Chapter 98 #16: Tell Me Who You Belong To
"Do you want to remember what it feels like?" His dark but steady gaze holds mine. "Just say the word, Doll... and I'll remind you what true submission feels like."
The office feels smaller now, the air thicker, every breath I take pulling more of his scent into my lungs. My heart is hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat, in my fingertips, even between my legs.
“I should leave,” I say, because it is the correct thing to say, because it is what a sensible woman with a ring on her finger would say.
“And yet here you are,” he replies calmly.
I turn to face him fully, crossing my arms over my chest in a gesture that feels more defensive than defiant. “This is a mistake.”
“You’ve never been very good at lying to yourself,” David says. He takes a single step closer, slowly, and my back straightens instinctively, my spine reacting to him before my pride can intervene.
“I’m married,” I remind him.
His gaze drops briefly to my hand, to the ring I have twisted and adjusted more times today than I can count. “I can see that.”
“You’re engaged,” I add.
That earns me an amused smile and another step closer.
“Does that bother you?” he asks.
“No.”
“Say it again,” he murmurs.
I hesitate for half a second too long. His eyes darken, the shift subtle but unmistakable, and my stomach tightens in response. I hate how familiar that look still is, how deeply ingrained my reaction remains.
I should say no.
I should grab my briefcase, walk out, go home to Vincent and Lucy and the life I built so carefully.
His fingers finally make contact, not where I expect, but at my wrist. He turns my hand palm-up slowly and lightly brushes over the sensitive skin there in a way that sends a jolt straight through me, making me shiver slightly.
“You still get like this when I’m close to you,” he says quietly. “Even with his ring on your finger.”
“Let go,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
“Is that really what you want?” he asks softly. My breath stutters. I try to answer, but all that comes out is a soft, needy sound. He smiles. "That's what I thought."
His free hand slides up my spine, fingers tangling in the low chignon at the nape of my neck. He yanks once, tilting my head back so I'm forced to look up at him.
"Hands on the desk," he orders. "Palms flat. Don't move them unless I tell you to."
I obey before my brain can catch up. My palms slap against the cool mahogany, papers scattering under my fingers. The position arches my back and pushes my ass out toward him. I feel exposed, vulnerable, exactly the way he always knew how to make me feel.
"Good girl." The praise is low, almost reverent, and it hits me like a drug. My thighs clench together instinctively.
He steps behind me, pressing his hips against my ass, letting me feel how hard he is inside his trousers. His hands find the hem of my navy sheath dress, dragging it slowly up my thighs, then bunching the silk at my waist.
Cool air hits the damp lace between my legs.
"Look at you." His voice is thick with need. "Soaking through your pretty little panties for the man you swore you'd never come back to."
His fingers trace the edge of the lace, teasing, never quite touching where I need him most. I whimper, rocking my hips back against his hand.
"Patience, Doll," he murmurs. "You don't get to come until I say."
He hooks two fingers in the crotch of my panties and pulls them aside. The sudden exposure makes me gasp. I feel myself dripping – literally dripping – down the inside of my thigh.
"Fuck. You’re so wet,” he breathes. "Tell me... does your husband make you this soaked? Does he make you drip before he even touches you?"
I don’t reply. That single decision is met by a hard smack on my ass.
SMACK!
“Answer me!” he demands, the sharp sting of his slap traveling through my body and settling at my core.
"No... Sir" I whisper, as a fresh line of wetness trails down my thigh. "Never like this."
His answering growl is pure possession.
One finger slides through my folds, gathering wetness, and proceeding to circle my clit slowly. I’m struggling to keep myself upright but I ultimately fail as my knees buckle.
"Stay still," he orders, pressing his hips forward to pin me against the desk. "Or I stop."
I force myself upright, palms flat, thighs trembling.
He rewards me with a second finger, sliding both inside me in one smooth thrust. I cry out, my head dropping forward, hair falling around my face.
"Look at me," he snaps.
I lift my head. In the reflection of the floor-to-ceiling window I see us – me bent over his desk, dress rucked up, panties pulled aside, his hand buried between my legs, his eyes locked on mine in the glass.
"I want you to watch yourself fall apart for me," he says, voice rough. "Watch how pretty you look when you're mine again."
He starts to move – slow, deep strokes, curling his fingers against that spot inside me that makes my vision white out. His thumb finds my clit, pressing firm circles. The dual sensation is overwhelming.
"Fuck! David..."
"Say it," he growls. "Tell me who you belong to."
"You," I gasp. "I belong to you."
"Louder."
"You own me!" The words rip out of me, raw and desperate.
His pace quickens, his fingers fucking into me faster now. His other hand reaches around and yanks the neckline of my dress down, exposing my breast. He pinches my nipple, and twists just enough to make me moan.
"You're going to come for me," he says against my ear. "You're going to come on my fingers like the good little slut you always were for me. And you're going to scream my name when you do. Not his. Mine."
I'm close... so close... the pressure keeps building, coiling tightly within my core.
His thumb presses harder on my clit, driving me insane with so much pent up lust I didn’t even know I had.
I am just about to shatter when a sharp electronic sound slices through the moment.
David stills instantly. We both turn our heads toward the desk, zeroing in on the phone lighting up insistently against the polished surface.
The name on the screen burns itself into my vision.
Maya.
I shove myself upright quickly and yank my dress down with shaking hands, then smooth the silk over my hips. My skin is flushed, thighs slick, body still pulsing with pent up arousal.
But the spell is already shattered.
I turn on him, eyes blazing. "Answer it."
"Nora–"
"Answer your fucking fiancée's call."
His jaw clenches. He swipes to silence the ring, but it's too late.
I grab my briefcase off the desk and begin toward the door. I don't look back as I storm out of the office, heels clicking furiously against the marbles, my body still aching for the man I just walked away from.
Again.