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Liar.
I may lie to myself, but the way my legs shake and the way I yearn to groan tells me I liked it. I liked it a lot.
“Your body reacts to me,” he starts, then hums, and I know what it feels like to want something so much, words fail you. “I’m trying not to give in to it.”
“Why not?” I ask him. It sounds like a plea.
Maybe I’d like it.
“It’s not in my nature,” he confesses, his fingertips sliding over my bare ass, soothing the warmed flesh. “I wasn’t the boy who ate all of his Halloween candy at once. I could hold off, savoring bites here and there.”
Then, he leans in and pulls at my skin with his teeth. Not hard enough to hurt but enough to make me shiver.
“And if I don’t want to be savored?” I ask, careful that my breath isn’t hitching at the feel of these small bites.
He’s driving me crazy.
“Ms. Bordeau,” he starts with a chuckle, “I think I bring the liar out in you.”
Or the savage.
“Open your mouth,” he directs. The chair squeaks again and I miss the feel of his hands on me just as rubber meets my lips. “I’m going to hear you come. And then I’ll fuck you, if you ask me nicely.”
I want to spit the item out. To tell him he’ll fuck me whether I ask or not.
To remind him that I’m a woman capable of finding a willing partner to sleep with me. One who doesn’t require askingnicely.
But the feeling of his fingers as they slide against my wetness has me stopping.
“You’ll ask,” he tells me, only removing the vibrator once I’ve nodded.
The warmed and wetted head of it meets my inner thigh. He trails it against my skin as slowly as he likes, and I buck back.
“Would you like me to fuck you instead?” he asks, as the leather of the chair creaks to accommodate his weight. “We can skip this if you’d like.”
I shake my head—my hands spread on the desk—not wanting to ask him to, wondering what I look like, bent over in front of this man as if he’s preparing to examine me. Before embarrassment can bloom, he presses the toy against my clit.
My yelp turns into a cry when it comes alive, vibrating against the most sensitive part of me before pushing inside. It pulses as he slides it…in and out, in and out.
“You’re dripping for me. May I have a taste, Eloise?”
The way he says my name, it’s confirming what I always knew. He says my name like it’s sex. As if the way he touches his tongue to the roof of his mouth when he pronounces the first part reminds him of how he’s used it to taste me. As if the softness of the second part reminds him of each exhale he pushed out against my body as he pushed into me.
“Yes,” I whimper. Because I remember it all, too.
And then he’s pushing my legs farther apart with his own before leaning in to swipe his tongue along my seam.
“Mmmmm.” He lets out a moan of approval before grabbing my thighs, making sure I can’t move.
Not from the unrelenting licks and strokes of his tongue.
Not when it slides inside of me before making laps around my clit.
The jumbled sounds coming from my body ought to mortify me, but I’m too busy pushing back against his face, feeling that familiar finish line, that tingle in my lower belly that tells me I’m about to come.
He presses the tip of the vibrator against me as he continues to ravish me with his tongue and I shout out, embracing the release. It’s the freest I’ve ever been, allowing myself to latch onto the wave of the orgasm and ride it as long as possible.
I push away from him in the aftershocks, my breathing ragged and my forehead on the wood of the desk.
