SEVEN
Stella
Curiosity is a funny thing. It’s like a little devil sitting on your shoulder, whispering in your ear. Urging you. Compelling you. It makes you do things you know you shouldn’t.
Like snooping. We all know to respect someone’s privacy, but if you suddenly find yourself alone in someone else’s house, your mind starts to wander.
What’s in that drawer? What’s behind that door? What’s in their closet?
It starts off innocently enough, but when you know for certain that no one’s around to catch you in the act… Well, your curiosity gets the better of you. Your fingers become itchy with the need to touch, open, explore.
That’s how I find myself in Clayton’s home office when I should be upstairs gathering his clothes so I can drop them off at the dry cleaners.
It’s been a few weeks since we started … fucking? Casually seeing each other? I have no idea what to call us or what I am to him—if I’m even anything other than a warm place to stick his dick every night.
For someone who’s worried about “blurring the lines,” he sure hasn’t missed an opportunity to fuck me.
He’s bent me over every surface in his office when I deliver his lunch. On the days that I don’t bring him lunch, he still eats out.
As in he eats me out on his desk before getting something from the cafeteria downstairs.
And every single night without fail, he expects me to come over and fuck him.
The sex is so great that I don’t mind, but I’m starting to feel … like I need more from him. I’m not asking for a ring or any kind of commitment. I just need more of an emotional connection.
There are times when I feel like he wants that too, when he gets all tender for the few seconds after he comes, but then it’s gone in the blink of an eye and he’s back in boss-mode.
It’s infuriating.
And since he hasn’t told me anything about his personal life, aside from the fact that I’m the first employee he’s crossed the line with, I’ve had to rely on Google to fill in the rest. Everything I’ve learned about him—his family, relationships, business—I’ve learned secondhand.
Now, when I’m alone in his place, my mind starts to wander. I can’t help but think about all the things I could find here that Google doesn’t know about…
My sandals click on the shiny floor as I round the corner of his desk, my fingers tracing the dark wood. I grip the metal drawer pull on the top drawer, hesitating for a second before pulling it open.
There’s not much to see—some pens, post-its, paperclips—but shoved way in the back is what looks like a framed picture. I pull it out, a lump forming in my throat when I look it over.
It’s a shot of him and some beautiful woman on a picture-perfect beach, wrapped up in each other’s arms. Thanks to Google, I know it’s Claire, his ex-girlfriend and current fiancée to his ex business partner.
Frowning, I wonder why he still has it. If it were me, I would’ve tossed the damn thing in the trash.
Then set the trashcan on fire.
Jealousy snakes through me the longer I look at them.
He loved her. Like really loved her, and I don’t need gossip sites or Google to tell me that. I see it in this picture, in the way he looked at her like she held the whole freakin’ world in the palm of her perfectly manicured hand.
Maybe I’m just a silly girl who reads too much romance, but it’s the kind of way I want him to look at me. And if I’m ever lucky enough to get it, you can bet your ass I’m not going to throw it away like it’s nothing.
I shake my head, wondering what the hell she was thinking when she cheated on Clayton. Not only is he gorgeous and an animal in the bedroom—or office, kitchen, what have you—but he’s one of the biggest philanthropists in the world according to Wikipedia, and has a bigger bank account than some countries.
Not that I care about his money, but heiress and socialite Claire Sutherland probably did.
I set the picture frame back in the desk and plop into his office chair, sinking down into the pillowy leather.
Is he still in love with her? Is that why he’s been so hot and cold with me?
The chair accidentally bumps into the desk as I sit here thinking, the movement causing the computer screen to turn on.
It’s apparently not password protected, which I think is weird at first, until I remember that Clayton lives alone. He’s got no one to try and keep out like I do.
The screen is sleek and thin, the desktop images crisp and pixel-free. It’s a Mac, so it’s probably one of those fancy retina screens. I eye the row of icons along the bottom of the screen, recognizing the little Google Chrome ball on a minimized window that appears to have some kind of picture instead of text.
Curious, I click on it, and when the window enlarges, so do my eyes.
