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“You aren’t scared of me,” I say with some satisfaction, although I’m still growling, because she’s put herself out of grabbing range.
She narrows her eyes. “Doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re a beast.”
“Accepted. I’m a beast. Your ferocious boss. Do you wish I was different?”
She hesitates.
That’s all I need.
“Come to me, little one. Come perch on my knee and tell me how you’d tame me.”
Chapter 11
Isabelle
My head is spinning,and not only because I was hanging upside down for the brief trip from his office to this limo. I don’t know how to tell Mack that I can’t, that we can’t, that it’s not that I don’t want to, but?—
And before I can formulate the perfect response, he scoops me off the soft leather seat and sets me firmly on his lap, my back to his front, my ass right on top of his erection.
He spreads my knees wide, hooking them on either side of his thick thighs, and then, with a satisfied purr in my ear, he settles his hands on my legs.
“This is better, isn’t it?”
I squirm.
His fingers inch up, pushing under the hem of my skirt.
“Tell me you don’t want me to pull your dress up, little one.” His whole chest heaves as he teases his fingertips higher.
I clamp my hands down on my lap, over his questing touch. “I don’t,” I manage to get out. “Please don’t pull my dress up.”
As it is, even under the flowy white fabric, I’m afraid he’ll see the slight curve of my thickened waist and the start of my pregnant belly.
He presses his face into my hair, which is good. I don’t want him looking down.
But I also don’t want him to let me go.
I hate how good it feels to be in his lap, to have him touching me again…but I can’t deny that I love it. That I crave it.
“Can I touch you under your dress, then? Our secret. Nobody needs to know. When we get where we are going, you can go back to hating me, little one. But I need to touch you now.”
I need it, too. I whimper and nod, and his fingers push all the way up under my dress to my underwear. His fingers are thick and blunt against the elastic around the leg hole, and then the damp cotton is yanked aside and his fingers arethere, against me, rubbing through an embarrassing amount of wet slick.
“Fuck,” he rasps. “Have you been rubbing this pussy for me while I was gone?”
I nod, panting.
“Good girl,” he whispers. “How many fingers did it take to feel like me?”
All of them. And it still wasn’t enough. “Nothing feels like you,” I admit, squirming against his touch. “Need you inside me.”
He swears again. “Told myself I’d only touch you.”
He lifts me with ease and quickly unzips his fly, then settles me down again, this time right against his bare cock. It’s bigger than I remember, hot and veiny and hard. He doesn’t do anything with it, just goes back to playing with my pussy, and his cock is rightthere, close by, waiting.
Does he think I’ll beg him to put it in me? That I’ll lose my mind like last time?
Is he even thinking about the consequence of what could happen if he takes me bare?
