The Deep End

‘Spread yourself a little more for me.’

‘Yes, Mr Taureau.’ She could barely get the words around her thick, useless tongue. She gave up on it and pressed the tip to the roof of her mouth. Placing her feet wider apart, she lifted her ass and rubbed herself through her panties.

With every moment she grew wetter and hotter. Desperation was beginning to set in. The pressure against her clit wasn’t enough. Without waiting for his directive, Grace slipped her fingers beneath the band of fabric and delved into the wet heat she found.

All around was his heavy breathing and the unmistakable sound of shifting clothes. ‘Stop. Turn around.’

Her knees were weak as she pushed herself upright. She said a prayer in her head that he wouldn’t draw out her pleasure or, worse, deny it. Now that she was under his spell, she would do what he asked.

Facing the screen, Grace gritted her teeth at the sight of him now. He had moved the computer, the camera, whatever it was he used. In addition to his hard mouth and strong chin, she now discovered him shirtless with his pants bunched at his knees. His cock was delectably thick and long, the smooth underside meeting an inflamed crown, the tip shining with precome.

‘Tell me,’ she said, her voice cracking as she watched him tug the skin along the shaft, ‘tell me what you want me to do.’

‘Strip down to only the garters and stockings.’

Her hands shaking and her fingers almost useless, she fumbled to shuck off her blouse and skirt. It seemed like she’d never free herself of her bra. She sighed with relief as the garment finally gave way and the straps slid down her shoulders.

The sound of his breath came in hard, static spurts. That almost-smile was back on his mouth. His hand slowly worked the thick-veined column he held in his palm.

Finally, he spoke. ‘On the table. Lie back and spread for me.’

She obeyed and perched on the edge of the table, then leaned backwards and propped herself on her elbows. Dragging the soles of her shoes across the polished surface, she drew her knees close to her and spread them as far apart as she could.

‘Like this?’

He grunted, and the rhythm of his hand picked up pace. ‘Show me.’

Grace’s words came out as a whisper. ‘Yes, Mr Taureau.’

She ran her hand from the hollow of her throat, scraping her fingernails over her breastbone, between her breasts, and lower, lower, lower until the tips of her fingers met slick flesh.

Teasing herself, teasing him, she ran the pad of her middle finger back and forth over the soft hood covering her clit. It was a technique she had never used when performing for a lover. This was hers alone, and she joyfully gave it to him.

As her finger worked and her clit swelled from its sheath, Grace chewed her bottom lip and watched his performance. Her mouth watered as she watched that big hand squeezing his dark cock.

She longed to have it in her mouth at that moment, sliding back and forth between her lips and over her tongue while she touched herself.

‘Is this what you do?’ she asked, fingers slipping lower to tease at the wet mouth below. ‘I mean, do you prefer to watch rather than take part?’

‘It depends on my mood.’ His voice trembled in sync with the motions of his big hand. ‘Sometimes I pay people to come to me just to perform. Sometimes I pay them to fuck.’

‘Why pay them?’

‘It’s easier to keep them quiet that way.’

A stab of irritation went through her. She didn’t like the implication that she was anything like the people she paid. She lifted her head to glare at the screen, but he cut her to the quick.

‘The conversation is over, Miss Neely. You should be focused on what you can do for me, and right now you can show me how you finger-fuck yourself.’

Grace’s combativeness fizzled and was wholly replaced by the need to come for him. Her gaze still on the screen, where he jerked his cock with steady strokes, she matched his pace. She plunged her fingers deep into her pussy, then withdrew completely to slide up to her clit.

A damp fever formed on her cheeks, across her neck, under her arms, behind her knees and between her legs. The only way to expel the energy threatening to burn her up was in strangled whimpers that coincided with guttural moans from Taureau.

‘Come on, Miss Neely,’ he said in a growl. ‘Let me see you get off before I do.’

At this order she gave all, opening up as far as she could for him as she strummed her clit. Friction started an unstoppable fire that instantly enveloped her.

Though she hated to drag her gaze from him, she tilted her head back and gave in to splotches of coloured lights that accompanied the sudden tremor racing up and down her pussy that culminated in a glorious explosion.

Through the red cloud of need broken by white jolts of electricity, she was acutely aware that Taureau was attuned to everything. If he had been in the same room with her, she couldn’t have felt his presence more. As the last few throbs rendered her useless, she smiled and plunged her fingers into herself. Taureau made a choking sound, and Grace opened her eyes and lifted her head in time to see the first eruption rain down on his hand.

Licking her lips, she watched him to the finish, until his hand fell away and what she could see of his body went lifeless.

She couldn’t think of a single thing to say to rouse him, and in the end decided to simply flop back and try to catch her breath.

Worrisome reality nudged her but she shooed it away. She didn’t have it in her to think about her position with the company, or even the next few moments, in which Taureau could say anything.

The moment had to end, and it did with the sound of Taureau moving. Grace lifted her head and saw his bare ass fill the screen as he stood turned away from her and cleaned himself up.

She pushed herself to the edge of the table and hopped off. All was so silent as she wriggled back into her skirt that she feared he’d disconnected, but when she turned she found him in the same position as at the start, leaning back with his hand on his chin and watching her.

‘You won’t fuck any more strangers or co-workers in my building,’ he said. ‘If you open your legs in this room or any other room, it will be for me.’

Grace straightened, a sad attempt at composure considering how dishevelled she felt. Still, she smiled. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr Taureau?’

His chuckle was so wicked it transformed Grace’s smile into something naughty. ‘Miss Neely, there are many things you can do for me, and in time you will.’

Grace tingled with pleasure as she leaned against the table and crossed one foot over the other. ‘Yes, Mr Taureau.’

Chapter Two (#ulink_c04e5fbb-45d2-5fac-9555-042f964f8cf9)

Grace prided herself in excelling under pressure. Most of the biggest fuck-ups in the office landed at her desk, and without flinching she merely forged ahead, coming out on the other side of carnage victorious.

But, riding the elevator to the thirteenth floor the next morning, she was actually sweating.

After she’d disconnected with Taureau, after she’d gotten behind the wheel of her SUV and picked up supper, after she’d gone nose-deep into the bath, she’d been calm. She’d actually been proud of herself for performing so well at Taureau’s edicts, and grew unspeakably hot as she remembered how he’d told her to finger-fuck herself.

She crawled into bed and killed the light and replayed the entire evening for about an hour before pulling out her vibrator. That gravel voice was in her head as she rolled the tapered end around her clit, and she screamed through one climax before plunging the vibe deep and bringing forth another.

Daylight was a different matter. She opened her eyes and stared at the toy she’d left discarded on the rug by her bedside. It all came back to her in a wave, but she was far from in the mood to relive that illicit encounter in the boardroom.

I’m going to get fired today.

As she prepared her coffee, double her usual amount – she had slept deep, but not long – she found herself wondering about Taureau’s mental state. She had never believed that he was mad, like some said. Paranoid, yes, but she doubted anyone would be completely there upstairs if they’d been butchered in their own bed.

Though he had been the intruder and had instigated their pornographic game last night, by the time she hit the shower she had convinced herself that Taureau had set a trap for her, that he had eased her anxieties with that little spiel about solitude only to bully her into putting on a show, shame her with one last performance, and send the evidence to Caroway.

But he didn’t bully you into anything, did he?