Page 5 of Wounded Wing

The front entrance of the penthouse swings open, dragging me from the unpleasant memory. Pierre stands tall with a mischievous grin. “Welcome back, Mrs. Lennon!” he beams, far too fucking cheery for the early hour.

I give him a small twitch of my mouth. “Uh-thanks, Pierre.” He lets out a stuffy snicker at my poor social skills.

His dark-blue stare narrows as he takes in my face, paying close attention to my lips. An expression akin to lust fills his eyes before he drags his eyes back to mine. My lip quirks. I know he’s not a good person – no one who works for my husband is what I’d considergood. At least Pierre wears his crazy well.

I race through the door, counting each step towards the elevator as my boots scuff the linoleum. Letting anyone in this gaudy building see that I’m thinkin’ foolish thoughts is a surefire way to bring Atticus home.

Snorting at my own stupidity, the elevator doors open revealing an empty cabin as I run my tongue across my bottom lip.Huh. I guess that’s what Pierre was staring at. The faint metallic tang of his bloodhas me tensing my thighs as my clit swells against the seam of my lace thong.

Yeah, I’m all sorts of fucked up.

A red light blinks from the camera in the elevator, telling me that someone is watching. My pulse thunders in my ear, adrenaline rushing through me. Maybe it's Atticus ormaybeit’s someone in his employ. Either way, someone’s getting a show this morning.

Early bird gets the pussy.

Or, however the saying goes. I kick my boot up on the silver control panel, hitting the emergency stop. The elevator car slams to a halt, the screeching metal against metal forces me to cover my ears. My nipples tighten, poking teasingly under my lace bra.

The camera blinks again and I take that as an opportunity to slide my hand up my bare thighs. Wearing a dress over my work lingerie has its perks beyond fighting the soul-stealing southern heat. A crackle from the intercom sends a thrill down my spine.

Who is the lucky winner of today’s show?

“Missus, I don’t fancy losing my job today and I’m required to watch you until you’re at the penthouse.” Pierre’s voice strains as if he’s holding himself back. My cunt flutters with need, my depravityallowing me to push the boundaries of right and wrong.

I slide my fingers up towards my dripping core. “Are you sure, Pierre?” I ask, my breath hitching as I slip a finger past the gusset of my thong.

Am I attracted to my doorman? No.

Would I use him to get one off and to piss off my husband? Abso-fucking-lutely.

A masculine groan sounds through the intercom, confirming that Pierre wants this just as badly. Despite his protest, he sounds more than willing to participate. Thoughts of Atticus find their way into my mind; how his commands for my submission and the way he can make me come undone with gentle words. My bruises pulse in tandem with my core, reminding me through my haze of lust that Atticus Lennon is still Satan incarnate.

Even if I like the way he hurts me.

As the sound of Pierre’s zipper falls through the speaker, my phone vibrates.

Ask for the Devil and he shall appear.

Psycho Dickwadflashes across the screen and I feel my wetness seep into the expensive scrap between my legs. Swiping to answer the call with my free hand, I continue to draw circles around my clit.

“Yes, husband dearest?” I moan unashamedly. His dark chuckle spurs me to slide a finger in my cunt, giving Pierre a full view.

“If you want to see the light of day again, I suggest you stop finger fuckingmypussy in an elevator where I know Pierre is watching you,” he growls.

Pierre’s grunts fill the elevator. I roll my clit between my fingers, matching his cadence. “I plan on coming with his eyes locked on the screen,” I sigh. Atticus clicks his tongue against his teeth, one of few tells that he’s irritated. Pushing him further, I whisper, “I wonder how good his cock will feel in me.”

A moan escapes my stained lips as Pierre begins grunting his pleasure. There’s something to be said about a man who is vocal when he’s getting himself off.

Atticus growls in response, “I’m not in the mood for your games, Mae. Let this be your final warning.”

Pierre hums in the speaker, “Your pussy is so pretty, so pink, Missus.” I flush under his observations, tuning Atticus out as I plunge my finger deeper in my cunt. It’s unfortunate that Pierre won’t be around long enough for a repeat performance.

I take his pleasure and make it my own, sliding another finger into my slick hole. Pierre’s incoherent mumbles fuel the fire growing in the pit of my stomach, incinerating any hopes of stopping. My hips gyrate against my will like I’m fucking Pierre’s cock. A low hum escapes me when my inner walls tighten against the intrusion.

“Oh fuck, Pierre. Keep making those noises for me,” I beg, needing to come more than my next breath. He must move closer to the intercom as I hear him spit, followed by a slick wet sound sliding against skin. His moans are louder than my own, sending me closer to an orgasm.

“Oh fuck, Missus, I’m going to cu–”

My legs shake as an undeniable pressure fills my sex. “Pierre! Oh–yes!” I rock my hips, sending my arousal spraying to the floor of the elevator. I bask in the high from the rush of endorphins, prolonging my release.

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