Page 28 of Rut Bar

“It’s called a Sloe Comfortable Screw Up Against The Wall.”

I curl my hands in his shirt to push him away, but somehow I end up pulling him closer instead. My hips move in time with his taunting exploration. My clit swells, and the urge to trap his hand between my legs and grind until I come grips me.

“You have to stop.” This is madness. Forbidden. I’m his boss. And I desperately want him—need him—to finger fuck me to completion. Right fucking now.

“If you really want me to stop, say the magic word. Or…” He pulls his phone from his back pocket and shows me a timer counting down. Eleven minutes and forty-three seconds. “That’s how long you have to come before she gets back.”

Oh, fuck.For some unfathomable reason, I find that hot. That he sent her away so he could get me alone. That he knows how long it takes to walk to the small grocer around the corner. How he’s controlling the entirety of our interaction and has been since yesterday.

It’s manipulative.

Calculating.

But it’s also tomorrow, and he still wants me. Yesterday, they had me. If this was only about putting a notch on a bedpost, he wouldn’t have his hand up my skirt. He engineered an excuse to get me alone again. To tease me. When was the last time someone put effort into fucking me beyond sending me a DM that saysheyyy wydat two in the morning?

“Tick tock,” he teases me, still stroking me.

I should be horrified and walk away. Say no. But I can’t. Preheat’s left me empty and needy. The stretch from him last night wasn’t enough. I ache to be used so roughly that I’m sore for days.

“Tick tock,” he says, his middle finger tapping my cloth-covered clit.

This is a bad idea. The stupidest. But I’ve never been someone who backed down from a challenge, and I don’t intend to start today.

I tip my chin up and meet his half-lidded gaze and he grins. “Then you’d better work harder,” I tell him, throwing down the gauntlet.

“Hmm.” Anthony stops what he’s doing, and I bite back a whine at the loss of him and his delicious friction. He hikes my tight skirt up and shoves his hand in my panties. The first kiss of his skin against mine is torture and bliss. He strokes me, plays with me, and spreads my wetness with a leisurely pace that won’t make me come in eleven minutes.

“I didn’t hear apleaseor aDaddyin there, baby. And you begged so prettily last night. Don’t be cruel. Don’t deny me.”

Pride is a hard pill to swallow, but he evades every movement I make to rub my clit against his fingers. If I push, he pulls away. If I rub faster, his touch lightens. He controls my orgasm, and I’ll need to beg him for the pleasure of it.

I hate that I love it.

“Please.” The word is a bit less stilted and embarrassing this morning, and that’s unsettling. I don’t like how easily he makes it come from my lips.

“Please… what?” He arches a brow, his lips tipped in a demented grin.

His stupid, arrogant ass is going to get us caught. Fighting him, fighting this, won’t end with anything but my frustration. I clench my teeth and give in. “Please make me come, Daddy.” It comes out stilted and strange.

“Good girl.” Anthony drops his head to my shoulder and his fingers come alive. They stroke and tease and delve. He zeroes in on my clit with uncanny precision and rolls the tender nub in furious circles.

“Oh, God.” I tighten my grip on his shirt as I focus on holding on for this ride he’s taking me on. My pussy makes slick, wet sounds as he fucks his fingers through my folds. He dips lower, then in.

Two fingers slide inside and curl as he finds the perfect spot on my front wall and rubs it again. The base of his thumb grinds against my clit with every stroke, and my world feels like it’s about to shatter. My pelvis tightens until the aching need for release travels all the way to my spine. My breaths turn into panting gasps as I cling to him and whimper.

“You’re so wet, baby. What made you so wet and needy this morning?” His pace is steady as he fingers me until I can barely think. All of my focus, my entire world, narrows down to the way we’re joined. His weight shores me up when my legs tremble and my ankles wobble.

“You did,” I confess. “Every time I sat, I thought of you spanking me. Of J-Jamie watching. And then… hng, oh, fuck. There. Don’t stop. Please, I need to come.”

“And then?” he asks. “What else?”

“The IRS agent roll-rolled up his sleeves.” I gasp and arch against him, my lungs as tight as the coil of tension in my pelvis. He balances me on the precipice of release and what’s probably only seconds drags on until it feels like an eternity.

“Every time I see you at that desk I want to bend you over it.”

There’s a noise as something heavy lands on a hard surface nearby. “Tony?” Emma calls out. “Huh. Maybe he went to the bathroom.”

Irrational jealousy bites at me. She calls him Tony?

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