Chapter 9

Rainier

When she calls me Mr. Howell, a little part of my heart grows and then breaks. Have we discovered something here?

Don’t get ahead of yourself, man. She’s your assistant. How many of them have had crushes on you? Probably all of them.

But how many have haunted me? Just one.

I gaze down at her wonderingly. I’ve never seen Ella without her glasses on. I’ve never seen her with her hair down. I’ve never seen her buxom body completely uncased from all its accoutrements. She’s like a new woman. When she’s not at work... she is a bombshell.

But she’s a professional in the office. Top of the line.

“It’s ironic, you know,” I murmur, leaning my head down onto her crown. I inhale her citrus perfume and sweet, oaky natural scent. “I came here to get over you... and you ended up under me.”

Her limpid hazel eyes flash up to me. “Don’t get over me,” she pleads softly. “I didn’t even know you were under me.”

I nod and smooth my hands down her curvaceous, muscled back. “I didn’t know it either,” I admit. “I’ve been fighting it as hard as I can.”

“Why?”

I hook my fingers into the elastic of her lounge pants and peel them down. She steps out of them and I rise, scooping her arms up. I peel her top off in one deft motion and then use it to blindfold her eyes. I grab up the pants and usher her backward toward the bed.

“I misjudged you,” I tell her. She stumbles backward with my movements, until her knees are against the bed and she collapses backward. I slide her up to the headboard and secure her wrists with the lounge pants. I tie it as tight as lightweight linen can go. She can’t move her arms now... and soon, she won’t be able to move her legs. “I thought you couldn’t give me what I want. That no woman could.” I bind her ankles in the sheets and secure them to the bottom of the bedpost. Now she’s stretched in quarters and blindfolded by a tube top. Fully nude and perfect.

“You surprised me,” I murmur, undressing and climbing onto the bed. I crawl over her body, splayed out in wait for me. “You’re perfect.” I look over her, wondering why she’s being so quiet, and then say, “You can speak.”

She bites down on her lower lip and volunteers, “I want to touch you right now,” in a soft, sweet voice.

My cock inflates at her need, but I harden against it. Sex isn’t only about gratification. It’s also about resistance. It’s a game with peaks and valleys. “No,” I tell her, leaning down to tease my lips over hers as I speak. “You may not.”

She arches up to take a kiss without permission and I wrap my hand easily around her fragile neck, pressing her back. I throb at how complete and utter my control is, knowing that I wield her safely, knowing that she’s loving every minute of it.

“Bad girl,” I growl at her, running the tip of my cock over her hip, along her thigh and tummy, letting her feel that part of me. “Now you’re not going to get this.”

“No,” she moans. “I’ll be good.”

“We’ll see about that.” I rip off her blindfold and tell her, “You can look. But no touching.”

I straddle her and stroke myself, running my staff up her thighs and hips, tracing her body with pre-cum. She moans and her hips gyrate. I can see how bright pink her pussy is, how swollen and slick. God, she does need to come, or she’s going to bust all by herself. I can almost feel how her skin must be vibrating, her nerves desperate for a single swipe with a fingertip.

But I don’t give it to her. Her eyes squeeze shut and I hunker between her spread thighs, just inhaling her musk. “Ella,” I say sternly. “Look at me.”

She looks down at me between her legs, and I lazily lap my tongue in the air right in front of her vagina. If she wanted to be disobedient, she could easily buck her hips and press her clit into my mouth. But she doesn’t move. She just lets me pantomime eating her out, and when I look up at her again—still watching me—I grin.

“Good girl,” I breathe, plastering my naked body completely over hers. My pounding erection lies over her pussy and, when I slide between her lips, we both stiffen and suck in a breath. My vision goes out for a second, it’s still so wonderfully wet and tight.

I wrap my arms around my spread-eagle assistant and pound smoothly and deeply into her, burying my face against her neck, sinking us deep into the mattress. I lose myself in her and forget about submission, forget about the island and the masks and the endless carnality of everything. I just let her perfect pussy bathe me, wash over me in waves of tightness and friction, and the only thought in my entire body is… Ella.

“Ella...” I rasp, my fingers carving into her mane. I look into her hazel eyes and she looks back, glowing with sweat. The enormity of what we’re doing hits me but I shunt it to the side and just bury myself in her again. Fuck it. I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop. She doesn’t want to stop. Rex can go fuck himself. We’re doing this.

“Yes, Mr. Howell?” she asks in a sweet, trembling voice.

I pull myself from her, which takes every ounce of my willpower, and I say, “Rainier.” I grip her hips and twist her easily onto her stomach, exposing that wonderful pillow of an ass she has. I can’t wait to buck my hips against it, to feel her softness and her roundness against my hard, straight body. “Spread your legs.”

She does as told, her thighs fanning apart and opening up a tantalizing little tent of shadow between her legs. I stroke myself and lower, skimming my head around her cunt, then sinking inside. My eyes roll back in my head and I plant my fists on either side of her wide hips for balance. With each drive into her, her booty bounces, and I throb at the sight and go harder, faster, loving to watch it bob, loving her shrills of pleasure and surprise. She sounds like her mouth is full of mattress.

“Fuck, yeah,” I breathe, biting her shoulders. She whimpers and tilts her hips up, seeming to be in pain but enjoying it. I pound harder into her, shifting my weight onto my knees and scooping my hands around her hips. I hoist her into the air and drive deeper, faster, a maniac. My cock tingles and prepares to gush.

How the hell am I supposed to be in the same office with her after this?

“I never want you to wear those stupid Spanx in my office ever again,” I rasp, still going like a jackhammer into her. “I want to see all your curves, Ella. I want you... bending over in front of me while I’m trying to work. I want you... sucking me off under the desk. That’s your new job, Ella. Take my dick. Soak up all my fucking cum.”

“Oh, god,” Ella cries out. “Yes, yes, yes. Fill me up, Mr. Howell. Fill me up...”

I reach between her lips and find her swollen clit, playing it back and forth in two fingers. She shrieks and pushes her pussy even harder down onto me, and I hit a depth I didn’t know existed. Her twat starts milking me. It’s fucking humming for me. All my thoughts run clear and I lose track of time, just playing and pounding, playing and pounding my little sex slave.

It’s the severe clenching of her walls around my prick that brings me back into my conscious mind, because it’s too sweet. Her pussy wraps around me like a muscular flower and seems to suck the orgasm right out of my rod. I buck into her like crazy and everything goes white. A shower of prickly heat rains over my body and my cock pops. Hot seed spills into her waiting pussy. I thrust and thrust, and she drinks it all up, pressed haggard on the mattress.

I collapse on top of her, Ella and I both boneless in the afterglow.

“I can never be without you, Ella,” I pant against her neck. “I can’t spend all day inside you and then leave work and come back to an empty mansion.”

“Maybe you can bring your work home with you,” Ella purrs drowsily. “Spread it out on the dinner table. On the bed. Yeah.” She grinds her sopping pussy against me, still buried deep inside her. “Bring your work to bed, Rainier. Do it overnight.”