Taming the Alter Ego (6 page)

His reply wasn’t forthcoming quick enough. Reaching between his legs, I clasped his balls to make him yell with pain and surprise. I wondered whether the vicious touch of my hand was a reprieve compared to the bite of the whip. A whimper carried on his heavy breaths as my fingers trailed along his shaft, stroking the straining flesh that I badly wanted inside me.

“I would have said something.”

Returning to the reddened skin of his bottom, I scraped my nails across the delicate patch, feeling the heat emanating from his skin as I relished the resulting jump.

“Eventually,” I added.

Sweat on the back of his neck glistened with his agreeing nod.

“Good boy.”

Twisting my wrist, I flicked the whip again to make it kiss his skin with a distinct crack, like wood popping in a fire. His body remained tense after his recoil, leading me to taunt him by smoothly stroking the leather fronds up the cleft of his cheeks.

“You wouldn’t be able to resist.”

Another nod.

By shifting his feet, he made me wonder whether his arms were getting tired, not something I ever worried about before. In fact, a successful session was making a man collapse in a heap. Tom was different—it would be pointless to leave him incapacitated as I wanted more from him.

Tormenting him further, I pumped him for information, asking all the questions that had formed in my mind since I first set eyes on him. Asserting my dominance with random strikes, I shielded how much I relished learning about him, adding color to the sketch already drawn.

Increased knowledge only heightened my yearning, forcing me to resist the temptation of his body. The desire to press myself to his back was so visceral that I could feel the cool sensation of his sweat against my skin, running down my contours ahead of the firm pressure of his body.

The further lashes from the whip were merely pretence, a prelude to what I really wanted to undertake. When the whip slipped from my fingers, I wasn’t sure whether it happened on purpose or by accident. Either way, I made no attempt to retrieve it. I saw myself removing his restraints, tearing at the rope with a desperation that made the nail of my forefinger bend backward.

Offering no resistance, Tom was effortlessly steered into facing the chair. His body, no doubt, sapped of strength. The yellow hue from the streetlamps played on his skin, backlighting his profiled physique in a way that would make a photographer proud.

Like a divining rod, his cock stood taut and straight as it strained for the precious resource it sought. Sliding my palm across his shoulder, I settled it in the centre of his back to push him forward, needing all my willpower to follow through with my intention. Smoothly gliding across his skin, warm and slick with perspiration, I forced him to hinge at the waist. “Put your hands on the chair.”

His palms thudded against the leather cushion as he dropped against it, switching to grip the armrests before changing his mind again, returning his hands to the seat.

My touch disturbed his scent. The musk of his body mingled with a faint trace of aftershave to drift to my nose like an airborne drug.

Satisfaction came from constant physical contact. I swept my hand up his spine to push my fingers into his hair, levering his head backwards with a sharp tug before trailing back down to the cleft of his taut cheeks, like two firm balls of dough patted into shape by skilled hands.

Laying my palm to his left cheek, I pushed it aside to dip my fingers into the heat of his cleft, stroking along the curve to press my thumb to his puckered back passage. Tom bucked as if from an electric shock, a reflexive murmur rolling up his throat.

Back arched, he stiffened as I slid into his tight hole, my probing digit clenched by his muscles. Thrilled by his reaction, I attempted to build on it by pushing my thumb to the hilt before curling the tip. His shudder was reminiscent of that which came with the arrival of a climax. Not where I wanted him to be—not yet anyway. Releasing him from the blissful pressure, I withdrew and rushed to the bedside cabinet, not wanting to be away from him for long.

The small black rubber shape rolled with the momentum of the drawer, not enough to escape my grasp. Warming it in my fist, I returned to where Tom remained bent over the chair, pressing the smooth, tapered plug into his sphincter.

He emitted a sound akin to the whistle of rushing wind, the true cry masked by a heavy exhale.

With the plug nestled tightly in place, I pulled his shoulder and told him to stand, pretending that the inadvertent scrape of my nails was intentional.

He straightened like a man with a back problem, getting used to a foreign sensation as he moved.

