SIR

by R. J. Lewis

  There wasn’t much left in the small carton, so we demolish it quickly, but he still scoops the sides out, until there is absolutely nothing left. I’m hardly breathing, in a daze. My eyes wander his body as he gets up and tosses the carton in the garbage on the other side of the kitchen under the sink. I stare at his back muscles, the flex of his biceps as he opens the cupboard and closes it. Every single movement he makes is designed to drive me over the edge.

  I slide off my chair and come to his side, not looking at him now as I place the spoon and other dishes we accumulated throughout the day into the sink. I run a cleaning cloth along the counter, very much aware of his presence. I wring the cloth out over the sink as he packs away his food, brushing past me. His scent wafts around me as his body grazes mine again, and then I sense he’s behind me, closer than usual.

  I set the cloth down and slowly spin around. Aidan is drumming his fingers along the counter, catching my eye. We look at each other, saying nothing. His gaze travels down my body, and mine travels down his, lingering on the waistband of his briefs.

  I gravitate to the nearest corner, a few feet from him, and rest my back against it. He watches the movement carefully. His body turns in my direction and he slowly steps to me, closing the distance one agonizing step at a time.

  Then he stands before me, gazing down at me. Taking his time, he leans forward and rests his hands on either side of me, gripping the counter tight. He cages me in completely, dominating this little corner I’m in. Excitement zips through me as I look up at him and he looks down at me, and then he inches even closer.

  How fitting for Familiar by Agnes Obel to be playing. I will never forget this song at this exact moment as he comes even closer, so close his breath is hitting my mouth.

  His lips brush against mine, and he watches my reaction. I stare back at him as he does it again, kissing me lightly. His lips are soft and wet and perfect. My eyes flutter shut, and heat burns in my veins. The muscles in my stomach tighten as he opens his mouth and delivers a firmer kiss. I part my lips, inviting his tongue in, and before I know it, we’re making out.

  The strokes are languid and intimate. His body comes closer, pressing against mine. My hand shoots out, pressing against his bare skin. I feel his abs, feel his muscles clench under my touch.

  He tastes good.

  God, Aidan tastes like a dream.

  My hand runs up his body, wrapping around the back of his neck as he deepens the kiss, stroking my tongue with his own. My heart is beating riotously as his hands close in on my body. I feel his grip around my thighs and then I gasp as he picks me up, breaking the kiss for a few seconds to situate me on the counter. I’m at his level now, staring into his brown eyes. He comes so close, my legs instinctively wrap around his waist as he nuzzles his nose against mine, watching me lustfully.

  The next kiss isn’t slow. He bites my bottom lip, taking charge of my mouth, kissing me deeply. Warmth spreads through my body and I groan. His hand grips my thigh tightly in response, the other wraps around my hips. He pulls me to him so my ass is nearly hanging off the counter and then he steps between them entirely, pressing my core against his hard length. My hand is in his hair now, squeezing the strands to me as I kiss him back with equal fervor.

  I don’t know how long we kiss for—well, I know how long because a few songs have gone by and our tongues are still wrapped together. Our breaths are hot and heavy; his hands slowly run up and down my legs, sometimes brushing my inner thighs, always hovering inches from my aching core.

  As his hands grow bolder, I pull back suddenly, breaking the kiss. He drops his face down to my shoulder, his hot breaths coating my skin as I gulp loudly and lightly push his chest back.

  “No,” he says achingly. “Don’t…”

  When he wills himself to look at me, the need in his gaze, I smile weakly at him. It takes everything inside me to say, “Not so fast, Mr West.”

  “Why?” he demands.

  Because I need him to be certain.

  I need to be certain also.

  We’ve been making such progress lately, getting along, talking. I don’t want this to change things.

  I run my hands down his abdomen, feeling his muscles clench in response. Then I slide off the counter, making sure every inch of me connects with his.

  “Because,” I tell him, voice trembling, “It’s more fun this way.”

