should be taken off the list?”
“Silly me.” I bite the corner of my mouth to suppress my smirk.
“Oh, Caile.” He sits between my spread legs, reaches down, and runs a finger lightly up and down my soaked seam. “Tell me, would you like to come?”
His finger slides slowly inside of me as I attempt to restrain movement and moan.
“Please, Sir. Yes,” I whimper, my insides greedily squeezing him.
“I’ve yet to eat.” He releases my legs one at a time from the leather restraints while still lazily fingering me. My legs are crying, but I ignore them.
He grabs a strawberry and bites into it. “Move up a bit.”
I wiggle upward, and as soon as I do, he moves over me, his face level with my pussy, and looks up. “I’m starving.”
When he runs a strawberry up and down my seam, I gasp. When his mouth covers me, my hips thrust against him. He’s licking and sucking like he’s a man, starved.
I wonder, but only briefly, if that could be considered kosher. Survey says yes!
And then I come.
But nothing stops him from licking whipped cream, eating strawberries, kissing, nipping, and sucking his way up my body. He’s slow and methodical and lazy. It’s driving me mad. My poor legs—still shaking from orgasm and exhausted from the restraints—are seemingly on strike.
Beckett makes his way up my body until his lips press against mine. His eyes, my God, those intense green gems bore into mine as he grips my hair and hisses, “There’s no part of you I don't want to touch, fuck, and taste. Don’t deny me any part of you.”
“Take every part of me. I’m yours.”
“Fuck,” he hisses, pressing his forehead to mine.
I feel his cock nudge my entrance, and he bares his teeth. “I need to fuck you.”
“Are you.” I shut my eyes tight, embarrassed at the question I am asking. It’s not a question I suspect most women ask men, certainly not men like him. “Clean?”
“Fuck yes, I am.” He stops, and I open my eyes.
“I’m sorry, I just—”
“Are you?”
“I’m one hundred percent clean and one hundred percent covered as far as birth control,” I assure him. I could tell him more. Like the fact that a baby will never be in my future, but I don’t. I leave it as it is.
He pushes up on his elbows, his thumb stroking down my cheek. “I won’t last long.”
“Then you’ll do it again and again and again…” I giggle, and he laughs, too. He’s regular Beckett again, and while I obviously enjoy the hell out of dominant Sir, I love this side also.
Reaching between us, his eyes never leaving mine, he rubs the head of his massive cock against my folds, pushing into me and stilling. “I’ve forgotten how fucking good raw feels.”
“I have…oh, God!” I cry as he slams into me, over and over…and over again and again, and again, and… Again.
Rolling off of me after countless orgasms, he whispers, “Rest your eyes for a moment, Sarah.”
Exhausted, sore, sated, and consumed by his scent, I force my eyes open and lift my head off his broad chest to look at the alarm clock.
“Oh my God! I’m three hours late from lunch!” I pop up off the bed, wondering where the hell my clothes are, as I ask myself how I could be so stupid.
“Don’t worry, Caile. I let them know you were taking the afternoon off.” He leans back in the huge bed, putting his muscled arms behind his neck.
“No, Beckett. This is my job. If I don’t show up, the other reservationists will have more work to do.” I find my bra and shirt, buttoning it up as quickly as I can.
“It’s one day. Hell, it’s half a day. You haven’t taken a day or an extra hour off since you’ve begun work. And I won’t fire you. I promise.” He looks happy—a little too happy.
“That’s not the point.” My fingers shake as I button the last of my shirt. “You can’t do this to me. I thought you appreciated my commitment. And I want to rise up in your company. Not because we’re having sex but because I do the work, put in the time, and I deserve it.”
His face suddenly changes, as though something I said actually resonated. “I understand.” He sits up. “Look, I don’t want our situation, as casual as it may be, to make any kind of waves.”
“I know I’ve gotten a bit of a late start in finding a decent job, but it’s