38. Hendricks
HENDRICKS
Istay in the basement secure room like a coward, telling myself I had work to do. Messages to sort through. Files to organize. Anything to keep my hands busy and my mind off the fact that Mandy's upstairs in my house.
It's a lie. I don't have work. I have avoidance.
I hear her before I see her.
The sound is quiet—controlled even—but unmistakable. A soft exhale. The rhythm of movement that makes my entire body go rigid.
Frowning, I look down the hall and see a slice of light. Her door is open three inches, and I know it’s not an accident. Mandy doesn't make mistakes like that.
I should walk away, but I don't. Instead, I go to her doorway and look inside.
She's in the chair by the window, completely naked.
Her breasts are raspberry-tipped, her nipples hard and red and biteable.
Her legs are spread, one foot braced on the floor for leverage, her other leg flung over the padded arm.
Her hand moves between her thighs with the same precision she uses to field-strip a weapon—efficient and focused.
The mechanics are obvious—she knows exactly what she needs and how to get it.
Beautiful in a way that makes my cock throb against my zipper.
She knows I'm here.
I can tell by the way her breathing changes—still controlled, but sharper now. Aware.
"What are you doing?" Her voice is steady. Not surprised or embarrassed. Just excited.
"Watching.” I lean against the doorframe. “Like you wanted me to.”
Her hand doesn't stop moving. "Maybe I just wanted some air."
"You wanted me to see you."
Her head falls back, her neck arched. "Maybe."
I cross my arms, trapping my hands against my sides. My shoulders are locked, tension radiating down my spine. Every muscle in my body is rigid with the effort of staying where I am. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to cross that threshold. I don't—not physically.
Verbally? That’s a different matter. "You know what this is, Amanda? You're fucking yourself and thinking about me doing it."
The use of her full name makes her breath hitch. I see it in the way her chest rises, the way her fingers slow for just a second before resuming their rhythm. "Maybe," she says again.
My jaw clenches so hard I feel it in my teeth. "Definitely."
Her teeth flash in the dim light. "You’re thinking about it too."
I am. I want to offer to take over, to have my tongue replace her fingers, but I control my breathing and rein it in. This won’t be about me, as much as she wants to bait me. "Tell me what you want."
Her eyes lock on mine. Dark. Hungry. "You."
My cock surges. "Doing what?"
"Coming in here, watching me, just like you are now." Her hand moves faster, and I can see the flush spreading across her chest, the way her thighs start to tremble. "Then you'd stop being so fucking controlled and touch me."
I let the silence stretch between us—let her feel the weight of what she's asking for. "Where would I touch you first?"
"My mouth," she says, her voice huskier now. "You'd kiss me until I couldn't breathe. Then you'd kneel between my legs and kiss my pussy until I scream."
Heat spreads through my chest and pools in my groin. My cock throbs against my zipper, thick and insistent. I have to force myself to stay still, to keep my voice level. "You want my mouth on you?"
"Yes."
"You want me to bury my face in your cunt and make you come on my tongue?"
She groans.
“Answer me, Amanda,” I order softly.
"God, yes,” she says on a gasp.
I run my palm over my erection, and her eyes track the movement. She wants me to take it out. I have a feeling she’d like to watch me get myself off as much as I like watching her.
Not going to happen. Not tonight.
My hand drops back to my side, fingers curling into a fist. "What else do you want?"
"You inside me." She pants, and I can tell by the tenor of her voice that she’s close. "I want you to fuck me in this chair until I can't remember my own name."
Fuck, I want that too. "You want me to make you feel it."
"Yes."
"Not just the orgasm,” I clarify. I want to hear her say it. “Everything."
Her eyes are glassy now, her hand moving with desperate precision. "Everything I've been avoiding for thirteen years."
My hands grip the doorframe. I’ve never felt a need this fierce. It takes all my discipline to stay where I am instead of going to her, getting on my knees, and licking into her like I want. I’ve never been so desperate for a taste of anything—ever.
Her body starts to tighten, her thighs tremble, and I know she's close. The signs are obvious—shallow breathing, her nipples puffy and red, the way her free hand grips the arm of the chair.
"Hendricks, come here."
I want to. I want to cross this threshold, to give her what she wants, to take what I need. My shoulders are so tight they burn. My jaw aches from clenching.
But I don't move. "No."
Her eyes flash with something between frustration and arousal. "Why not?"
"Because when I fuck you, Amanda, it won't be because you're testing me." I meet her eyes and hold them. My voice is steady even though my pulse is hammering. "It'll be because you're ready to let me in."
She comes then—hard and silent, her teeth biting into her lip, her body arching in the chair, her hand still moving through the aftershocks. I stand and watch every second of it, rooted in place, every muscle locked. My cock pulses. My control hangs by a thread. Sweat slides down my temple.
When she finally opens her eyes again, I'm already turning away. My hand releases the doorframe, fingers stiff from gripping it so hard.
"Hendricks—"
"Good night, Mandy," I say, closing the door firmly.
Entering my room, I lock the door before I go to the back of my closet and pull out her panties from behind the safe.