Page 121 of Failure to Match

I was heaving, trembling like a leaf as he loomed over me, a hand braced beside my head.

“How many hours of fucking do you think you can take?” He bent down and nibbled on my bottom lip. “Should we test it out?”

The toy twisted again.

The wrong way.

I whined, my will cracking straight down the middle.

“Please no. Please.” I couldn’t take it anymore.

“You’re so fucking pretty when you beg. I can’t handle it.” His gaze roamed over my face, drinking in every ounce of the pleasure and suffering he was inflicting. “Would you like to know another secret?”

No. The only thing I wanted was for him to twist the damn vibrator.

“Every single one of my kinks—all the ones we’ve talked about—are exclusive to you. I don’t want to do any of this with anyone else; never have. Why is that, Jamie? What the fuck did you do to me?”

I didn’t know, couldn’t stop choking out moans to answer him.

“So fucking pretty…” he murmured. “You want to come, sweet girl?”

“Yes.” I didn’t know if the word actually made it out of my mouth, but I really tried. “Please… please… I need it so bad?—”

He kissed me right as he twisted the toy, swallowing my every cry and moan as the vibrations shot fire and electricity through my clit, up my torso, down my legs.

The orgasm slammed into me so hard that I couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see anything over the bright white and red dots dancing over my vision. It was never-ending. It just kept going and going, soaking me in lust and fire.

It was incredible.

He wouldn’t stop kissing me, even after the vibrator was discarded and the aftershocks had relented. And instead ofpushing him away, I’d shoved my hands into his hair and was gripping onto it for dear life as our tongues tangled and played. He touched me everywhere, palms roaming all over my body like he simply couldn’t pick which part he liked best.

I didn’t get it. Didn’t understand how I could possibly need more of him after all that.

I also couldn’t stop.

We rolled around on the bed, devouring each other until Jackson was fumbling with his zipper again.

The third time did not take the edge off. It sharpened the damn thing.

I was fucked, both literally and figuratively I was well and truly and thoroughly fucked.

29

I’d lostcontrol of the situation, the week, myself. I’d lost control, period.

I thought I had it. I thought that if I just gave the lust what it wanted, it would eventually subside and leave me alone. That wasn’t what happened.

It’d been a full week, and the “edge” had not worn off. It’d grown into a voracious, all-consuming Goliath, and I was helpless against it. Jackson couldn’t stop touching me, and I couldn’t stop wanting it, needing it,cravingit. It was every night, every morning, and still not enough.

On Monday, I’d barely had a chance to close his office door after lunch before he pushed me up against it and dropped to his knees. I was instructed to be “quiet like a good little toy” while he shoved up my skirt, hooked my leg over his shoulder, and ate me out like it was his last day on earth and I was his last requested meal.

Tuesday, he placed me on his desk, wrapped his belt around my wrists, his tie around my mouth, and sucked and licked my breasts until I was a squirming, helpless puddle of need, entirelyat his mercy. Then he tortured three orgasms out of me with his fingers before thrusting into me to finish.

Wednesday, he pinned me to the wall, pulled up my skirt, and fucked me from behind. Twice.

Thursday and Friday were the worst offenders.

We didn’t even make it to the office before giving in on those days. I straddled him in the backseat of his town car and took what I needed. There was no kink, no dirty talk, no binding or teasing or torment. My arms were looped around his neck, his hands roamed over my back, and it was...tender. Deep kisses, gentle caresses, shared breaths, fluttering heartbeats, and an alarming amount of eye contact.

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