Chapter 7
Harper
Somehow, despite having the shovel taken away from me time and time again, I still found myself digging my own grave. Deeper and deeper with each day that passes.
“I promise,” Ambrose said, his voice a low, deliberate purr from the couch.
The red blindfold over his eyes was tied with the precision of someone who knows exactly what he’s doing.
And somehow the thought of Ambrose knowing his way around a knot sent a dangerous heat through my body.
“I can’t see a thing. But if you want to stop, we stop. You’re in control, Flower.”
I knew it didn’t have to be a ‘sex thing’ and yet… would it be so terrible if it were?
My gaze slid down the expanse of his torso—his white shirt unbuttoned just enough to expose the carved stone of his chest. Grey muscles that clearly saw the gym every day. His white hair danced above his horns, a shaggy mess. Despite all his control, I always liked that his hair wasn’t perfect.
Ambrose was dangerous—beautifully, brutally dangerous. The kind of man who didn’t need to raise his voice to make you obey. The kind of man whose presence alone could unravel a woman.
And God help me; I wanted to unravel.
No—I needed to.
He extended a hand, steady and sure, fingers spread in quiet invitation.
“May I?”
I slipped my hand into his. Heat flared instantly as his thumb began tracing slow, steady circles over my wrist.
“That’s very good, Flower. May I continue?”
My breath stuttered. A pulse of wicked anticipation coiled low in my belly.
Two taps against his wrist. Yes.
With a tug, he pulled me forward, his hands finding the small of my back with a confidence I wasn’t ready for. I gasped softly as he lifted me, guiding me into his lap—straddling him, breathless, as a hardness strained against his pants, rubbing against my sex.
“Ready, Flower?” he asked, his voice rough as his grip tightened around my waits and his other hand found the back of my neck. And then, his mouth—God, his mouth—pressed a whisper-soft kiss to the hollow of my throat, and I forgot how to breathe.
This was wrong. It was so, so wrong. But as his hands moved lower, cupping my ass as he pushed me against his hard cock, every single HR manual I had ever read went flying out the window.
Slowly, deliberately, I tap him twice.
“Good job, Flower,” he whispered against my neck, nipping at my skin. “Remember, if it is too much, we stop.”
At first it was subtle. The smell of rain with a hint of oak. But it only took a few breaths before it smelled as though I were in a forest. With each breath I took, my need for him deepened.
And I felt him. Everywhere.
A wetness formed between my legs as my pussy throbbed, an ache forming in my core. I began to move against him, unable to stop myself—my body searching, pleading, for friction.
His breath stuttered into a broken moan. His fangs peeked from behind parted lips, hunger written across his face.
His left hand slipped into my hair, pulling it back as the other slid under my skirt, his fingers finding the lining of my underwear.
When he made no effort to move further, a pang of disappointment ricocheted in my chest.
“I need to know that you still want this,” his words came out in a throaty growl, a reverence in his voice I never knew I needed. One that made me wonder just how good it would feel to be praised by him. To be forced to submit to him.
Fuck.
I need this.
I need him.
Now.
But all that escaped me was a soft, desperate whimper as his teeth grazed my throat. It was maddening.
His scent wrapped tighter around me, weaving itself through my every sense, every nerve ending.
His pheromones didn’t just intoxicate me.
They possessed me.
“Good girl, Flower, just like that, slow breaths,” he rasped, his claws pushing my underwear to the side, gripping my ass before moving to the innermost spot of my thigh, his knuckles rubbing against my core. “You are doing so well.”
The claws on his other hand scrapped against my scalp as he pulled my hair back, exposing my throat.
He marked me with his touch, with his kiss, a desperation in every scrape of his fangs against my skin.
As if I weighed nothing, he stood, laying me back on the couch. The sound of fabric tearing caused my breath to hitch.
Looking down, he was bent over me. Caging me like a wolf that had finally caught its prey, what was once my skirt—now mere shreds of fabric—dangled from his claws.
With a deliberate slowness, he lifted my legs over his shoulders after which his hands found mine, placing them on his rough horns.
“Show me where you want me, Flower,” he commanded. His tongue darting out to wet his lips and—
Oh god.
He had a long, serpent-like tongue, splitting at the ends.
Fuck.
His arms tensed as I pushed on his horns. His pheromones threatened to suffocate me in my own intoxication as his lips kissed the top of my pussy before his tongue slipped out, running long, slow, strokes up and down before focusing on my clit.
