by Sunniva Dee
The sheer red underwear she wears is hidden between her thighs in this position. “Are you hiding from me?” I growl low in my throat. I’m pleased more than anything, because her reaction, this concerned apprehension, is fucking killing me. “Undo your legs, Arriane.”
She’s fumbling, indecisive, so I straighten her legs out on the mattress like she’s a doll. Give a light push for her to sink back on her elbows. Fuck yes—this is so much better.
“Hmm, good job, baby,” I say, rewarding her while my eyes trail her gorgeous body. As I grab my favorite silk rope from the nightstand, I zoom in on her sex. It’s still veiled by her sheer panties. “Arriane.”
Her breathing is so fast. She’s killing me.
“Yeah?” she manages.
“You wax, don’t you?”
Her cheeks flush pink at my intimate question, which is insanely, insanely hot. I smirk and lean in over her, settling a hand in over her pelvic bone and sliding two fingers over her middle.
I press. “Are you concealing a bald pussy, there, for me, darling?”
“Oh my God,” she whines, mortified and turned on as hell. I can’t help laughing. “You’re crazy, Leon!”
I don’t answer, and I don’t ask permission for what I do next. I make quick work of the binds. Loosely scissored, I fasten one slender arm higher than the other to the bars of the headboard. She’s on her back but with her torso slightly bent to the left. The position is perfect for flaunting particularly delectable tits.
This I haven’t done in a while. Pandora was a sissy, and Arriane’s making me forget this entire shitty night. Yes. This is what I need.
She doesn’t react until I’m done with the last knot, and I don’t take the time to check her response.
“This isn’t right,” she murmurs, her refusal too weak to heed.
I’m aware how people talk, how my exes gossip. No one asks me outright, and some of the stories are beyond laughable. But they make both men and women cautious around me. When people don’t know, they treat you with caution. And I’m fine with that.
“Have you or have you not heard what I do to my girls?” From the flush down her throat, she understands what I mean.
“Yeah, I…”
“So why are you in my bed?” My questions whip at her.
Unconsciously, she pulls on her ties, uncomfortable under my scrutiny. Her muscles flex, the slow dance of her body driving me insane. I stand up over her. Get rid of my own clothes while I drink in rounded curves, taut skin. Hell yes.
“I couldn’t just leave you the way you were,” she breathes.
Arriane can do nothing when I kneel and straddle her. When I let my palms constrict around her throat. I’m an expert at this. I press in against the exact spot on her windpipe, blocking her intake of oxygen. This power I have… damn. It never gets old.
Black pupils dilate beneath me as I let the seconds tick by. I soar on Arriane’s fear. It’s a fucking rush when her mouth opens baring white teeth and a pink, glistening tongue. The helplessness I read turns my cock into a weapon of steel.
Only she isn’t kicking with panic the way I expect. Most chicks do when I don’t warn them beforehand. I ease up the second before her lids flutter shut. Let my thumbs slide playfully along her long, beautiful neck. Her shivering inhale pleases me.
“How did you learn about the way I fuck, baby?” I whisper, and she lets out a shaky puff. She doesn’t question my actions. I slide a hand down her stomach, over a perfectly oval belly button and into her panties. Arriane’s breath hitches. She tugs on her binds as if she wants to stop me.
“I’ve… heard them. You.”
Silky. I wonder if she’s wet for me. Goddamn, I hope.
“The girls and me?”
“Yeah…”
“Where?” I lean in, coasting my nose up along the side of hers when I ask. Her hips unconsciously tilt into my touch. She wants more, and I want to touch her more. Further down. Back.
There.
Fuck yes, she’s soaked. “Where?” I insist as I dip in, enjoying the warm, slippery sensation of her. “Don’t lose your train of thought, babe.”
“In the office downstairs.” The words tumble out fast, as if she needs to get them out while she can.
I pump into her, and she cries out.
“Yeah? What was I doing?” I ask, insisting.
“I… don’t…”
“Little liar.” I smile and lean in, stroking her tongue into submission with mine. Then, I withdraw my fingers and stop touching her altogether. “You remember.”
