My legs are spread, my pussy wide open for him. It seems like I should care, that I should feel some sort of self-consciousness, but I don’t. I just don’t.
“Your dad and brother are in the conference room,” I say as clearly as I can.
“You don’t think Ford knows what’s happening in here?” He drags a finger up the inside of my thigh. “He’ll keep Dad busy.” His finger drifts over my opening, touching it just lightly enough that I shiver. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
I can’t answer him. I can’t even look at him. All I can do is lie back, my dress straddling my waist, and wait for any touch he’ll give me.
I don’t have to wait long. His palm lies flat along my stomach, his thumb finding my clit. The push, steady and firm, is enough to almost make me yelp.
“Shhh . . .” he snickers. “It’s the middle of the day, Ms. Sims. You don’t want an audience, do you?”
“I don’t care,” I say, bucking against his hand.
“No, but I do,” he replies. “I don’t want some fuckhead making copies to hear you moan my name. And you will be moaning my name.”
He swirls the pad of his thumb over me before grabbing my hips and planting his face between my legs.
“Ah!” I moan as he sucks me into his mouth. “Oh, God, Graham.”
“Told you.”
I think I’m going to melt against his face, completely lose control from the contact of his tongue parting me. When I look down and see that he’s watching me, I nearly die.
Grabbing his hair, I pop myself up as much as I can and watch this man’s face between my legs. “Do I taste good?”
He hums against my opening before flicking his tongue against me. The sensation is incredible.
He slides his hands under me, lifting my hips so my pussy is angled right at his mouth. I can hear him sucking me, lapping against me, stroking me with his tongue. Just when I think I can’t take it anymore, he inserts a finger, twisting it in a “come here” fashion.
“Graham,” I groan, short of breath. My hands weave through his hair, pushing his face into me.
Another finger goes in, the rigidity of the digits such a contrast to the softness of his mouth. He strokes in and out of me, this powerful man in a suit kneeling under me.
“You like that?” he asks, drawing his fingers out and shoving them back in. “Does that make you want my cock?”
“Yes,” I moan, begging for more friction.
“Too bad.”
I want to argue, to beg him to undress and climb on top of me, but I can’t form words as his strokes bring me higher and higher.
“The next time I tell you not to do something, fucking listen.”
“I just . . . I didn’t. I . . .” My head falls back, my hands finding my breasts and cupping them together. “Oh. My. God.”
“Be quiet or I’ll stop.”
Biting down on my lip, my back arched, I feel myself start to near the edge of no return.
“You drive me fucking crazy,” he says, his tone completely controlled. “I don’t know what to do with you.”
“Do this to me,” I beg. “Please.”
He smirks. “I’m going to make you come now. I’m going to watch you completely lose control on my hand. I want you to remember who controls this, got it?”
He’s purposefully not getting me off, holding back just enough so I can’t come until he says so.
“Graham,” I groan, my insides clenching, trying desperately to get enough friction to burst apart. “Please.”