by Sky Corgan
“Sit,” he repeats, though my butt is already halfway on the desk.
I wiggle my way further onto it. Continually displeased with my performance, Xan lifts me up like I weigh nothing and places me further back on the desk. I clamp my legs shut, confused about what he’s doing—about what he wants me to do.
He cups my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “You’re a very disobedient employee, do you know that? It’s a wonder you got so far in my company.”
His words sting. I had been doing perfectly fine until he took me on as his personal assistant. Until then, there had been no complaints about me. He’s just a demanding boss. Demanding and pushy and oh my he’s looking at me with those eyes again.
My mouth goes dry as I stare up at him. I’m captivated by his intense gaze, and he smells amazing, like soap and masculinity. The heat of his body draws me in, making me want things I shouldn’t. And those lips. All I can think about is kissing them.
He traces the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip, and my mouth instinctively opens for him. I can’t stop looking at his lips, silently begging him to kiss me. I know he’s about to do something inappropriate, and if I had my choice, it would be that. To feel his mouth on mine. To know what he tastes like.
His grip tightens, and he bends slightly, turning my head to the side to growl seductively in my ear, “I told you that I’m hungry.”
I let out a shuddering breath as his hand leaves my face, feeling my nipples tighten against the material of my camisole. It’s astounding what he can do to me with just a few words; a few looks. Within seconds, I’m rendered powerless against him.
His hands land on my knees, so large that they cover them completely. His eyes bore into mine, making me feel so many forbidden desires.
“You will spread for me,” he says as he pries my legs apart.
I gasp, knowing that there’s probably already a wet stain at my center. I close my eyes to avoid his judging gaze, my hands shooting back to support me. Xan grips my thighs, pulling me to the edge of the desk. My arms give out, and I fall back, my head dangling over the edge. I feel something between my legs only a moment before I realize that Xan has buried his face there and is inhaling my scent.
His eyes flutter beneath his thick lashes before he looks at me over my mound. “You smell incredible. I bet you taste even better.”
“Xan,” I squeak out his name as he roughly pulls my panties aside. Before I have time to object further, his tongue parts my folds to push inside my opening.
I cry out, my head dropping back as a surge of pleasure races through me.
“Mmm,” he mumbles into me, twisting his hands around the crotch of my underwear until I hear them rip.
I whimper as I feel the slick blade of his tongue swipe up my folds, spreading them. He puts his lips on me, sucking the wetness from my slit before moving up to circle my clit. It feels so good that I can barely breathe. Every ounce of my focus is centered on his face between my legs, teasing me to heaven.
I try to relax, giving in to my need for everything he’s doing to me. He nibbles and kisses and blows, making me squirm and squeal. Any time I try to close my legs, he keeps them forced open. Knowing he has full control turns me on way more than I ever thought it could. And despite what I keep trying to tell myself, I love what he’s doing—love what’s going on between us.
Xan’s mouth wraps around my clit. He applies pressure, his tongue dashing out to tap at the sensitive bundle of nerves. I’m so close to orgasm that my toes are already starting to curl. But just when I’m about to reach the summit, he pulls away.
I lift my head, giving him a pleading look. He grins wickedly at me, knowing exactly what he’s doing.
“Tell me you want it.” He probes a digit at my entryway.
I blush, fearful of being penetrated in any way but feeling my body beg for it at the same time. I can’t decide if I want to squirm away or press my hips towards him.
“Xan, I’m...” I swallow my own words.
“About to come. I know. That’s why I stopped.” He sounds smug.
That’s not what I was going to say. I was going to tell him that I’m a virgin—that I don’t want him putting any part of him inside of me. His tongue has already been there. It was gentle, unable to spread me too wide. His finger is solid, though.
He pushes the tip in, then slides in all the way to the knuckle. I gasp, my head falling back. The second his thumb presses down on my clit, I shatter. My body isn’t even that full of him, but it was enough to send me over the edge. I hadn’t expected to enjoy the sensation as much as I did. Now, I’m truly craving his cock, wondering what it will feel like to be spread even further.
Xan curses, curling his finger inside of me and making me pant as he starts thrusting his hand back and forth, touching some deep inner part of me that was made for pure pleasure. “You’re so fucking tight,” he hisses. “I can’t wait to pop your cherry.”
The world stills around me. He knows. Maybe he always has. Even worse, I now know that he intends to take things all the way.
“Xan, we can’t,” I tell him, though it’s hard to focus on what I’m saying when I’m still caught in the throes of passion.
He pushes another finger at my opening. This time it hurts. The pressure of him forcing it in is painful. It makes me doubt my earlier desires.
Once he gets the tip in, he jams it in the rest of the way, burning a path inside of me. He leans over me, his eyes hooded and dark. “Haven’t you figured it out yet, Christiana? You belong to me. Every part of you. I’ll fuck you whenever and however I want.”
Fear grips my heart, but then he starts moving his fingers again, and it melts into something else. His hand pumps into me fiercely. It hurts, but the pain is usurped by something deep in my belly—a more intense pleasure than anything I’ve felt before. I moan and whimper with each thrust of his hand, my pussy squelching crudely as my body lubricates his fingers.