“Please, Leon.” Her frustration is a whisper, and I can hardly contain myself. I lower over her. Tighten my arms to feel every inch of her quiver with uncertainty and unfulfilled need.
“I’ll get you off if you tell me what you saw in the office.”
“No, I didn’t—”
“Fess up—you saw, Arriane. Tell me.”
I kiss her hard before she can deny anything else. “You peeked.”
“You were with the one you dated before Pandora—Iris. On your desk.”
“Mm-hmm. And?” I reward Arriane by removing her panties. I drive two fingers back inside her, causing her to moan.
“That’s… all.”
No, no. She’s trying to cut my game short.
“How about we do this,” I suggest. “I’ll guess, and you’ll reply with a yes or a no. Easy, right?” I sit up and grab her ankles so I can stretch her out on my bed. I spread her legs for a better look. Man, she’s absolutely stunning. Arriane’s conservative clothes hid… this?
“Why?” Shiny lashes flutter up to reveal the full extent of her violet gaze.
“Because—” I take a break to press her pelvis down against the fingers I’ve reinserted. I cut myself off to listen out her moan. Watch her move into my hand. “—it’ll be hot, babe. You’ll like it—spill.”
Yeah. I’m depraved. This girl is out of her comfort zone, but she’s not trying to get away.
“Did you glimpse a little well-deserved spanking, maybe?”
Arriane’s eyes close again. She nods.
My heart hammers fast in my chest. This is good. So good. I think back at what else I could have done to Iris. We had some good times in my office. “So, skirt rolled up, no underwear, butt in the air over the desk?”
“Leon… I—”
My touch rouses her. Arriane should be coming soon, but her brow crinkles. Why is she not letting go? I add pain by pinching one of her nipples. She arches into my hand without yelping.
“I’m betting you didn’t leave until I’d entered her, right? Did I start hard and fast?”
“Leon!” she gasps, shocked.
“What?” I lower myself again. My other hand, the one that’s not occupied with her pussy, traces her body slowly. I wait for her answer. She moves so delicately under my touch that I’m about to burst.
“I don’t want to talk about anyone else.”
“No Iris?” I whisper into her ear.
“No.” Arriane is never stern with anyone, and yet in the midst of her sensory haze, she is with me. It’s the cutest thing; I’ve got her tied up, she’s wet and ready, nipples pointy with desire, and I’m seconds from making her lose control over her body. And here she’s trying to be bossy with me.
“Only you?” I smile against her ear as I make her climb.
“Yes,” she sighs, and there’s actual relief in her voice.
Fuck. I want to drive her crazy. I can’t wait to penetrate her. Will she be the warm, tight sheath I expect her to be? My balls constrict with anticipation.
“So, let me get this straight.” Sure, I’m the devil, but she’s an angel. A golden, raven-haired angel. She has it coming. “You’d rather not chat about me fucking someone else?”
“Shut up, Leon. I mean it.” Her eyes open, and she tugs on the ropes in earnest. The girl displays a quiet, simmering anger, and boy is she perfect.
I straddle her to lean up and free her arms. Then, I roll her w
ith me to the far end of the bed so I can pull my condom drawer open. She’s alive with me, unafraid, her calves scissoring my thighs and drawing me closer.
Her breath catches so sweetly at my ear, and I squeeze her tight, relishing the way her entire body forms to me. This chick is no Pandora—shit no. She wants me balls deep. I shut my eyes, concentrating. I feel like a fucking teenager, about to bust a nut on sheer skin contact.
“Stop squirming, Arriane. Ah.” I’m not even sure what I’m saying. “Are you ready for the real deal?” I’m panting. I’m literally panting, dying to press inside of her.
“Please,” she whimpers, and that’s it. I’m seconds from losing control.
I keep busy kissing her while I rummage through the drawer. Where are the rubbers? Yesterday, I had two new boxes. It takes me a few seconds to realize they’re gone.
“Oh, no, you didn’t,” I growl.
“What?”
“Pandora fucking stole my condoms!”
Arriane is breathless, her chest heaving with want for me. “No, Leon… Why—why would she do that?”
“Because she fucking decided we weren’t going to have sex! Bitch!” I roar.
I’m so damn frustrated. I sit up, covering my face with my hands, making a loser attempt at calming down. It’s not working.
