Page 12 of Seven Nights

“Keep rubbing, Kate. I want to see those fingers in your pussy.”

Her obedience comes with another whimper and a roll of her beautiful ass.

“Deeper.”

“Mmm…” She tries, her slender fingers not long enough to manage any real penetration.

Deciding to help her, I slide the chair forward. “Take my hand.”

Holding my wrist, she guides the thick triangle of my fingers toward her opening. I keep my arm relaxed, forcing her to decide on the timing and depth with which I penetrate her. It takes only a few seconds before she is jamming me in hard and fast, her sweet pussy gripping and clutching at my fingers as she approaches the apex of her satisfaction.

I wait until she is right at the edge…every muscle straining, the tendons on her neck corded…her breathing harsh, ragged, choking as she fights for that last bit of distance…

I twist my hand free.

“No!” Katelyn gasps.

Her muscles continue to flex, the entrance to her channel winking in and out of sight. She reaches between her legs, fingers curling between her labia.

“This is mine.” I wrench her arm away. “You don’t touch it unless I tell you to and don’t ever say ‘no’ again.”

Her arm tenses, rebelling against my grip. I stand, grab her by the elbow and pull her to me.

“Do you understand?”

She doesn’t answer.

I reach my free hand between her legs and hook two fingers inside her. The pads press flat against the thick, rippled bulb of flesh just inside the entrance. I drag my fingertips roughly back and forth as I hiss an order.

“Answer me.”

She blinks. Her knees go weak. Her body sags.

“Yes,” she whispers.

I strain my neck until I can stare into the hazel eyes.

“Yes, what?”

“It’s yours.” Her body shudders. A moan rips through her throat. “I won’t touch it without your permission.”

Satisfied, I let go, grab Katelyn’s pants and underwear from the floor, fish out the forgotten handbag that has found its way under my desk, then head for the office door, an order carelessly tossed over my shoulder.

“Follow me.”

Katelyn

I obey the command,legs shaking as I match his long stride. My ankle hurts, but I am only remotely aware of it. Of greater concern is the nagging worry that one of the many doors we are passing will open and someone will see me, no apparel below my waistline except for a pair of high heels. That my shame might be witnessed births an unpleasant image of a nun following behind me, ringing a bell with each step I take.

The picture is a grotesque blend of the Catholicism of my childhood and my favorite television show. It leaves my stomach ready to color the floor and walls by the time Montgomery opens the door to a bedroom at the opposite end of the long hall.

Richly decorated and very masculine, the room is dark wood with deep chocolate and burgundy coverings. On the center of the bed, atop a mink throw, the presumptuous bastard has a black dress waiting for me.

Half a dress, I mentally correct. The top's sleeveless V neckline looks like it will cut all the way down to my navel. The skirt's hem will land only an inch or two lower than the top of my thighs. There is a tiny black triangle next to the half dress. Given the strings attached on each side, I assume it is a pair of panties. But it could also be an eye patch for a pirate with a very small head. At this point, I won’t put anything past Montgomery.

He drapes my slacks and underwear next to the bedpost before facing me.

“My office—one hour.” He points at the black slip of nothing and the strappy black heels on the floor. “Dressed and on time.”

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