He could put an end to the role-playing right now.
But he didn’t.
He ground his hips against her, his erection pressing into the small of her back.
“You feel that?” he said, his lips against her ear. “You’re going to take it, Miss Branson. I don’t care what the hell you say. You’re mine, and I can do what I wish with you.”
“No.” She struggled, but not very hard.
“Why would a woman wear this,” he thrust his hand up her skirt, “unless she wanted to be fucked? You might claim otherwise, but I know the truth.”
Jay pushed her harder against the wall, and he moved his hands lower and massaged her ass cheeks. Fuck, she felt so good. There was a quiet look of terror on her face, but she wasn’t trembling. He could feel the strength in her.
He slipped a finger inside her, then another. She wasn’t wearing panties.
“Please don’t,” she breathed. “I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t wear a skirt like this to the office ever again.”
He chuckled, low and menacing, a villain’s laugh. “I don’t think you’ve learned anything yet. And it’s not just about the skirt. You need to understand that the contract you signed … it really, truly means that your pussy is mine, whenever I want it.” He thrust his fingers in and out. “No matter how tired you are. No matter what your boyfriend—if you have one—thinks. You’re my secretary, and you’re also mine.”
“I didn’t want this job! But I had no other choice, and… Oh.”
He’d added another finger. “That’s right, Miss Branson. You will enjoy it, whether you want to or not. You’re body’s betraying you. You’re very wet. I think it’s time we put your pussy to good use, don’t you?”
The ugly words came easily. It was incredibly freeing to be able to do this.
He unzipped his pants and took out his cock. He forced Emily to wrap her hand around it.
“Feel that, sweetheart? That’s going to be in you soon, and you have absolutely no choice in the matter.”
His fingers shook as he rolled on the condom, and then he shoved into her, squishing her cheek against the wall. He dug into her shoulder with one hand, the other gripped her hip. And he fucked her, intoxicated by the power he had.
She shrieked and protested as he rammed into her viciously.
And she was still very, very wet.
He slowed down and pulled out. It was torture to leave her heat, but it wouldn’t be for long. This was a brutal dance, and she would do what he demanded of her.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please, sir.”
“Tell me what you want,” he said sternly, holding himself rigid behind her.
“Please put your cock in me, Mr. Cheng. Make me come… Please. I need it.”
“Not yet.” His body hated him for saying that. “I need to know you understand.”
“I’m yours to use however you like. You can fuck me anytime you wish. Whether or not I’m wearing a miniskirt. Please—”
He slammed into her again and again and again. She came with a strangled cry, shuddering between him and the wall, and he followed her. His orgasm seized him, crashed over him, blindingly intense.
They tumbled onto the couch together, unable to stay standing. It was several minutes before they spoke.
“Are you mad at me?” she asked quietly.
“No. Somewhat disturbed by myself, but no, I’m not mad at you. I could’ve stopped it.”
“I don’t think any less of you for liking that. And you don’t think any less of me, do you?”
He shook his head.
“I’m doing it because I trust you,” she said. “I trust you to stop if I tell you to, and you’re very good at reading me, at knowing exactly what I need. Please don’t be disturbed by that. But if any of the role-playing makes you uncomfortable, we don’t have to do it.”
Jay exhaled unsteadily. He realized Emily had really been the one in control. She was the one who dictated how far they went. Much as he’d liked that surge of power, the power was hardly his.
And he loved it because she did. It was her response that spurred him on more than anything. They fed off each other.
He wondered if he could do this with anyone but her. Somehow, he couldn’t imagine it.
Maybe there was some deep psychological reason he had these urges, something related to his childhood. Maybe there wasn’t. He doubted he was terribly unique. An awful lot of men would probably love to do what he’d just done to Emily.
This was part of who he was, and that was okay. It didn’t mean he was a sick, twisted man. He would never act like this in real life. The thought was beyond nauseating. Yes, he’d liked that she’d resisted, but only because he’d known she wasn’t actually resisting.
It was very, very important that he have her in his arms right now. He pulled her into his lap and pressed tender kisses up and down her bare arms.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yes.” He rested his forehead against hers. “We don’t need to stop any of this.”
Jay pulled off his tie. It was too constricting for God knows what feelings were flooding him at the moment.
They were quiet for a few minutes again in the stillness of her apartment.
“Emily,” he murmured.
Her hand curled in his hair. “Stay the night,” she said drowsily. “We can do it again in the morning.”
He carried her to the bedroom and set her down on the bed.
“I suppose…” Her words were mumbled, languid. “I should get out of these clothes.” But she seemed too exhausted to do it.
He searched her dresser and found a pair of underwear, then pulled a large T-shirt off the hook by the side of the bed, assuming it was what she slept in. He took off her skirt, breathing in unevenly as he looked at the curls between her legs, and put on her panties. When he moved his hand to the top of her shirt, he hesitated.
She shook her head. He turned away from her and sat on the other side of the bed, hands clasped on his knees, until she touched his back.
He turned around. She was wearing the T-shirt now, and her hair fell messily about her face.
Jay undressed, except for his boxers, and climbed under the covers beside her. She ran her hand up and down his chest. Admiringly. He very much wanted Emily Branson to admire him, even if it was just his hard chest.
