Page 69
“Torin—”
“That's sir to you when I'm on my knees and your pussy's wet for me.” He says it into the inside of my knee, his mouth open, but I feel it everywhere. “And you'll use it.”
I nod. I try it on for good measure. “Yes, sir.”
His growl of approval settles between my thighs. His hands are placed just so, his thumbs a breath away from my pussy—not moving, just holding me open and still while he looks at me. I know exactly what he can see, and I can't do anything about it.
“There she is,” he says, as if to himself.
I don't ask what he means. I already know.
“Please—”
“Mm.” His mouth is on my inner thigh, lips only. “Please what? Finish that.”
“You know what.”
“I do.” He moves closer but doesn't give me what I need. My knuckles go white on the edge of the desk. “Say it anyway.”
“Sir.” It doesn't sound like my voice. “Please.”
He makes a low sound, and then his mouth is on me. I can't stifle the moan he drags out of me. His tongue is slow and flat and deliberate. I reach for his hair, and he pins my wrist to the desk without lifting his head.
“Keep still.” The vibration of it goes straight through me. “You move, I stop, take you over my knee, and give you that spanking you've earned. Those are the terms.”
I go still immediately. I don't examine why.
“Good girl.”
I don't examine how good that feels either.
He figures out very quickly what makes my grip tighten on the desk, what makes my thighs tremble. Every time they do, he spreads me wider and starts again.
“Torin, I'm going to—”
He lifts his head and looks up at me from the floor, as if he's deciding something, and I want to scream. “Not yet.”
“You can’t—”
“Watch me.” He dips back and licks me again. I already know I'm in trouble.
“Porca miseria.” It comes out without permission.
“I know.” His thumb moves in slow circles. “You're doing so well.” His mouth is at my inner thigh again. “You want it?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
I stare at the ceiling. “Yes, sir,” I hear myself say. “Please, sir. Please.”
He comes back to me, and this time he doesn't stop. There is only this—his mouth, his hands holding me exactly where he wants me. When I finally come apart, I moan so loudly I'm nearly hoarse.
“Good girl,” he whispers, kissing my inner thigh in approval. He stands and drags a hand across his mouth, his signature move that is somehow the sexiest fucking thing. “Now sit and do your makeup while I fix your hair.”
I slide my hand to him, fingering the hard ridge, before he hisses in a breath and grabs my wrist.
“Not now. We definitely don't have time for that.”
