Mr. Rochester: British Bad Boy (Classics Made Smutty Book 1) by Marian Tee (4)

Shit.

I shouldn’t have done that, but it’s too late, with the involuntary movement of my body causing Mr. Rochester’s fingers to slide deeper into me.

Mr. Rochester’s eyes glint, and I bite back a whimper.

“You’re starting to get wet again,” he rasps under his breath.

Another knock sounds on the door before I can answer. “Mr. Rochester?”

Shit. I recognize the voice. Virginia.

“May I come in, sir?”

I hear the doorknob rattle, and the sound reminds me of one alarming fact.

Neither of us had locked the door.

SHIT.

I shove Mr. Rochester away unceremoniously, and even as the sound of his fingers popping out of my pussy makes me cringe, I don’t waste another second, running as fast as I can to the washroom. I make it inside just as I hear Virginia enter the CEO’s office, and the last thing I hear before the washroom door swings shut is the receptionist’s simpering voice as she apologizes for the intrusion.

Yeah right, bitch.

Silence encases the washroom, and it takes all my willpower not to childishly press my ear to the door to hear what she has to say. Instead, I focus quickly on attending to myself, a grimace twisting on my lips as I find out just how sticky I am between my legs.

Is it normal to come this much from finger fucking?

The answer to this grazes my thoughts, but again I find myself deliberately shying away from it when I realize it’s not what I want to hear.

Shit, shit, shit.

I distract myself by repairing my appearance and start with pushing my skirt back down to its respectable length. Turning to the vanity, I wince when I catch sight of my flushed expression---

Gah.

I don’t only look like a woman who’s just been fucked, but I look one that’s been fucked pretty good---

And that’s bad.

I start pacing the length of the washroom, which by my standards is palatial, considering how it’s the same size as my entire flat.

Time to get yourself back in control, I tell myself determinedly.

And step one to that is to hold your head high and act cool.

Got it?

When I open the door, Virginia is still inside our boss’ office. Mr. Rochester is seated behind his desk while she’s leaning towards him, her blouse unbuttoned low enough to reveal the pink lace trim of her bra.

She’s sexy, I think grudgingly. An uncomfortable, flaming-hot sensation flares up inside of me at the thought, and I grimace when I realize it’s none other than jealousy.

“Thank you so much for clearing that up, Mr. Rochester,” I hear Virginia gush. “It’s been troubling me the entire time, not knowing what’s the right thing to do.”

I close the washroom door loudly behind me, but neither of them turns my way.

“I just want to be what you want me to be, you know?”

I clear my throat loudly as she speaks, but both of them continue to ignore me.

What the hell?

I can feel myself turning red in annoyance and my cheeks flush hotter when I see Virginia start inching closer---

And Mr. Rochester isn’t doing a damn thing to stop it.

Again: what the hell?

Doesn’t he realize she’s trying to seduce him?

No sooner do I think this when Mr. Rochester chooses that same moment to glance up.

I glare at him. MANWHORE!

His sapphire eyes gleam like he knows what I’m thinking…and doesn’t care.

Virginia suddenly turns and scowls at me over her shoulder like she’s calling me a bitch without words.

I scowl just as fiercely. Back atcha!

Virginia flips her hair over her shoulder. “As I was saying, Mr. Rochester…” She moves a little to the right, and the new position effectively cuts my line of vision to Mr. Rochester.

I bite back a gasp. How…admirably cunning! As Virginia continues with her attempt to hypnotize Mr. Rochester with her jiggling breasts, I square my shoulders and take a deep breath.

Fine then.

Round 1 is all hers, but it’s a shallow victory, I think ungenerously, considering I’m the one who had Mr. Rochester’s fingers inside her---

My thoughts come to a screeching halt when I realize where they’re heading.

Seriously, Reed?

Panic consumes me, and this time I don’t even want to look their way as I march out of Mr. Rochester’s office. Shock and shame wars inside of me as I try to make sense of my thoughts. Dear God.

How did I end up like this?

Since when did I turn into a woman whose victory is determined by who’s finger-fucking her?

I grab my iPhone as soon as I make it back to my desk, but before I can type an SOS message to my online friends I realize I already have an unread message waiting for me – from him.

Mr. Rochester: Jealous?

Oh!

Me: You wish.

Mr. Rochester: That’s too bad. I’d have gotten rid of this woman if you said yes, and then I’d fuck you right after.

I almost toss my iPhone into the garbage bin.

Bastard.

* * *

It’s a quarter to five when Mr. Rochester leaves his office and stops by my desk, saying, “Shall we go?”

Looking up, I open my mouth to refuse, see my boss raise an inquiring brow, and change my mind. “Okay,” I say sullenly.

Mr. Rochester patiently waits for me to gather my stuff, and when I’m done he places his hand on the small of my back as we start to walk. Everyone turns to follow us with their gazes, which I do my best to ignore.

When we make it to reception, I catch a glimpse of Virginia’s resentful gaze.

“Your new girlfriend’s mad.” As soon as the muttered words come out of my mouth I want to bite my tongue off. Way to go, Reed. That’s exactly what I shouldn’t have said if I wanted to pretend indifference.

But Mr. Rochester only shrugs, saying mildly, “She’s the understanding type.”

My furious gaze snaps up to his, and I snarl, “Understanding?” What the hell does that mean? And does he mean he wants me to be just as understanding? Does he think I’ll be okay if he divides his time between me and another woman?

The offensive thought has me bristling, and I can barely contain myself, waiting only until we’re alone in his blasted limousine before hissing, “What do you mean ‘understanding’, asshole?”

Mr. Rochester crosses his legs with an amused smirk curving on his lips. “So you are jealous.”

