Page 60 of Dirty Husband
It shouldn't set me on fire, but it does.
Right now I don't care about should or shouldn't.
I don't care about anything but following his orders.
It's strange, intoxicating, thrilling.
Most of all, it's freeing. Right now, struggling to stand in this tiny coat room, staring at the man who has all the power to destroy me—
Right now, I'm not a woman under contract who's struggling to keep her head above water.
Right now, I'm a being of pure bliss.
"Is that how you touch yourself?" he asks. "Your fingers on your clit? Or do you drive those fingers deep into your cunt?"
"The first. Usually."
"Show me."
"Yes—" My eyes catch his. This time, I say it without reminder. "Yes, sir." I hold his gaze as I draw circles around my clit.
The heavy fabric drapes over my arm, adding drag, attempting and failing to cool my skin.
He can't see what I'm doing, but he's not looking at my pelvis. He's looking at my face. Watching my expression change like I'm the Mona Lisa. Or, knowing Shep, like I'm the zeroes at the end of a massive paycheck.
Right now, I'm the only thing he wants, and he's the only thing I want, and nothing else matters.
I hold his gaze as I make my touch firmer. Tension builds quickly. All that pleasure buzzing through my body collects in my sex. Winds tighter and tighter.
It's hard to keep my eyes open. His stare is too intense. My orgasm is too close.
Fuck, I can't remember the last time I ached like this. Not with someone else. Not on my own.
I touch myself plenty. Sometimes, I even think of him.
But it's not like this.
This is something else. His presence makes everything sharper.
The intensity in his eyes. The part of his lips. The hardness in his slacks.
He wants me so badly. But he's so calm and patient. Waiting. Watching. Staring like I'm his favorite movie.
I want that. I want to unzip his slacks, do away with his boxers, wrap my fingers around his cock.
I want to stroke him until he comes in my hand.
Even more, I want him to hold me against the wall, to order me to grip him tightly so he can fuck my hand.
To order me onto my knees so he can come in my mouth.
To order me onto all fours so he can—
Fuck. With the next brush of my finger, I come. My eyes flutter closed for a second. They beg to stay closed, but my body wants to follow his orders more.
My eyes blink open. All that tension in my sex winds so tight it hurts. Then it unravels.
A wave of pleasure rocks through me. My hands shake, my knees knock, my toes curl into my heels.
