Captivated

Samuel puts his hand on Roker’s, moving it. ‘Let’s talk business tonight,’ he says. ‘We can show off our ladies later.’

Even this ballsy, bloated, red-faced business mogul capitulates to Samuel. He nods and they start to discuss supply and demand and shipments and I zone out. But not all the way out, because, as I pick at my food and chat with the Barbie wannabe, Samuel’s hand is firmly at the top of my thigh. He squeezes and my cunt flexes for him. There will be more when we get home. More for us. For now, I just have to hang tight.

Finally, he’s whisking me out. Getting me in the car. Taking me home. I breathe a sigh of relief.

‘I was very proud of you tonight, Paige.’ He murmurs this against my neck as we move through our front door into our dark house.

‘Thank you.’ My voice is breathy and weak. He’s touching me.

Samuel nods and the ambient light from outside illuminates only half his face. He looks like a comic-book hero in this light. My stomach buzzes with want, but I don’t know what he’ll give me. Just teasing and then bed or an actual reward? He puts my hand on his cock and I sigh. Curling my fingers to the long hard line of his shaft, I hear them whisper on the charcoal grey of his slacks. He’s shoving my dress up and when he says, ‘Hands up,’ I obey. My hands shoot into the air and my dress is whisked free, the silken fabric briefly battering my head and hair as he tugs.

‘Take those off,’ he says in a voice that is a growl and he sets about removing his trousers. Folding them. Putting them on the reading chair.

My fingers shake as I remove my bra, my panties, my hosiery. When he grabs me and reels me in, I give a small cry of surprise and that makes him laugh. His kiss is eager and warm. ‘On your knees, pretty girl.’

I drop quickly and take him greedily into my mouth. I love to suck his cock. I love the smell of him and the utterly sensual feel of that skin. I love the way he holds my head and moves me just as he likes and I love that sound he makes when I tongue the tip of him and make him restless.

He only fucks my mouth a little bit, because he’s talking when he does. ‘I like how you handled that moron. And I like how you managed to keep your cool. I even like how you managed to engage Brenda,’ he said.

Her name was Brittany, but I say nothing, licking up the back of his shaft to hear him breathe like a locomotive.

His fingers feather through my hair and he tugs just hard enough to let me know I’m supposed to stand. We are pretending this is the weekend. And on the weekend I do as I’m told. My stomach tumbles with excitement and satisfaction. And, yes, a shining slice of peace has taken up residence in my heart.

‘And I like,’ he says, moving me back to the sofa and gently pushing me with tented fingers so I drop to the big overstuffed cushions, ‘that you didn’t just correct me when I called her by the wrong name.’

A small test. I had passed. A blush of satisfaction heats my cheeks.

‘Spread your legs.’

He doesn’t have to tell me twice.

When he says, ‘Don’t come unless I say you can,’ I feel that familiar urgent anxiety. What if I come by accident? What if I can’t control it? He’s very good at –

The thought breaks off because he’s latched his sweet hot mouth onto my pussy and he’s eating me. His fingers smoothing shivery lines down my inner thighs. His tongue, rigid and seeking, probes my swollen clit and I try to keep my breath from running away in my lungs.

‘You’re very wet.’ His fingers plunge into me and he shoves them high and curls them so all the sweetest spots inside of me receive attention.

‘For you, sir,’ I manage. It’s true and I want to say it. I haven’t been told I may speak, but I haven’t been told I cannot. I take the chance.

It’s in my favour because he grunts once and puts his tongue back on me. Maddening, blissful slick circles on my clitoris. Fingers fucking me until the tension in my legs and my back and my arms is almost unbearable. I am trembling to keep myself in check and he whispers, ‘You may come, Paige, because you’re humbling me tonight. I really need to fuck you and I don’t want to wait.’

His choice of ‘need’ instead of ‘want’ smacks me in the chest and forces the air out of me. I think I’m crying and laughing when I come. All I know is it’s hard enough, my sugary release, to bring sparkling fairy lights into my vision. The room is dark but for a second, as my body fires off hormones and pleasure, I see what angels must see.

He moves me the way he wants me. Knees on the cushions and belly to the back of the sofa. He’s in me in an instant, ramming home so that the air rushes out of me and I press my forehead to the wall. ‘You may,’ he says, reading my mind.