  His lips are swollen, his eyes are glazed, and his chest is heaving. I can tell he’s losing it—wants to tear my clothes off and fuck me here and now, but…he slowly smirks in response. “Okay, Ivy,” he simply responds.

  My legs are shaky on my way out of the kitchen. A few seconds later, I awkwardly return to grab my phone, and he chuckles deeply in his chest at the panicked look on my face.

  “Back so fast?” he asks lightly.

  “Shut up,” I mutter, racing back out again.

  *

  “You were a hairdresser.”

  I’m in the middle of making a phone call when he drops that bomb.

  My entire body freezes as I spin around in my chair to look at him. He’s not looking at me. He’s got a pen to his mouth, tapping it lightly as he looks over a folder in front of him.

  “A hairdresser?” I repeat, questionably.

  His chair rocks as he glances at me. “You were upset when I got my hair cut. I saw the look on your face.”

  “I was not upset,” I lie.

  “Were you my stylist?” He pauses, chuckling. “I can’t imagine being so pompous, I’d need to have a stylist on standby but…there are stranger things.”

  I shake my head, heart pounding still. “I was not your stylist, and you’re right, that would be pompous as fuck.”

  His eyes narrow. “Language.”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  He lightly groans. “Fuck, I love when you call me that, Ivy.”

  “Language, Mr West,” I return, brows raised to show how unimpressed I am.

  He bites his bottom lip as he stares at mine. “Call me it again.”

  “Call you sir?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, now I don’t want to.”

  He looks anguished. “Miss Montcalm, you will call me it again.”

  “What if I asked you to beg?”

  “Then I’ll beg.”

  Jesus.

  “Sir.” I give it to him, smiling though my heart is in my throat now. “Happy?”

  “I’ll be happy when you’re moaning it.”

  I don’t respond straightaway. “My, my, we’re in the talking spirit today.”

  He rocks back and forth in that chair, still watching me. “I like hearing your voice and knowing your silly thoughts.”

  Said heart jumps, but I feign dismay. “They are not silly thoughts.”

  “You have the silliest thoughts, Miss Montcalm.”

  “Name one!”

  “When you read about the side effects of eating Eucalyptus leaves—which, don’t even get me started was perplexing in itself—and asked me if koalas were high all the time—”

  “Okay, stop right there,” I interrupt, scowling. “I was on lunch break and my data ran out, so I couldn’t google it—”

  “Did you get to the bottom of it?”

  “That’s none of your business, and I did.”

  “And?”

  I brush my hair aside flippantly. “You will never know.”

  His lips pull up to one side. Oh, God, he’s giving me a lopsided smile. This guy is trying to kill me. “You realize, Ivy, that koalas sleep most of the day—”

  “Look, sir, we aren’t all fucking worldly like you—”

  “I want you riding my cock, Miss Montcalm,” he hisses, his rocking stopping now as his eyes darken. “Right here. Right now. I want you straddling me. I want to run my fingers through your hair, particularly the red bits, and I want to sink my dick so far inside you—”

  “You are ravenous today,” I cut in, though every inch of me is frozen to my chair. Heat pools betwe
en my legs at his words, at the tone he’s using—that sex voice rich and deep.

  “Just for you.” He lets out a hard breath. “You are so fucking tempting—everything about you, sitting there, trying to do your work which you are so fucking hopeless at—”

  “You need to work on wooing me if you think that’s going to help—”

  “You’re wearing that top with your tits pushed up to fuck with me, aren’t you—”

  “Absolutely not.”

  He throws the pen on the desk and runs a ragged hand through his hair, shutting his eyes briefly. “You did this to me before. I know it. I can feel it.”

  Now I lean back to study him, feeling oddly amused. “Uh-huh, whatever you say.”

  “Maybe you were my lover,” he whispers now, pondering. “Fuck, I hope so. Knowing I got between those legs—”

  “Are you impressed with your former self?”

  “I’m delighted for my former self if this is correct. Jealous even.”

  I don’t respond at all. I just peer at him, mouth forming a small smile.