Sweet Arriane crawls over, her little ass in the air as she dives into the drawer, checking every corner. I grab a butt cheek and squeeze too hard. She doesn’t yelp. Instead she shrinks away from me and sits up.
“Sweetie,” she says. No one calls me sweetie. I am not sweet. Haven’t been sweet since I was seven.
Arriane’s small hand reaches around my dick and massages it. My eyes flutter closed, and I groan with anger, with the ever-growing need to fill her. I thrust into her hand. Then, I stand up and she instantly understands. My fingers weave into her hair as ruby lips curve around me. She bobs out a porcelain-frail, maddening pace that shoots me into arrhythmia. It’s heaven.
Not the kind of heaven I crave.
“Goddamn!” I think is all I say. She gets up too, eyes liquid with something besides desire. Arriane is so beautiful—she’s sweet. So sweet. Kind.
Her hands go up to cup my face, and I pull her in as she kisses me. My cock twitches, hard against her stomach.
She lifts her knee. I don’t know what she’s doing that for. It’s not safe. Why is she tempting fate? I open my eyes and see hers looking at me with such… love? No. Not fucking love.
“Arriane. Back your leg off me,” I order while I still can.
“It’s okay,” she murmurs, breathy against my lips. “I’m about to have my period.”
My entire being heard her.
Fuck. Me.
“If you’re clean?” she asks.
“Ah… Never without a rubber before…” I lift her up and back us into the headboard. She giggles as I stumble with her, and we’re off the bed, against the wall by the mirror—I own no finesse, no thoughts.
Just. Need. To—
She cries out when I plunge deep. She’s velvety red softness welcoming me, sucking me in, and nothing compares to this.
“Damn, you feel good,” I groan. I’m loud. I’m in fucking paradise. She sheathes me perfectly. Just the way I imagined. I rock her against the surface, her arms stiffen around my neck, and her legs begin to shake.
“Leon…” she warns me, and then she contracts around me, making my head spin. I can’t control it anymore. I’m supposed to jump off—I’d planned to spray those edible breasts, but I can’t for the life of me let go.
Arriane’s post-orgasmic quivers chase my dick toward free-fall while I walk us to the bed and drop on top of her. I push deeper than life. Within moments, I explode.
I’m not sure how this happened, but here I am, on the first and last sleepover with this woman. My employee. And I am coating her insides with me.
Jesus freaking Christ.
I instantly remember: we fell asleep without showering last night. Crusty remnants from him surrender to my fingernails at the inside of my thigh, and I blink in the morning light, letting my eyes roam the room. Leon is gone.
God knows why I slept with him. Even though I work harder than anyone at Smother, I make sure to study his every move. Because of it, I know everything worth knowing about him. Based on my knowledge, what I just subjected myself to was incredibly stupid.
Yes. I always know where he is. His mood. If he’s in the club. Out on errands. Upstairs alone… or with a girlfriend. I watch him more, much more than he knows, and I hide my feelings well.
Curiosity kills cats I hear, and I’ve died a million deaths over the years. Now, I’m ready for the slaughterhouse—for a new sort of death, a tougher, harder death.
I should not have come upstairs.
Should not have been with him.
Should not have insisted on going all the way.
My heart skips. I dress quickly and slink into the living room. Leon has cleaned everything up. The room is as tidy as it was before his breakdown hours ago. A blanket covers the broken window, and I’m sure he’s already called the installers.
In the kitchen, fresh coffee steams from the coffeemaker. A plate covered with cling wrap waits on the table. It has my name on it.
“I’m sorry,” the note begins.
“I’m sorry I took advantage of you, Arriane.” I blink over treacherous, stupid tears, because the words hurt and I’m the one who should apologize. I took advantage of him—his desperation. I start reading again.
“I’m sorry I took advantage of you, Arriane. It will never happen again.”
I finish the breakfast spread he’s made for me. Pour coffee into a mug. My heart’s still alive when I walk down the stairs and into the bar with my cup in hand. I don’t consider the damage the New Year’s crowd did to my decorations. Spilled beer and half-dried cocktails glue me to the floor, trying to keep me from his office. My shoes stick and rip free from the floor, alerting Leon of my proximity. I lose courage. I want to go home and postpone this.