“You … are so much more beautiful than me,” she said.
But that was a dagger to his heart.
“Don’t say that,” he said. “You’re gorgeous. I can’t keep my hands off you. I want so badly for you to feel comfortable undressing in front of me, and it’s not because I don’t know. I’ve seen what you look like. Brent was a fucking idiot.”
She smiled slightly, as if she was too tired to draw the corners of her mouth up very far.
“That’s sweet of you,” she said.
It was odd, the contrasts of tonight. The filthy sex, the tender way they touched now that it was over. Yet it all fit together.
He curled his body around her and drifted off, as if on a cloud.
Chapter Ten
When Emily woke up the next morning, she smiled at the feel of the male body pressed against her. She felt good. A little sore, but ridiculously good. The only thing that would make it better was if she could feel her skin against Jay’s.
Except that would require taking off her T-shirt.
She hesitated for a moment before pulling it off. And then it was his chest on her back, nothing in between. He was still asleep, and she reveled in the silent comfort he provided.
A few minutes later, a hand caressed her side.
She stiffened.
“Don’t roll me over,” she said hurriedly. “I just thought this would feel nice—and it does. But I still don’t want you to see me.”
She knew it sounded crazy. But she also knew that if he saw her in nothing but her underwear, it would break the quiet spell of the morning.
“Hush.” He didn’t roll he
r over, but his hand drifted up to her chest. He touched her bumpy skin, and she held her breath. “Texture,” he said. “I like how you are.”
Texture.
He was amazing.
She sat up, facing away from him so he could only see her back, and put on her shirt. Then she shoved back the covers.
His cock was making a tent in his boxers.
She stripped them off, and for the first time, he was naked before her.
He was indeed a gorgeous man, hard in all the right places. The swell of his biceps was particularly intoxicating. There was a light dusting of hair on his chest, and farther down…
He did not seem at all embarrassed by her study of him.
Emily knelt by his side. She circled her hand around his cock and moved up and down. He put his hand to his forehead, and his breath rushed out sharply. Her hand still grasping the base, she took him in her mouth. She moved slowly over him, sensing he would quickly come if she picked up speed.
His hand slid under her shirt, up her back. Gentle.
They could have all different kinds of sex. It was wonderful.
She rolled on a condom and sank down on him, exhaling in pleasure. His hips jerked up to meet hers as she rode him, and unlike the other times they’d done it, they looked into each other’s eyes. There was no dirty talk, no pretending to be someone else. It was a simple act, a joining of bodies.
Jay pushed up harder against her, his hands firm on her hips. Soon they were moaning in unison, moving faster, groaning as they came together.
He held her again afterward, and she felt so incredibly close to him.
“What time is it?” he murmured.
“Eight. Do you have plans?” Please don’t have plans.
“I’m supposed to go to your brother’s for brunch. What is it with your family and brunch?”
“Is this a regular thing, you going to brunch at Nick’s?”
“Nah, I think it’s just him acting like a married man now.”
They lapsed into silence. He stroked her hair. How was it possible to get so much pleasure out of such a simple thing? She wished he didn’t have to leave, wished they could stay here all day.
“Do you have eggs?” he asked. “Spinach? Cheese? I’m guessing you do, after what you cooked yesterday.”
“Mm-hm.”
“Excellent. I’ll make you breakfast.”
“You don’t need to do that.” Just stay here and snuggle me.
“I insist.”
“Very well,” she said. “I bet you’re making a spinach omelet.”
“You’ll just have to wait and see.” He smiled that winning smile of his, and she grinned back.
He put on his boxers and the T-shirt he’d worn under his suit, and he went to the kitchen.
She stayed in bed for a few minutes. Arching her back, stretching this way and that. A Sunday morning like this—it was so far out of her usual life, and it made her want a boyfriend more than she had before. So she could have these mornings every weekend, a man in the kitchen making food for her.
Which, in all honesty, would probably not be as good as her frittata, since Emily Branson made a mean frittata. But it was nice to have someone look after her for once.
Nobody had looked after her in a long time.
Once upon a time, Sundays had been pancake day in the Branson family. Blueberry pancakes with butter and maple syrup, sometimes bacon on the side. Her father had cooked, and he’d refused to let her mother help or wash up afterward. Emily and her brothers and her mother had crowded around the kitchen table, waiting for their pancakes. Her father would always have two pans going, and they would eat far too much.
She’d tried, after her mom had left and her dad had retreated to the basement, to keep things the same for Nick and Ryan. Every Sunday she’d make blueberry pancakes and put maple syrup on the table, and she’d pretend that everything was just like it had been before, though she wasn’t fooling anyone.
And then she would pour syrup over two pancakes and bring them down to the basement, along with a glass of milk, and pray her father would eat something. But when she’d return a few hours later, there would usually be a couple of bites gone, nothing more. A sweet, sticky mess.
Emily got out of bed and changed into a pair of short shorts that she only wore around the apartment and a tight green T-shirt. She went to the kitchen and sat on a stool at the kitchen island. Eggs were cooking in the frying pan, and Jay was grating cheese. He was wearing her cherry apron.