  “Am I getting hotter, Miss Montcalm?” he wonders, opening his eyes to look at me.

  I choose my words carefully, nerves firing. “You’re on the right track.”

  He narrows his eyes, thoughtfully.

  I twist my body away and shakily return to work.

  Twenty-Five

  Ivy

  I’m lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as I reflect on today’s looks. I can’t stop thinking about him, can’t stop running my tongue over my lips, wishing for another taste.

  We are so dysfunctional, but we work.

  He gives it to me, and I give it right on back.

  It works.

  But I want more. I want the heat of him on me again. I want his cock in my mouth. Want his fingers drumming along my pussy, this time pushing into me, filling that aching void inside me.

  I want it so bad; I’m going cross-eyed.

  “Who do you talk to?” he pressed me again when work was over, and we were packing it all away.

  “So persistent,” I remarked, smiling at him.

  “Tell me,” he demanded, and for once, he didn’t hide behind a cold exterior. He let me see the plea in his gaze.

  “My friend,” was all I said.

  “Ana?”

  “Yes.”

  He captured my wrist suddenly, his grip gentle, his eyes still piercing mine. “And who gave you this bangle?”

  Goosebumps surfaced along my skin, and panic swept through me because these were the moments I wasn’t prepared to lie. I told the truth, as best I could. “Someone I loved.”

  “And where is he?”

  He. I shake my head right now, thinking about that exchange. He knew it was a man.

  “He’s gone,” I told him, emotion turning my eyes glassy. I shook from his grip and he let me go.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered as I started to walk away.

  I stopped to look back. “For what?”

  His eyes were soft. “For whatever he did to hurt you.”

  My heart sank in my chest as I gave him a sad smile. “He did nothing to hurt me, Mr West. It was all me.”

  A soft knock sounds.

  I raise my head, body growing still, ears straining because I can’t be sure that came from my door. Another series of cautious knocks confirm they are. The sounds are so quiet, though, you’d think the knocker is hoping I won’t hear. And I might not have had I gone to bed like I should have. It’s late. Really late in the night, and there’s only one person that can be on the other side of that door.

  I move nervously to it, bracing myself with a few deep breaths, and then I open it.

  Aidan stands before me, hands on either side of the door frame, his body crouched to my level. He stares at me, walls down, his desire clear. My heart stutters in my chest. I swallow hard, taking him in. Just in his briefs. Hair unkempt, brown eyes tired but filled with need.

  “Mr West,” I whisper, chest tight. “Another inspection?”

  He hovers there for a moment before confirming deeply, “Another inspection.”

  “What are we inspecting at one in the morning?”

  He continues to stare at me, his eyes never straying as he mutters, “Chimney inspection.”

  There is no chimney in the guest bedroom of his penthouse suite, but that’s okay.

  I step back and widen the door for him. He comes through, but he’s not pacing, and he doesn’t smell like alcohol either. He’s all there, nothing to cloud his judgment. He stands in the middle of my barely furnished room, his muscled back turned to me. Letting out a sharp breath, I turn away, closing the door slowly, hyperaware of his presence.

  I’m suddenly attentive to what’s coming.

  My skin tingles with anticipation.

  It’s like he waited for me to turn away from him because he’s at my back now, his bare skin pressing into me. His hands come out and cage me against the door. He pushes into me, until my forehead touches the wood, and his hands are instantly at my hips. I feel his head drop, feel his nose running along my neck. He kisses along my shoulder, soft kisses, lips grazing my skin as his fingers slip beneath the waistband of my silly shorts.

  He finds my center and runs his fingers along my slit. Sparks shoot through me and I let out a soft moan. At the sound, he sucks my neck feverishly, bringing me hard against his front. My ass presses against his erection, throbbing through his briefs as he continues to rub my sensitive skin, drawing out those delicious bolts of pleasure.

  “Just want a taste, Miss Montcalm,” he murmurs against my skin. “Will you let me taste you?”