“Arriane?” Leon’s voice sieves out so softly. Like we’re different now.
I inhale. Riip to the office slowly. Hurry with the last steps before I can change my mind. Then, I peek in through the half-open door.
“You called?” I say, swallowing. I haven’t showered yet and smell of us. I have the early shift at work today, and I forgot to tie my hair back into a ponytail. Lord knows where the hairband is—I don’t. Slowly, I edge my face behind the thick sheet of my hair. His scent on me teases, causing a jab to my heart. Woodsy cologne, sex, and wrongness.
Crystalline blues float from the documents organized in front of him and still on me. I can’t meet them, so I concentrate on the light stubble caressing his jaw and cheekbones. Faintly, I think of how I’ve never touched that stubble. It wasn’t there last night. I’d cup his cheek, make it prick the palm of my hand.
“Yes, can you do some shopping for me?” he murmurs in the quiet voice that instills every employee’s respect.
I let out a breath and sink into a chair on the opposite side.
“Sure, what do you need?”
“I’d like you to put together a gift. Here, grab a notepad. This might take most of your day.”
I accept what he gives me. Pull a lock of hair into my mouth and pinch it with my lips folded over my teeth. Leon’s gaze sinks from my eyes to my lips.
“Can I ask who it’s for?” I whisper.
“You can. When I lost my mind last night, robbing Pandora of her freedom to keep her from Dominic—” Leon narrows his eyes in a squint, considering how to finish. He already boasts a fighter’s posture, but he sits up straighter anyway.
“Well,” he sighs, “I need to make amends for what I did. Apologize. I want the gift to reflect the sincerity of my regret. Money isn’t an issue as you put this together, Arriane, and I’ll be addressing it to both of them.”
“Who?”
“Pandora and Dominic.”
I stare a
t myself in my bathroom mirror. Instinctively, I’ve known for thirty days, and yet my eyes haven’t lost their disbelief.
I don’t take up loans. I’m not in debt. I’m twenty-three years old and not a college dropout—I move forward slowly, steadily with classes. At the moment, I wish I’d done it faster. Because now, there’s this.
My curveball.
A bubble of unwarranted bliss grows in my throat. In the mirror, it sparkles in my irises too. Common sense arrests my smile, though. This is crazy. Madness. I never thought I’d end up this way. I haven’t told my mother, whom I’m close with and see every couple of weeks over in my hometown of Talco. I definitely haven’t informed my twin brother, Chahel—I’m better off waiting until the last minute.
The last minute.
I’m not thinking about the last minute. Surely, once the last minute comes, I’ll be less scared.
The mirror reflects my naked form. Still slender, my hips curve bell-shaped below my narrow waist. Oval and deep, my belly button delves in toward my secret. I use my hands and brush up from my pelvic bone. Over the soft skin of my stomach and up to my breasts.
I squint, studying them like I do every morning as of late. They feel full. My nipples are sore, so “I’m here, and don’t you forget it,” wanting me to remember my miscalculation. The sensation of gravity pulling at them doesn’t make sense, because they’re not that heavy. Not yet.
Ingela’s on the phone in the kitchen. “No-no-no. Shut up, Cameron. You’re a jerk.” I smile at the way her pitch twists on “jerk,” courtesy of her mother tongue, Swedish.
“Wait, I’ll ask,” she continues, giggling a bit too hard. “Nej, because you started it! Wait—wait… ARRIANE!”
No one yells as loudly as Ingela. No one. I puff out a breath and start getting dressed. A single wall divides the kitchen from my bathroom, and seriously, if she whispered my name, I’d hear her.
“Still here,” I breathe out as a test.
“Well, you’re taking forever, and Cam has a question for you! Come out!” she screams.
Whatever question our fellow bartending colleague has, we both know it has to do with hairy triangles and that the answer is, and should always be, “no.” I’m also pretty sure he doesn’t want her to ask me, because they all think I’m the runner-up boss at the bar. Even Ingela, only she has no respect for authority. The staff as a whole has decided it must be a cultural thing. We’re starting to believe everyone in Northern Europe has this as a birth defect.