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Our eyes were locked though and she was panting, eyes free of pain.

I wanted to say something.

I wanted to kiss her forever.

Instead I threw my head back, spine arching, bottomed out, and came like an avalanche.

“I’m still adjusting,” I told her when I was coherent again. It was an apology. “You feel too good. It’s messing with me.”

She just looked at me with her soul devouring eyes and squirmed a bit. “Can… you?” she asked.

She was near incoherent, but I got the gist of it.

I pulled out, kissed her, and got her off with my fingers.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

I CLEANED US both up but didn’t let her change.

She owed me a full workday.

I even made her keep her tits out while we ate lunch in the breakfast nook.

We were both ravenous.

She shifted in her seat. “I’m very full of…”

I put my chin on my hand, gazing at her with besotted delight. “My cum?” I finished with relish.

“Yes, that. Can we shower after lunch or is me being sticky part of the deal? I’m leaking onto this seat.”

My eyes rolled back into my head, and I held up a finger for her to give me a minute. “You may, but you must put the teddy back on even when you’re clean. And I get to wash you.”

I washed her squeaky clean and got her off in the shower but restrained myself from taking pleasure.

She kept trying to stroke me, but I batted her hands away. “Why aren’t you. . . ?” she began but couldn’t finish as my fingers jammed in and out.

“I’m saving it all for office kink on our French teddy day. Do me a favor: mark today in our calendar. Let’s make this an annual tradition.”

She didn’t answer. She wasn’t coherent yet. I didn’t mind.

I put her back into the teddy myself, pulling the top down so her delectable breasts were still on display.

We returned to work in her office.

She sat at her desk.

I lounged back on the sofa and just basked in the view for a while. “Open,” I told her blandly every time she unconsciously started to close her legs.

“I’m going to bend you backward over the arm of this couch,” I drawled sometime late into the afternoon, “and stuff you like a turkey.”

“That’s quite the picture you’re painting.”

It felt like a challenge. I continued to recite my special brand of poetry at her. “First I’ll prop your plush little ass on that desk and eat your peach.”

“Another fine portrait.”

“I live for the arts.”