Xan’s face fades away from my field of vision, and when his mouth wraps around my clit, fireworks go off. I reach forward for anything to ground me, curling my fingers into Xan’s hair. I can’t tell if I’m trying to push him away or suffocate him with my cunt. All I know is that I don’t let him go until the contractions have stopped and the fog of my orgasm has dissipated and left me breathless and exhausted, a mound of flesh and fluid on his desk.
He withdraws his fingers, making me feel sadly empty. Then he laps at my opening until there’s nothing left but his saliva. I let go of his hair and just lie there, so stunned by his words and what just happened that I can’t even move.
“Your pussy is fucking delicious,” he tells me when he finally emerges.
I watch as he takes the new lingerie from his desk, unfastening the underwear from the hanger. He rolls back in his chair and slips my feet into them, then pulls them up my thighs. It’s not until he gets to my hips that I finally come back to life and sit up. All I can do is stare at him as he takes such care in dressing me.
“Take that top off,” he tells me as he goes to remove the new camisole from its hangar, and I give no further resistance. He’s already seen the most intimate parts of me—had his hands on me, his fingers in me, his mouth and tongue driving me to the height of bliss. My tits aren’t sacred. Besides, I’m sure he’s seen a thousand other pairs before.
He smiles at me when I pull the top over my head. “You’re being much better for me now, Christiana.”
I hold my arms out, and he slips the new camisole on me, pulling it down until the material rests on top of my breasts. I bite my bottom lip as I see the mischievous grin return to his face. He circles my waist with his hands, pulling me to the edge of the desk and burying his face between my tits. When his fingers come up to pinch my erect nipples, his name slips from my lips in the most erotic voice I’ve ever used.
“So sensitive,” he whispers against my chest before lightly clipping one of my nipples between his teeth.
The electric jolt that runs to
my core lights me up again as if I could handle a marathon of orgasms. My ass falls from the desk as Xan pulls me to him and I land on his lap with my legs spread, his cock resting against my V. My cunt pulses, wanting him inside of me. It’s something needy from the very depths of me as if my womb is begging to be filled by him.
“Fuck, Christiana.” Xan emerges breathlessly as if it took all his strength. “Go make my fucking breakfast before I can’t control myself.” He turns away, his callous expression sucking all the warmth from the room.
He practically pushes me off of his lap, causing me to stumble while I get my footing. I make haste out of the office because he sounds angry for some reason, though I can’t help but look back at him before I go. He’s wearing the same expression he wore last night after he made me come with his fingers—like something inside of him has shut off. I don’t know how to react to it. All I can do is obey.
CHAPTER SIX
THE REST OF THE DAY proceeds as if nothing happened between us. Xan eats his breakfast like a man starved, then we return to his office to work for two more hours before he makes me fix him lunch. I feel like I spend more time in the kitchen than out of it. Shortly after lunch, he gives me another shopping list for dinner and sends me out with his driver. I’m not sure why he didn’t make me get ingredients for both meals the day before. It’s kind of annoying, but I’ll do whatever he wants as long as he keeps me in his employ.
I serve him the salt-crusted fish I made for dinner, then sit beside him and assess his expression as he takes the first bite. His lips pucker slightly, a good sign that I messed up again. I must not have packed the salt and egg white mixture tightly enough, which means the salt probably leaked into the fish. A forkful of the flesh confirms it. The meal is pretty much inedible.
I sigh, leaning back in my chair, waiting to be reprimanded, wishing that Xan would request less complicated dishes. Discomfort churns in my belly as I brace myself for the confrontation. It doesn’t come, though. Instead, Xan moves on to eating the salad and steamed broccoli I made as sides, picking at the fish occasionally without complaint.
While I don’t dare ask him what he thinks of the meal, the silence between us is killing me. Eating with him seems to always be a quiet affair. It reminds me of being tables apart in a cafeteria. Never do I feel further from him than when we’re sharing a meal.
“Have you ever been married?” I want to suck the question back in almost as quickly as it leaves my mouth. That was not the best ice breaker to start with. I am curious, though. More curious about if he currently has someone in his life.
“No,” he replies shortly.
“This is a big house to live in by yourself.” My eyes flutter around the room, looking past the four walls to everything else around us—to so many empty bedrooms and living spaces.
Xan sets his fork down. It clanks against his plate, making me jump. “Does it bother you that I’m not married?”
“No.” I sink into my chair, fearing I’ve angered him by being too chatty.
“If I were married, what we’ve done together would be truly scandalous.” A hint of amusement tugs at his lips.
“It’s still scandalous,” I mutter.
“Tell me about your family, Miss Miller.” He continues eating.
I frown at the fact that he turned the conversation to me. I’ve been longing to know more about him since I stepped into his mansion, but he seems to be a secretive man.
There’s no point in hiding anything from him, so I tell him everything. It’s a horrible thing to hope for, but perhaps if he takes pity on me, he won’t treat me so harshly. I tell him about growing up on and off the streets, about having to sleep on the couches of strangers until my mother was financially stable enough to afford to rent out a room for us. I skip the parts about the unsavory roommates we’ve had in the past, moving straight into the blessing that Ruby and Dorothy have been. I tell him about the countless days I’ve spent baking bread with my mother and selling it on the streets. That part of the story seems to fascinate him more than anything else.