She laughed, delighted. “Do you need help?”
“No. You stay right there. Let someone else look after you for once.”
It was like he could read her mind.
“What do you drink for breakfast?” he asked. “I’m making coffee. Orange juice?”
“Both,” she said.
He put some spinach and cheese on top of the eggs, then went to the fridge and poured her a cup of orange juice.
She loved watching him walk around her kitchen. She admired the easy way he moved, the glimpse of his arm muscles peeking out from under his shirt.
“I confess,” he said as he slid the omelet onto a plate and set it in front of her, “this won’t be as good as what you made for brunch yesterday.”
“I’m sure it’ll still be tasty.” She picked up her knife and fork, but he held up a hand.
“It’s not done yet.” He placed a sprig of mint and half a strawberry on her plate. “Now you can take a picture of it. Garnish and all.”
The omelet was lopsided and not exactly elegant, but she loved it. She got out her camera and snapped a photo, and then she took a couple pictures of Jay, wearing the apron.
“You better not put those online,” he said.
“Of course not. They’re just for my personal amusement. Now cross your arms over your chest, spatula in hand, and try to look tough.”
“Try? I am tough.” He struck a pose that made her keel over in laughter.
Jay joined her at the kitchen island a few minutes later, with an omelet that was unembellished by strawberries and mint, and they fell into easy conversation.
She wanted to ask him to come over later today, or maybe tomorrow. But that would make her seem needy. She’d seen him yesterday for brunch, and he’d come over late in the evening and stayed the night. They’d spent plenty of time together, and yet it still didn’t seem like enough.
She didn’t ask.
“Is this a habit of yours?” she said instead. “Cooking breakfast for a woman the morning after?”
He nodded. “But my repertoire is limited. This is all I can make.”
“So when she sleeps over for the second time…”
“That doesn’t happen very often.”
A reminder that this didn’t mean anything. They were just having sex, and Emily might never have a morning after with him again.
She had a sip of coffee, hoping the mug would hide the melancholy on her face.
****
After a couple of cream cheese brownies, Jay left Emily’s, reluctantly, at nine thirty. He went home to shower and get changed, then headed to Nick and Diana’s new condo in the north end of the city.
There were three other people there: Marcus and Lina, a couple Jay had met at the wedding; and Tanya, a friend of Diana’s, who’d also been at the wedding. She smiled and played with her hair as they talked about their jobs.
Crap. He knew where this was going. A single man, a single woman, and two couples? Someone wanted to set them up. And Tanya seemed interested in him.
But the feeling wasn’t mutual.
Sure, she was pretty. Red hair, blue eyes, a soft dusting of freckles, and a body no man would complain about.
But first of all, he wasn’t interested in any kind of relationship. Nick and Diana knew that. And second of all…
She wasn’t Emily.
Her smile wasn’t as radiant. A little tilt of her head didn’t make his gut clench. She hadn’t asked if he wanted to see her food porn collect
ion.
Even if Tanya just wanted to hook up—and he doubted that was the case—he couldn’t imagine doing it, even though he and Emily weren’t exclusive.
After a several minutes of chatting with Marcus, Lina, and Tanya on the balcony, he went inside to get a drink.
The kitchen was a disaster zone. A mish-mash of ingredients covered every available surface, as though the entire contents of the refrigerator had been emptied. Diana was wiping up a large spill on the stove, and Nick was studying a recipe on his tablet. Carrot and potato peels dotted the floor.
Jay couldn’t help but contrast it with the scene at Emily’s yesterday morning. No vegetable peels on the floor there. Instead, carefully-curled slices of carrot had sat in ice water, and perfectly-diced vegetables had waited beside the stove, ready to be cooked.
“Get out of here,” Diana said. “We got this. We don’t need help.”
“Just came to get a beer.” He pulled a bottle out of the fridge.
Nick, on the other hand, didn’t seem keen to get rid of him. “What do you think of Tanya?”
“Oh, she’s nice.”
Diana threw the dishrag in the sink. Then she cracked an egg on the counter with a little too much force, and egg white started running down the cupboard. “Dammit.”
“Let me get that, sweetie,” Nick said.
“It’s all yours.” Diana plopped down on a chair. “I’m taking a break. I deserve it.”
Jay wanted to make a joke about how Emily was much better at this. But he couldn’t. Because then they would ask when he’d seen Emily in the kitchen.
Nick sat beside Diana and squeezed her hand.
“Okay, okay,” she said. “It’s not a rule of married life that you need to show your wife affection every two minutes. Go clean up the egg.”
Nick didn’t listen. He started kissing her instead.
Well, okay. Jay would leave them to it. Except…
He coughed.
They continued making out.
He cleared his throat very loudly and said, “Something’s burning.”
“Shit.” Diana jumped up. “The potatoes.” She hurried to the oven and pulled out a pan. “I think they’re edible. Maybe. But the eggs won’t be ready for at least twenty minutes, given that I can’t even crack them into the damn bowl. And I forgot about the asparagus.” She bent over and laughed. “My God, we’re terrible at this entertaining business. I guess getting married doesn’t magically make you good at it.”
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