Page 25

LIA

I took my toy back up and pushed it into myself slowly, listening to Rhaim groan.

“You really are for me,” I said, and it wasn’t a question, but he answered it anyhow.

“All of me—but right now, most especially everything in my balls. Fuck yourself before I die, moth—please.”

I did as I was told, but leisurely, listening to him pant, knowing he was stroking himself in the same rhythm, as he worked himself up, whispering in my ear.

“Turn over, Lia. Shove your ass in the air,” he said, and I did as I was told, reaching back to keep my toy in. “Go a little faster. Pretend that thing is me.”

I nodded, though he couldn’t see it. “Keep talking?”

“Sure—I’ll tell you what I’m thinking about right now—tying your elbows to your knees, just like that, with tiny bars between them, so you’re trapped, bent over at the perfect height for me.

Can you take that thing deeper? Yeah? Imagine it’s me, hitting the back of you,” he purred, and I bit my lips not to whine.

“What’re you doing?”

“Feeling my dick pretend it’s sixteen. It’s drooling at the thought of fucking you, there’s a fucking swimming pool of precum on my stomach.”

My nipples puckered at the thought of him like that—needing me so badly—and me having so much control. I raced my other hand down to rub my clit.

“I know you ate my note,” he went on. “And it makes sense, right? Because you’re a part of me, and I’m a part of you, right?”

“Yeah,” I whispered roughly.

“So fuck your sweet, tight pussy for me—because I need you to make me happy.”

I hissed into my sheets, breathing hard, winding up. And then he moved his phone down, so that I could hear the unmistakable sounds of a man taking care of himself.

“Oh—fuck—Rhaim—” I panted, fucking myself hard and rubbing myself faster.

“You gonna race me?” he teased, then groaned. “I need to come, Lia. I’m gonna explode. Smack your clit for me?—”

“What?”

“You heard me,” he growled. “Keep fucking yourself—and do it loud enough for me to hear.”

I was momentarily distracted by the change in direction—for every stupid thing I’d ever done with knives, I’d never hit myself before.

“Don’t fight—just try,” he urged me—so I did—whapping myself where everything was sensitive, right above my pussy.

A sharp zing rode from my clit to my nipples and back again.

“You like that?” he asked. “’Cause I do.

The thought of getting you close and then holding you there a little painfully,” he said, with a wicked chuckle. “Do it again for me,” he demanded.

I did, and gave a gasp as the sensation traveled though me.

“That’s my girl. Keep going. Don’t stop,” he crooned, in between strokes and groans. “You’re so fucking hot right now, putting on a show for me. Smack yourself harder—faster—till your clit starts to beg for mercy.”

I rode my face into the sheets in front of me. “I want to come, Rhaim?—”

“I know. Keep going.”

It felt like the tiny bud I usually rubbed was opening up with each successive smack, until somehow the sensations of being hit unfurled across the front of my pussy and beside it, electrically, like every nerve I had between my legs had purchased a ticket to my orgasm and was gathering aboard.

“Oh fuck—Rhaim—Daddy—please—” I begged, my stomach curling tight, my pussy clamped so hard on the toy I could hardly use it.

“Yes, little girl—come for me—” he snarled, and I howled, at the same time as I heard him coming.

“Fuck—fuck—” he growled, as I cried out, thrusting my ass back and forth, riding all of the fingers on my hand.

I heard him grunt, groan and hiss, while I kept wordlessly moaning, rhythmically swaying my hips—until I reached back to take my toy out.

“Leave it in,” he commanded, before I could.

“Stay there. Just like that. So pretty.”

And then the fucker hung up on me.

I…wasn’t entirely sure what to do.

Or rather—I was afraid I did.

I kept my lower half hoisted high, like a flag, but I did run an arm out to check the time on my phone—his meeting started in five.

How long would it take?

Did he really expect me to wait like this for him?

A million different thoughts were careening through my head—but the most honest among them was: I wanted him to.

If everything he’d told me was true: that he loved me, that the thought of me made him jerk off four times a day, that he was willing to kill to keep me—then what was a little forced humiliation?

Especially if it wasn’t all that forced?

Or even all that humiliating?

Because this was what I’d wanted for almost my entire life—someone— him! —to appreciate me.

