting table.
The sound of the belt cutting through the air and then the loud crack as it connects echoes through the room, impossibly loud.
The pain spreads in radiating waves, almost overwhelming.
My mind can't process the conflicting signals—I'm dripping wet, so turned on I can barely think straight, but the pain is so much, bordering on too much.
The next strike comes and tears spring to my eyes before I can stop them, spilling over and falling onto the architectural drawings beneath my face, making small dark spots on the paper.
"Just say the word and it stops," he reminds me, his voice steady, and then the belt connects again.
"Cherry" is right there on the tip of my tongue, the word forming in my mind, but then I hear him set the belt down on the table with a soft thud.
A second later, he's dropping to his knees behind me.
His hands come to my ass—gentle now, soothing—his palms cool against the heated, tender skin.
Then his lips, soft kisses pressed to the sore spots.
His tongue follows, tracing the lines where the belt landed, and the sensation is so tender after the pain that fresh tears spring to my eyes for an entirely different reason.
"You took your punishment like a good fucking girl," he says against my skin, his breath warm as he continues kissing and licking, turning the pain into something else entirely—something that makes my core clench with need.
When he's done worshipping my abused skin, he stands back up and turns me to face him. His hands are gentle as they cup my face, and he kisses my tears away—first one cheek, then the other, his lips soft against my damp skin.
"My good girl," he says between kisses, the possessiveness in his voice making my heart race. "Time to be rewarded."
Then he's picking me up easily, his hands under my thighs, and sitting me on the edge of his drafting table.
The cool surface against my sore ass makes me gasp, but before I can process it, he's kneeling again.
He throws my legs over his shoulders and buries his face between my thighs, devouring my pussy like a man starved.
"Holy shit, Dominic," I moan, my hands flying to his hair as pleasure crashes through me in waves. The orgasm is already building, coming on strong and fast. Then he slides his fingers inside me—two at first, then three—curling them just right, and fuck.
"Yes, right there," I gasp. It's so close now, the pressure building and building. He knows exactly what I need, exactly how to touch me, where to press, how to move his tongue.
"Oh god, Dominic, I'm… FUCK!" The scream tears out of me when the orgasm crashes into me like a tidal wave, so intense that my entire body convulses.
My thighs clamp around his head, my back arching off the table, and it goes on and on, wave after wave of pleasure so intense it's almost painful.
Dom doesn't stop—his fingers keep moving, his tongue keeps working until I'm pulling on his hair desperately, needing him to come up now because it's too much, I can't take anymore. "Please," I beg, my voice breaking.
He stands, towering over me, and leans down to kiss me like a man possessed—hungry, demanding, consuming. I taste myself on his tongue, and the dirtiness of it sends another jolt of arousal through my over sensitized body.
"What do you want, baby?" he asks when he breaks away from the kiss, his voice rough. Then he's lifting my shirt and bra together, pushing them up and over my breasts, and sucking one nipple into his mouth.
The sensation makes me cry out. "Please fuck me. I need you," I say, the words tumbling out desperately.
He growls against my nipple—an actual growl that I feel vibrate through my chest—and then he's standing back up, his hands making quick work of freeing his cock from his pants.
He lifts my legs over his forearms, spreading me wide, and positions himself.
One hand braces on the table beside me while the other grabs my sore ass, making me whimper as he slides into me.
He enters slowly at first, letting me feel every inch as he stretches and fills me, but when he bottoms out—when I can feel him so deep I swear I can taste him—the gentle, controlled Dom disappears entirely.
He pounds into me with everything he has, the force of it making the heavy drafting table rock and slide across the floor until it starts banging rhythmically against the wall.
Then he's kissing me again, and everything is wild—his kiss, his fucking, the way his fingers dig into my ass.
He's lost all control, and I'm loving every single second of it.
"Fuck, baby. I didn't want to leave you this morning. I can't get enough of you," he groans against my lips, his voice strained.
"Me either," I moan, my nails digging into his shoulders through his expensive shirt. "I love your cock."
"I love everything about you," he says, still slamming into me hard enough that I know I'll feel it tomorrow.
"This pussy, your ass, those perfect little nipples.
Fuck," he groans, his rhythm faltering for just a second.
"Your fucking eyes are my favorite part of you.
The way you're so fucking innocent yet depraved like me.
How you seem like you were made specifically for me. "
The words make my heart squeeze even as another orgasm starts building impossibly fast. He leans down again, his lips finding the sensitive spot on my neck, and I wrap my arms around him, pulling him as close as physically possible.
His lips find mine once more, and he grips my ass with both hands, lifting me so I'm barely even on the table anymore—just suspended there, impaled on his cock, completely at his mercy.
The orgasm surprises me when it hits, crashing through me without warning, and I bite down on his lip without meaning to.
He growls—that feral sound again—and fucks me harder than I thought was physically possible, the force of it making the table scrape loudly against the floor.
Then he comes with a groan that seems to vibrate through the entire room, through my body, through everything.
We stay like that for long moments, both panting, his forehead resting against mine. My body feels boneless, completely spent, wrung out in the best possible way. I've never had sex like this before—so intense, so all-consuming that the rest of the world just disappears.
"You're going to be the death of me," he whispers against my lips, his breathing still heavy, chest heaving.
I laugh softly, feeling dizzy with the aftershocks still pulsing through me in gentle waves. "I think it's the other way around."
Dom kisses me again, gentler this time, and I melt into it, my body relaxing fully for the first time. When he finally pulls back, his eyes have that warm look in them—the one that makes my heart do complicated gymnastics in my chest.
"I have a meeting in fifteen minutes," he says, and the reluctance in his voice is clear, written all over his face.
"But I'm going to have my driver take you to the grocery store, and then back to the house.
" He smooths my hair back from my face with such tenderness it makes my throat tight.
"And tonight, when you get home, we'll continue this. "
The possessive way he says it—like it's a promise and a command all at once—sends a fresh wave of desire through me despite how thoroughly satisfied I should be. How can I possibly want him again already?
"Okay," is all I can manage to say, my voice small.
He helps me fix my clothes, his hands lingering on my skin in a way that feels almost reverent. I wince slightly as he pulls my shorts up over my sensitive, abused ass.
"Too much?" he asks immediately, concern replacing the heat in his eyes as he searches my face.
I shake my head quickly. "No. It was... perfect."
The smile that spreads across his face is predatory and pleased—like a cat that's caught exactly what it was hunting. He presses a kiss to my forehead, then another to my lips, this one lingering.
"I'll text you when I'm on my way home. And Skye?"
"Yes?"
"Next time, ask before you remove something I've put inside you."
The command sends a shiver down my spine, makes my core clench around nothing. "Yes, sir."