My hands tightened around his horns as my head fell back, a moan ripping through me as he devoured me. His pheromones branding me as his.
And I wanted it—needed it.
I wanted him to mark me, to ruin me for anyone else, to be the only one who knows this side of him.
It was a desperation I never knew I had, only intensified by Ambrose’s scent.
“Fuck, Flower,” his voice vibrated against me as his tongue explored my wet pussy. “You taste so good.”
Another whimper broke past my lips as his tongue pushed past my entrance, his thumb running circles over my clit. I held onto his horns tight enough for my knuckles to turn white as he pushed me so close to that edge.
“Please,” the words slipped out in a breathy whisper before I could stop myself.
He lifted his head, taking every bit of pleasure with him. I looked up, watching as the corners of his mouth lifted in a smug smirk, tilting his head to the side.
His Hands hooked under the small of my back, he flipped me over so my chest was pressed into the couch, my hips in the air.
Then a sharp sting, a cracking sound as he smacked my ass.
“Remember, Flower,” he reprimanded me, rubbing his palm over where he slapped me.
“No speaking. Do at least try to follow your own rules. Now, tell me,” he asked, pinning one of my arms behind my back, interlacing his hand with mine as he pressed the hardness of his cock against my exposed core. “Can you keep going?”
I should’ve been afraid. I should’ve stopped this right away.
When I signed up for After Hours I didn’t think I’d actually want to have sex with anyone.
Damien had said I wouldn’t have to, and it hadn’t occurred to me that I would be this desperate for anyone.
I just needed the money, and I’d thought I’d play along with this ‘therapy’ thing until I’d had enough.
More importantly… he was my boss! I should have left as soon as I knew it was him…
but all I could feel was him, and the way my body reacted to his touch.
I tapped his hand twice.
In the next breath the sound of a belt being taken off made a shiver run down my spine as his claws raked the skin of my other arm. Pulling my wrists back, he tied my hands together with the hard leather of his belt.
Ambrose unzipped his pants, the sound of shifting fabric making my blood rush to my cheeks.
And then he was there, the tip of his hard cock rubbing the sensitive skin of my pussy.
But something felt… different. Cold, hard.
Before I could think about anything further, he was already pressing against my entrance.
Without warning he thrust forward in one swift motion, parting me until I was completely full of him. A whimper escaped me as my nails dug into my palms.
Ambrose growled as his claws dug deeper into my hips, forcing me to remain still as he pushed himself completely inside of me.
“That’s it, Flower, take deep breaths,” he instructed, only intensifying my need for him as he started to rhythmically slam into me.
Each thrust accented by our moans, his growls, his pheromones, and my growing pleasure.
“Fuck,” he cursed, speeding up as he started rocking my hips back and forth, controlling how much he would let me move. “You’re doing so well. Keep your hips just like that—yes,” he growled, “right there.”
I moaned as he pushed me to that edge, one I didn’t know I had missed until he was the one bringing me there.
“Please, please, please,” I whispered under my breath, my face pressing into the couch as I felt my own orgasm teasing me as Ambrose continued to use me for his own pleasure.
Fuck.
Was I into this? Being used? Praised? Drowned in this-this devotion?
Another sharp sting had me gasping as he smacked my ass again. This time harder.
“That’s twice now, Flower. Do not make me punish you for breaking rules when I only wish to praise you.”
His hand found mine, searching for my response.
Two taps.
“Good girl,” he moaned as he started ruthlessly slamming into me once more.
This time I couldn’t hold back my voice even if I wanted to, almost screaming as I came on his hard cock, as he fucked me through wave after wave of my orgasm.
“That’s it, come for me,” he ordered.
Yes.
Yes.
Oh god yes.
As my legs began to shake, he pulled out. I groaned as a warmth painted the backs of my thighs.
My chest rose and fell rapidly with my labored breathing.
Quickly, his claws were undoing the knot that bound my wrists together. Tender hands lifted me, pulling me back into a warm embrace.
“Are you okay?”
This time his voice was not coated in desire or hunger. Rather, it was warm and smooth like honey. I nodded against his chest as he pet the back of my head.
“You did very well, Flower,” he whispered between the soft kisses he placed on the top of my head.
Breaking every company policy or not—I could get used to this.
And that was dangerous.
Six sessions. That is all it would ever be.
Six sessions.