“Jesus, it looks like the Matrix. What is this?”
“I don’t know, you haven’t chosen what color pill yet.” He continues to eye the screen. The whole of it is dark, mostly. No browser links, nothing. Just numbers popping up, algorithms, and he seems to be reading them with ease.
“It’s a back door,” he says, moving his mouse.
“A back door?”
“To where I want to be.”
“Is this the dark web?”
One side of his mouth lifts, indicating just how clueless I am. “It’s my web.”
“You’re the spider?”
“With teeth,” he bites down onto my shoulder and my lower half pulses.
“So, you’re the brains, huh?”
“Don’t credit me.” His comment leads to more maddening silence. He knows I have zero idea of what we’re looking at, and this keeps me safe in his secret.
Still sideways on his lap, I run my hands along his muscular neck and shoulders. He’s wearing black sweats and nothing else, giving me the freedom to touch him, and that’s exactly what I do. He lets me, his skin silky, nothing but carved lines and muscles. He grows hard beneath me and ignores it, clicking over and over until he situates me so I’m facing forward before he instructs me to type. After my shower, I decided against wearing last night’s thong so the only thing separating us is the material of his sweats, which may as well be nothing. Unable to ignore the electricity racing through my veins, I draw heavy breaths, my nipples pulling tight with his every whispered order. He instructs me easily, in a carefully plotted symphony of moves until he seems satisfied. We do this for the better part of an hour, his body priming with my stolen touches, but he keeps his focus on our task, while I twitch in anticipation. In these minutes, I go from wet to soaked, stealing glances back at him to study his dark lashes and the perfection that is the rest of his face. It’s too much to ask not to touch, but he nudges me when I lose focus, keeping my fingers working as I start to tremble with need. I’m helplessly seduced by the time he murmurs, “Good, thank you.”
“Welcome.”
I’ve adjusted myself over him several times for his comfort, but know he’s probably tired of being my chair, and at this point, I’m terrified I made a mess in his lap. Slowly, I move to get up when he buries his nose in my hair, hooking me back into him. I draw audible breaths as he finally acknowledges the bulge in his sweats and the raging current between us. Clinging desperately to my will, I start to speak up when he beats me to it.
“No.”
I turn my head, drinking in the lust that greets me and know this ‘no’ has everything to do with my questions last night. Our eyes stay locked as his grip tightens on my waist.
“I know what I’m holding, I know her worth,” he whispers, his words so intimate that for a second, I think I’ve imagined them. “I’m not a teenage boy with his first hard-on. And even when I was, I’ve never tried to prove myself to anyone by using my dick as an exclamation point. I told you everything you needed to know last night. This is your decision, Cecelia, don’t turn it on me.”
I sit stunned, blinking several times before he grips the back of my neck, a harsh exhalation hitting my lips before he kisses me.
Deeply.
So deeply, I struggle for air, for sanity, as he takes and takes and I open for him, my limbs going lax. In his kiss, I lose a part of myself, his words lifting me above ground while his tongue coaxes me into this moment with him. Mouths molding, he lifts my T-shirt, breaking just long enough to bare me fully. And then his lips are back and capture my moan as we fuse. Drunk by the intensity of our exchange, I sink into him, my body lines up with his while he controls our rhythm with his tongue. Cradled, surrounded, my chest rises and falls with him as we drift into the deep end.
Lips drifting, teeth nipping, he latches to my neck and lifts me, pushing his sweats down. Gripping him tight, his grunt hits the back of my throat as I squeeze him from root to engorged tip. He thrusts into my hand before reaching between us to find the evidence of my desire. He groans into my mouth, palming my pussy, the heel of his hand massaging my clit as he presses his finger into me. Breaking from his kiss, a loud moan escapes me as his fingers conquer and my head falls back to fit in the crook of his neck. We work each other into a frenzy before he pulls back, his order clipped.
“Bedside drawer.”
I’m up in a second, plucking a condom from the box, I hurry back to where he sits in his chair. Kneeling, I look up to where he watches me, gripping him in my hand a second before I take him in my mouth. His hips jerk at the contact.
“Fuck,” Dom grits out. I hollow my cheeks and tighten my lips around the length of him before taking him to the back of my throat.
He traces his finger around the stretch of my lips as I suck him deep before my greed gets the best of me and release him with a pop. Rolling the latex on his cock, I lift to stand and he turns me, massaging my ass, spreading me, his fingers probing lower, dipping to ready me. Taking his cue, I grip the handles of his chair as he lines up his thick dick at my entrance, and I slowly sink onto him, the angle and intrusion, stretching me full.
When I’m seated, a gasp escapes me just as a groan bursts from his lips at the nape of my neck. He pushes us away from the desk, his legs anchoring us to the floor before he reclines us back in the chair so I’m practically laying on top of him. He thrusts up just as I begin to move, and I lose my breath, calling out his name.
“You,” he pants, his voice hoarse. The appreciation in that one word is enough. It’s all I need.
He runs his good hand along my chest, cupping my breast before sliding it down to where we connect. His strokes are methodical, slow, thorough. The feel of him is incredible and only
adds to my elevation from his admission. This can’t be Dominic.
But it is.