“Did you have any interesting experiences doing that?” he asks.
“Interesting, yes.” I nod. “And frightening sometimes. The streets are filled with all kinds of people. Most are honest and good, I like to think.”
“Are they?” his voice trails off.
“And what about you? I’ve told you almost everything there is to know about me. Yet you haven’t shared much about you.”
“You’ll learn things about me over time.” He gives me a look that says I shouldn’t push the subject. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
I’m appalled by the question. Does he really think I would have allowed intimacy to go on between us if I had a significant other? “Of course not.”
“How many boyfriends have you had in the past?” His eyes are locked on me intently, and I feel the temperature in the room rise by several degrees. This has become more like an interview than a casual conversation.
“None,” I stutter, a bit embarrassed by the admission.
“Good.” He seems pleased, picking his fork back up to continue eating.
“Due to religious reasons, I’ve been trying to save myself for marriage.” Just saying it fills me with shame. I’ve allowed him to do too much. Hopefully, telling him this will make him back off.
“That’s very admirable,” he replies as if talking about the weather. There’s no emotion behind the response.
“It’s my desire,” I add for emphasis.
“Is it?” He glances at me from the corner of his eye. His tone speaks volumes about his skepticism.
“It is.” I nod firmly, staking my resolve to my heart.
I expect him to say something else or argue with me, but he doesn’t. Instead, we fall back into silence while he finishes his greens, leaving his fish mostly intact. I force as much of mine down as I can, not wanting to waste it. Over-salted or not, this meal was expensive, and I’ve lived in times when food was hard to come by.
After dinner, Xan retires to his office. He makes no more requests of me, so I can only assume that my workday is over. I do the dishes and return to my room for the night, thinking about the conversation we had. I never got far enough into my story to tell him about my mother being ill—to make him understand that it’s the only reason why I haven’t quit yet. Maybe that’s a good thing. From what I’ve learned about him so far, he seems like the type of man who would leverage that against me. Perhaps pity isn’t in his arsenal of emotions.
I change into my nightgown and settle into bed, thinking about my mother. Not being home to care for her is tearing me apart. I know I made our life sound harsh earlier, but she’s always done the best for me that she knew how. She’s a good mother. I’m trying to be the daughter she deserves, but being away from her makes me feel like I’m failing at that somehow, even if I’m doing this for her.
I drift off to sleep with misty eyes, wanting nothing more than to be home. Going back to work on the ranch doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. I may never be able to pay off my mother’s debts, but at least we’d be together.
I dream a horrible dream that my mother has a relapse of pneumonia while I’m gone, and she passes away. Dorothy and Ruby never reached out to contact me. It all happened so fast. My mother dies, they kick me out of the house, and then I’m alone. Utterly and completely alone. The despair is so great that I find a rope and tie a noose. All I can do is sob as I crawl up onto the chair.
I step forward, but I don’t fall. Strong arms catch me. I open my eyes to darkness. It takes a moment for my vision to adjust. Someone is holding me. Tears are burning down my cheeks. I panic for a moment before I’m shushed.
Xan is leaning over me, his expression full of concern. “Are you alright? I heard you calling out, so I came to check on you.”
I’m awake, I realize with relief.
“It was just a dream. I had a bad dream.” I brush the tears away, embarrassed that I was loud enough to wake him. T
he loneliness and despair I was feeling in the dream are clinging onto my heart, filling me with an irrational emptiness and need to be comforted.
“Move over,” Xan tells me.
As soon as I do, he crawls into bed beside me and draws me into his arms, stroking my hair soothingly. It’s exactly what I need, and I don’t object to the closeness. I simply rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.
It’s not long before a new aching takes the place of the one I felt from the dream. Aching and longing. This is what having a husband would be like. He would come to my rescue in the middle of the night and chase all the bad dreams away.
I stay in Xan’s arms until the tears have stopped flowing and I know that I’m not moving just because I enjoy his touch. My mother used to stroke my hair like this. But it was different somehow—didn’t have the same emotions attached to it.
I sit up, my eyes fixing on Xan’s face. There’s a change in him; a softness I haven’t seen before.
He brushes my hair back behind my ears before taking my face in his hands. When he leans in, I think he’s going to kiss me. I don’t resist. I need this right now.
He doesn’t kiss me. Instead, he rests his forehead against mine.
“Thank you for coming to wake me,” I say into the darkness.
He tilts his face up, his lips pressing against my forehead, then my temple. I close my eyes as his mouth makes its way around my face, kissing my cheeks, my eyes; everything but my lips. When he gets to my chin, I crane my head to the side. The kisses continue down my neck. When he reaches the collar of my nightshirt, he pauses to pull it over my head.
I feel drunk from the dream and my mixed emotions. There’s a strange sleepy restlessness inside of me—a need to feel loved and that my world is greater than just me and my mother and our roommates.