Richer Than God - Amelia Wilde Page 0,15

will.”

“I really think—”

“Don’t think.” She must sense me moving, because her eyes fly open a second before I have her jaw in my hand, forcing her head back so she has to look at me. “Your job is to do. To obey. So if I say ‘Brigit, spread your legs,’ then that’s what you do. Without hesitation.”

Her lips close as if to form the word but. And then she thinks better of it and spreads her legs.

“Wider than that.”

It’s hard, on the edge of the desk, and she has to arch her back to do it, which has the effect of hiking the uniform up so I can see the tops of her stockings. I go back to my seat and watch.

“Now what?” I can tell it’s an effort not to whisper, and a hint of admiration takes root at the pit of my gut. She’s gorgeous spread out on the surface of my desk, so much more valuable than anything locked inside. A flush makes her bright red from her cheeks down to her tits.

“Now, pull up your dress. Show me everything.”

This time, she’s quicker to do it, yanking up the hem of her skirt with a rough motion.

Lace peeks out between her legs. I have a brief vision of shoving her knees up, pinning her down, fucking her on the desk, but I maintain the façade that I am a gentleman.

“I said everything,” I scold. “Your panties are in the way.” She lets out an embarrassed groan but hooks her finger into the fabric anyway, pulling them to the side, unveiling her delicate curls and pink flesh underneath. “Good.”

And then, because I am not a gentleman in any sense of the word, I wait.

I make her stay like that, on my desk, eyes open.

She lasts a full three minutes before she squirms and five before she speaks. “How… how long do I have to stay like this?”

“As long as I want.”

I get up and pull the chair to the desk then sit back down between her spread legs. She’s wet—I can smell it—and her face goes scarlet. I put a hand on her thigh, and she jumps, a squeak escaping her, but she doesn’t close herself off. Impressive. Next on my agenda: inch my thumb closer to that lace, so close I’m nearly touching it, and spread her open so I can see all of her.

All. Of. Her.

It’s perfection. She’s perfection, and she doesn’t have any fucking idea. She’s so embarrassed she can hardly breathe, sucking in sharp gasps of air. What an actress, except this is real—what a fucking show.

“Stay still.”

Some of the tension goes out of her—responsive—but she can’t get rid of the quake at the core of her. Her knuckles are white around the lace, and I can’t stand it any longer, so I bat her hand away and do away with the panties. They’re cheaper than they looked, and they rip easily, leaving only a faint line at her hips. Brigit pants but tries not to, which is my fucking favorite thing, and I put both hands on her thighs, locking them open for me. It changes her angle, and she puts her hands back to catch herself, knocking over a holder of pens in the process.

“You’re killing me,” she says.

“No, sweetheart. I’m keeping you alive..”

Brigit grits her teeth like I’m going to bite her. She’s right—I am. But first, I lick her, a long, searching lick that leaves nothing to the imagination. Her body wants to fold forward, but I told her to stay still, and it’s fucking delicious, feeling her fight for it. She makes a noise in the back of her throat, and I take more of her, exploring with my tongue. Everything. Everything. Down below the sweet opening of her pussy. Brigit’s nervous about that, squirms harder—yes. Around her little hole.

But it’s when I work my way up that she goes completely still, completely tense. Her thighs are shuddering in my hands, and I can tell it’s completely involuntary.

“Tell me.” Casual. Like she’s just another whore. “Has a man made you come like this before?”

She is staring up at the ceiling, so I can only see the curve of her cheek and the neat point of her chin. I can see the way her chest heaves before she answers. “No.”

Not a lie.

“Has a man touched this pretty little cunt?”

“No.”

“Have you?”

A whisper this time. “Yes.”

I take her clit then, sucking it in and worrying it with my teeth. Pressure. More pressure.