His expression—a mixture of surprise and arousal—flooded my body with heat until it felt like flames licked my nipples, satisfaction only possible from a soothing tongue. The look intensified the primal need already within me, creating the brute strength to shove him back into the seat. With the soft thud of buttocks against leather came a reflexive groan, though the drop wasn’t far.

My body’s craving took control, making me climb into his lap, gripping his shoulders for balance to straddle him. Clamping myself to him so that not even a sliver of light could pass between us, I kissed with a hunger like I hadn’t eaten for days and he represented sustenance.

Grinding against him dislodged my corset, exposing my breasts to his eager mouth as I rose higher, positioning myself where I could guide his shaft to my opening. My skirt raised obediently on climbing onto his lap, the split of my panties widening to expose my wet slit.

Simultaneous groans introduced the motion of his flesh piercing mine, sliding deep as I spread my thighs. Further aroused by the satisfying wet slap of our bodies, I immediately sought it again, engaging my thigh muscles to lift my frame before slamming back down.

A growl that edged toward a pained climax rolled from his throat, hip mouth gaping.

His hands left my rear to grip the chair arm. I saw his fingers curl around the dark wood from the corner of my eye as he buried his face to my neck. Bypassing his shoulders, I gripped the back of the chair to pump harder, leaning back to watch his face. He had already succumbed, his body no longer under his control, but under mine. Each attempt to lift his hips was met with a heavy thrust from mine, driving him back down into the seat.Wedging my curled toes against the edge of the chair, I used the leverage to slam him with increasing force, leather squeaking against itself each time my muscles gave way to allow me to drop onto his shaft so it plunged deep between my walls.

Clinging to the chair, I rode him harder as pure ecstasy coursed through me, taking over my body. Returning to my cheeks, his fingertips dug into my flesh as if trying to force us closer.

His throat shook free a growl more intense than I’d heard before, quickly becoming a roar that caused an instant physical reaction. My body decided a simultaneous orgasm was required, perfectly in tune to make us come together.

Tightly clamping his body between my thighs, I stiffened and shook out of control, gripping his shoulders with a strength that was inexplicable.

No other man could do that to me.

Bodily flung back with the force of exhilarating pressure, my heavy head stretched my throat, which produced no sound. Clinging to him kept me from falling from his lap as a shudder rocked me from head to toe.

A slow return to sitting upright had a massive effect, dizzying me like I was caught in the continued movement of swirling water. Pressing my breasts to the damp skin of his chest, I felt his heart pounding as I listened to his ragged breathing.

Smiling against his neck through my own shuddering breaths, I relished the fact that his body was mine to use as I pleased.

My anticipation grew with every step, a knot tightening in my stomach.

I could barely wait to see my conquest, not least because it had been an especially long workday, and I had spent it ignoring him. However, I could now put him out of his misery.

Through the glass, I immediately met his gaze, his eyes trained on the door as if expecting me. Though twenty minutes had passed since the end of the working day, he seemed unconcerned.

Smiling slightly, his expression shone with gratification, unadulterated by anxiety. Only when I entered, my gentle movements like that of a woman who didn’t want to be seen, did I see that his beauteous face also comprised a slight coloring to his cheeks, reddened by lust or rude health.

As I gently closed the door behind me, he stood as if his ever-present chivalry made the gesture automatic. I wondered whether his back passage puckered at the memories sure to have clouded his mind at the sight of me.

“Hello, beautiful.”

My heart flipped, a heavy thump making me hold a deep inhale for a second longer than necessary. My genuine smile came with no compliment, despite a deep desire to hold him before making him kneel at my feet. Slowly walking toward the man who had become mine, my calm demeanor belied the sensations surging inside me like a swollen torrent. The rare emotions amazed me, forcing me to put them into perspective by wondering whether his bum was still raw. Tickled by the idea that he would have had trouble sitting down, I offered a smile that could be mistaken for one of seduction.