To recognize the great lengths I was capable of—in every single facet of my life.

And so I gave myself over, ass high, pussy cooling, imagining getting to do this someday for him in our bed, maybe beside him, as he stroked my hair and drank his morning coffee, both of us content because I was made to be used by him just as much as he longed to use me.

I shifted a little to make myself more comfortable and let my mind drift, thinking happy thoughts about our imaginary future—until my phone rang again, and brought me back to the present.

I answered it without thinking—without seeing who it was—and realized that half-a-second before I was deeply relieved to hear Rhaim’s voice and not my father’s or Arnold’s.

“You spectacularly perfect girl,” he said with a pleased sigh.

“I know,” I said, and he laughed warmly. “Did your meeting get canceled?”

“There was a protest downtown, so he’s slightly delayed. And I couldn’t resist coming back to take a peek.”

I tossed my hair over my shoulder, looking back. “Like what you see?”

“Yes,” he said, and I thrilled at his attention. “Want to come again?”

I bit my lip. “Always?”

“I don’t have an infinite number of suits in my office—so this one’s just you.

But you’d better finish before this meeting does—and know I’ll be watching,” he said, and then his voice shifted tones, as he walked away from his phone—and began talking to someone else entirely.

“Hey Russell, thanks for making the drive,” Rhaim said, and I froze.

“Sorry for running late—I should’ve checked my protest calendar before scheduling this meeting on a weekend,” said a strange man’s nasal voice. “It’s bullshit. I don’t understand why people are so angry all the time.”

“Probably because we’re making them poor?” Rhaim pretended to guess, sarcastically. “You ever study any revolutionary theories?”

The other man snorted. “What are you, some kind of secret socialist, Selvaggio?”

“No, my kind, we’re more likely to sell the guillotines,” he said, and the other man laughed. “But let’s get busy, eh?” he went on—and something made a loud rapping sound.

It took me a moment to realize Rhaim’d tapped the desk his phone was placed on—reminding me of what my current duty was here.

To come before his current meeting was over.

I blanched in horror as their conversation continued—it was about the IPO, of course, and I wanted to listen in, but if I did, I wouldn’t be following his instructions.

I knew where Rhaim’s computer was on his desk—not where anyone else could see the screen and my head was down besides. There wasn’t anyone else in America who could identify me solely by my ass.

But it wasn’t fair that he should be getting off easy here—I pulled out the toy and crawled off my bed like a ninja, hunting down the lingerie set I’d bought for Rhaim two months ago from my closet, and hauling the white thigh-highs and garter belts on, along with impossibly high white heels, before slinking back into screen, my hair across my face just in case.

I resumed the position I’d had prior, and put the toy back in—then reached back to make one of the straps of the garter belt snap against my ass.

Rhaim loudly cleared his throat, covering up the sound, as their conversation continued.

I put on a show for him—arcing back, thrusting forward, swaying from side to side, wriggling my ass—as his conversation continued, ever so dryly, talking about margins and math—until I splayed my legs and canted my hips up so he could see me rubbing my clit in exaggerated circles.

I was so turned on I almost forgot to be quiet—until Rhaim had to clear his throat again—and then I had to bite my lips not to laugh—and knowing he really was paying attention to me, that I was torturing him this time, that he was the one that couldn’t let it on—I only barely remembered to grab my pillow to smother my face in as I came—and because of that I forgot to hold onto the toy as my “tight pussy”— the one that Rhaim loved!

— squeezed it right out, and it fell on the ground with a thump.

“I think that’s all we need to talk about today,” Rhaim said to the other CFO quickly, after another loud cough.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes and no. I’ve been burning the candle at both ends with the IPO—I might be coming down with something,” Rhaim said.

“Fuck. I don’t have time to be ill,” the other man snapped. “Just stay over there—I’ve got hand sanitizer in my car.”

“And I’ll have my secretary send you some vitamin C, along with the terms we decided.”

“You do that,” the other man said, from further away—then I heard Rhaim pick up his phone and his voice come on the line.

“Question: were you trying to kill me?”

“Yes and no?” I said, casually repeating the line that he’d just given the other man. He remained quiet, but I giggled, I couldn’t help myself, and I only had the wisdom to wonder if he was mad at me right before he laughed.