  I nod once in response, and his reaction is immediate. West pushes down my shorts and panties. He drops to his knees, urging my legs apart. With parted lips, I press my forehead against the door as he palms my ass cheeks and spreads them. I can’t believe this is happening, can’t believe we’re doing this—he’s doing this. I feel the hot wet glide of his tongue along my crease, and I jolt in surprise.

  Fuck! That felt good.

  “Bend over,” he orders, his voice thick.

  I bend over, forehead still touching the cold wood as I give him full access to me. He doesn’t waste time. One hand now grips my hip, keeping me in place, the other is exploring my ass as he buries his face between my legs, licking my folds hungrily from behind.

  My eyes close. I gasp, shaking through every spark of pleasure he pulls out of me. The velvety feel of his tongue, the way he probes my asshole with his thumb, the tight grip of my hip as I continue to jolt and shake over him—all of it combined is driving me closer to the edge. My moans grow louder, wilder. I push back against his touch, at his hot breaths against my sex.

  “Turn around,” West demands next, spinning me around so that I’m standing before him now. He takes a leg and wraps it around his shoulder as he buries his face in my pussy. I nearly crumble when the feeling is sharper, more intense. He keeps me upright, gliding his hand up my body so that my back is against the door now. He slips his hand beneath my shirt and finds my breast. He swallows it whole, his fingers working my nipple. My hand flies to the back of his head, the peak growing closer now as he sucks my clit, building me up slowly, slowly, slowly.

  “So fucking good,” he growls. “You taste so fucking good, Miss Montcalm.”

  His words tip me over the edge.

  I come hard, pulsing around his tongue. Both his hands catch me as my legs buckle from the intensity. I’m winded, dizzy, the room is spinning and I’m shuddering. He stands up and peels off my shirt in the process. I’m completely naked, and he’s not finished with me as he grips my hair with his fist and drags me to the bed. He collapses into it, lowering me to my knees as he spreads his legs apart and pulls me closer to him.

  He slides his briefs down his legs and brings my flushed face to his cock. I can hardly see him in the darkness, but I can hear his needy pants.

  “Work me, Ivy,” he demands. “Like you did in the off
ice. I want it all. Stroke me.”

  My hands wrap around his cock, my fingers hardly touching as I stroke him up and down. He’s so long, both my hands wrap comfortably around him, his tip still exposed. I suck his tip and feel his hips jerk in response. He’s so sensitive—more than he ever was before. His hands are back in my hair. I let go of his cock as he slams his length into my mouth, bringing himself so deep, I can’t breathe for a few moments.

  “Fuck,” he moans, sounding wild as he frees me to take a gulp of air. “Fuck yes, don’t stop.”

  He uses my mouth, bringing my face down and up and so on. He’s so thick, my lips feel sore as I struggle to suck him. He doesn’t seem to mind. He’s growing harder, his grip around my hair tightening until my scalp stings. He groans, louder than he did when I did this in the office. It’s like he’s completely let go, fucking my mouth shamelessly, expressing his desire in the open air. I think it helps it’s so dark. Our faces are mostly hidden. There is no eye contact, no walls to still try to hide behind. He likes it, and I do too. I suck him, already yearning for more of his touch as he continues to abuse my mouth, shuddering beneath me as he lets out a string of curses.

  Just when I think he’s going to come this way, he’s going to come down my throat, he pushes my head back.

  “Come here,” he demands, his voice thick. “Sit on my lap.”

  Not like I have a choice. I’m like a fucking ragdoll. He pulls me to him like I weigh nothing and takes my hips into his hands. He’s taking full control, situating me on his lap, his mouth already taking my nipple into it. He sucks, frenzied and hungry, and I sag against him at the feeling. He sucks up my breast, up my throat, his hand gripping my hair again as he drives my face down to his, my mouth against his in a punishing kiss.

  I feel him get up, holding me like I weigh nothing. He sits back down, resting his back against the headboard as he works my mouth. He swallows my moans, my surprised little sounds. My body heats in response. I shiver and quake in his grip, wanting more, desperately seeking more.