Moving around the desk to meet me as I approached, he wrapped his arms around me to demandingly press his lips to mine. Soft lips and twisting tongue left mine too soon, depriving me of all but the rod at his crotch pressing against me.

Looking past me, his gaze flicked to the door before returning to my steely gaze.

“Are you scared of getting caught with me?”

His expression was as resolute as his response. “No, it is a little risky at work, though.”

“Questioning me,” I stated plainly, simultaneously huffy and facetious.

“You should be grateful for what you get.”

“I am, I am,” he quickly conceded, vainly trying to maintain his hold as I twisted free from his embrace.

Sitting in his ergonomic leather chair, I forced him to take one of the two static chairs reserved for guests.

“But I’d still prefer to be in your bed.”

Resting his clasped hands on the desk, he leaned forward to search my eyes as he spoke. The soulful brown pair wrenched at my insides and making my soul yearn for him. It was an unnerving feeling.

“What’s wrong with right here?” The question was supposed to stem the tide of authority slowly leeching from my body.

It didn’t work. His smile turned my insides to liquid like lava churning in a volcano.

Despite his apparent reservations, he wouldn’t have resisted had I pounced on him. I could see
take me
written on his forehead.

“There’s nothing wrong with right here.” Shaking his head slightly, he leaned back in his chair.

Many would consider the location inappropriate for any sexual encounter, but I was of the opposite opinion. The room epitomized him—stylishly furnished with high-end items, scented by hints of coffee, aftershave and cigars.

“You’re greedy,” I smiled, ironically hiding my own voracity. “If you’re not careful,” I began, walking around to where he sat. “You’ll find that greedy boys get punished.”

Gripping his hair between my fingers to roughly force his head back, I made Tom submit to my demanding kiss and probing tongue.

Few men got into my bed and he would have to work for the privilege, even if I wanted exactly the same. Feeling my body sinking to the chair arm, I resisted and pulled away from the kiss that threatened to engulf me like a giant wave curling overhead.

Sighing heavily like pressure had been released after the loosening of a valve, Tom got a perfect view of my back. “Why are you going?” he asked hoarsely.

Already halfway out the door, I turned to flash him a smile, somewhere between allure and contempt. Though my heart pounded like physical collapse was imminent, I maintained my stern manner.

Leaving him to stew, I attempted to walk back to my desk with my thighs pressed together, molten heat threatening to spill.

Tom looked forlorn, behind his desk as if not considering leaving.

Surprising him by entering without knocking, my heart surged at the instant change my presence caused, greeting me with a warm smile.

“Let’s go.”

Instantly obeying the command, he switched off his computer and approached, pressing a tentative kiss to my closed mouth as if concerned I would reject it. His fear was like fuel.

Allowing his lips to meet mine gave him the confidence to take my hand, hot fingers enclosing mine. With a single squeeze, he made me want him, a sudden urgent need for him making me hesitate in reaching for the door handle.

Opening the door was a signal for him to release me, commencing our innocent departure from the office. Comforted by the action that confirmed our coordination, instinctually maintaining our privacy.

Conversation was minimal during the journey to my house. The generous seat of the taxi was wasted on us. We pressed together like we couldn’t be apart. Being directly in the line of the rear view mirror was of no concern—we only saw each other and didn’t care who saw us.

Holding his jaw, I let my gaze trail over his face, marveling at how he could kiss so well with such non-descript lips.

My heart pounded with a power that almost scared me, a sign of my urgent need to get him home. I never wanted a man more.

“When I get you home,” I started, instinctively whispering. “Go straight upstairs.”

Gazing back into my eyes, he didn’t miss a beat. “Where should I go?”

His tone was light with hope. “Take my post at the window?”

The question caused a frisson. No longer mine alone, it became our shared secret. There was more that I wanted to share and the new sensation was overwhelming.

“My bed.” I could barely accept that the breathy voice was my own.

Mutual trust didn’t require an extended period of discussion—we were instinctively aware of its existence. Remaining entwined during the journey through the streets of London, we silently surveyed each other using our senses, hearing being as necessary as the ability to speak.