Clayton’s been stalking my Instagram.
Smiling, I minimize the window and head out of his office.
He might have Claire’s picture hidden away in his desk, but it’s not her social media he’s been creeping. It’s mine.
***
Clayton grips my hips as he slams into me from behind, his cock bottoming out in my pussy as I fist his sheets.
I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this. Every time he fucks me, it’s new and exciting. And so, so satisfying. It’s like I don’t feel complete if he’s not inside me, stretching me wide to make room for him.
And I am very, very accommodating.
The symphony of our skin slapping together fills the room, his feral grunts littered with dirty praises serving as the chorus. I’m so wet, so full as he pushes me closer to bliss, my eyes squeezed shut as I bury my face in his bed, my ass and legs spread wide as I kneel before him.
He makes a spitting sound, and half a second later I feel something wet drip onto my asshole. His thumb smears it around the ring of puckered muscle before slowly pushing in.
The feeling is … different.
Taboo.
When he gently starts to fuck my ass with it, I realize it’s also completely fucking phenomenal.
I want more. I suddenly wish he had two cocks to shove inside me, because the feeling of double penetration is…
My whole body tenses as the first crest of pleasure hits me, deliciously blooming from my ass and pussy until it saturates me completely and I can’t tell where it ends or begins. It’s everywhere all at once, ripping a guttural scream from my throat as I clench around his cock and finger simultaneously.
Clayton bites out a curse, his thrusts jarring and rough as his cock twitches deep inside me. His big body stills before shuddering and collapsing on top of me, his sweat-slicked skin pressing against my back.
He lifts himself onto his elbows, kissing my shoulder, my neck, my cheek. And as much as I love it when he’s sweet like this, as much as I look forward to it, it doesn’t change the fact that I can’t breathe trapped under him like this.
“I can’t breathe, Clayton.”
He grinds his hips against my ass, getting a few last thrusts in before rolling off me. “Clayton? What happened to ‘sir’?”
Giving him a pointed look, I take a deep breath. “You just had your finger in my ass. I think I’ve earned the right to call you by your first name.”
He bites his lip as he looks over my naked backside, lightly slapping my ass. “Yeah, but ‘sir’ sounds so much hotter.”
Rolling my eyes, I get up and start to gather my clothes.
“Call me Clay.” His voice is quiet, surprising me when I slip on my panties.
I pause and look at him, unable to stop the smile from forming. I’d tell him thank you, but if he ruined it by saying something dickish like ‘Don’t get used to it,’ well I might just haul off and slap him.
I finish getting dressed as he disposes of the condom.
“Wait,” he says. “I almost forgot.”
I watch him grab a business card from his nightstand, then hand it to me.
“What’s this?” I ask, frowning as I read it.
It’s for a Dr. Robert Hendricks, M.D.
“Are you on any kind of birth control?”
“I’m on the pill,” I say, still confused.
“How long have you been taking it?”
“Five years.”
“Are you good at remembering to take it?”
“Same time every day. Why?”
What’s with all these questions? Did the condom break or something?
“You have an appointment tomorrow morning at nine. Don’t worry about the bill, I’ve already taken care of it.”
“An appointment for what?”
“To get tested.” He licks his lips and steps closer, his semi-soft cock hardening right before my eyes. “The next time I fuck you, it’s going to be without a piece of latex between us. I’m tired of wasting my cum in a bunch of rubber.”
He wants to come in me? Why is the thought of that so fucking hot?
I swallow, suddenly breathless. “You’ve only been doing it for a few weeks. You make it sound so arduous.”
“It’s a few weeks too many. I want to feel it spilling into you, watch it dribble out of your tight little cunt.” He bites his lip, his cock rock hard again.
“That sounds … fucking hot,” I admit.
Clay smiles. “I already got tested this afternoon. Dr. Hendricks will give you a copy of my results when you go in tomorrow.” He steps closer and kisses me goodbye, shocking me.
He never does that.
“Any questions?”
Only about a million.
Instead of asking any of them, I shake my head. “No, sir.” My panties are instantly soaked as I walk out of his bedroom.
Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.