“What I am,” I snap, “is offended, while you are an idiot if you think I’m going to let you get away---” The rest of my words turn into a choked gasp as Mr. Rochester suddenly hauls me into his lap.

My knees land apart, and I let out a cry when I realize I’m straddling him on the car seat, and his monstrous cock is pulsing powerfully under his pants, enough to make the folds of my pussy start to moist.

Oh God.

As our gazes clash, and Mr. Rochester murmurs lazily, “This is all your fault, you know.”

“E-excuse me?” I want to sound indignant but instead my voice comes out weak and trembling. It’s so hard to even remember what I’m mad about, with the way his cock keeps rubbing in the most delicious way possible against my wet, hot core.

“Or perhaps I didn’t make myself clear enough.” Mr. Rochester captures a loose lock of my hair, and the gesture is almost tender, frighteningly so. It completely unnerves me, and my heart beats harder and harder against my chest.

“You may have my attention, but I still require you to say what you want to do about it.”

Oh. The meaning behind his actions finally becomes clear, and I’m torn between shuddering in despair and anger. He knows how hard it is for me to say such things, and that’s exactly why he’s asking for them.

“Bastard,” I can’t help choking out.

“Always,” Mr. Rochester croons, “and it’s all for you.”

His words are begging for a retort, but I just end up shuddering on his lap as he tucks the loose lock behind my ear. After, his fingers continue to trail down the side of my neck---

I shake my head vehemently, crying out, “Stop.”

And still his fingers continue to move lower and lower.

“I said, s-stop.”

Mr. Rochester releases a taunting laugh. “Stop, you say.” His voice is gently mocking. “But the sexy note of plea in your voice says otherwise.” And he proves it so easily as his fingers find one nipple, so erect that I might as well have gone bra-less, with the way it’s poking so visibly against my blouse.

My eyes jerk up to his. “Don’t---” But Mr. Rochester has already pinched my nipple between his fingers. Hard. And I end up crying out instead.

“How does it feel?” He pinches it again, and I bite back a cry. “Tell me, Ms. Reed. Give me the words.”

I shake my head. Never.

Almost in retaliation Mr. Rochester starts tugging my nipple and the excruciating sensation has my whole world turning faster.

Oh God.

“Tell me.”

And again, the words are like the devil’s whispers in my ear, wicked, forbidden, and God, they’re absolutely tempting.

“Tell me so I can give you what we both want.”

I start to shake my head---

“Your nipple in my mouth. I want to taste it. Don’t you want me to suck on your breasts?”

A whimper escapes me at the graphic picture his words paint. I squeeze my eyes shut, but it’s futile. I can’t stop imagining how it would look like. How it would feel.

“Tell me.”

And once again, the devil wins, and I find myself succumbing willingly into his dark embrace as I choke out, “I want it.” A shudders run through me at my surrender, but I can’t make myself regret the words, knowing what kind of pleasure awaits me. “I want it, damn you. I want it---”

“Then feed me.”

A cry trips past my lips at what he’s asking, but it’s a sound of desire than horror.

“Take your blouse off,” Mr. Rochester grates out.

And I find myself doing it.

“Get rid of your bra.”

Oh God. My fingers shake as I follow his command, and I can’t help shivering anew when my breasts finally spill free from their restraints.

Mr. Rochester’s gaze settles possessively on my chest. “Beautiful.”

It’s not just what he’s said that makes me moan, but it’s how the word sounds, with his low voice and cultured edge turning a single word into a fuckload of promises---

And of course, they’re all bad.

“S-stop staring.” I try to cover my breasts, but Mr. Rochester shakes his head sharply.

“No.”

I freeze.

“Don’t hide them.” Mr. Rochester’s voice is harsh with desire, and the sound makes my already aching breasts ache even more painfully. “From now on,” he continues in a hard voice, “you are never to hide them from my sight. Understood?”

I nod jerkily.

“Now, cup them for me.”

I hesitate.

“Now.”

And my hands once again move on their own volition. The weight of my own breasts on my hands is unfamiliar and embarrassing, and I feel my cheeks turning redder as I watch the way Mr. Rochester’s gaze devour my naked chest.

“Come closer.”

“Don’t let go of them.”

The back-to-back commands make me whimper, more so with the way his monstrous cock is twitching impatiently against my swollen folds. When I can’t get any closer, I look up, and Mr. Rochester says, “Now, feed me.”

Aaaaah.

His head lowers as I shakily raise myself up on my knees, my hands still cupping my heavy, aching breasts.

A moment later, and it finally happens---

His mouth on my nipple, and when he starts to suck stars explode behind my eyelids at the exquisite beauty of it. I moan and I moan, and as Mr. Rochester sucks harder and harder on my nipple I just can’t stop moaning.

It’s so good. God, it’s so good.

I cry in disappointment when Mr. Rochester tears his mouth off, but then it starts all over again when Mr. Rochester latches on to my other breast, his tongue laving around the erect pink tip.

It’s so good. So good. God, it’s soooo---

Mr. Rochester bites on my nipple.

Hard.

I scream.

And he’s still biting---

I find myself letting go of my breasts and clutching his head.

“Oh God.”

I can’t stop rocking against his body as he keeps sucking on my nipple, and I find myself frantically rubbing my pussy over his cock---

Mr. Rochester tears his mouth away. “Jane!” His voice is tight with desire, and the look glittering in his sapphire eyes is feral.

“Make me come,” I sob. It’s all I can think of saying, begging. I’m no longer in my right mind. All I know is that I need him to make me feel that same wonderful feeling again. “Please.”

“God, Jane.”

And then his mouth is back on my breast, sucking hungrily, and as I drive my fingers desperately through his hair, pulling his head closer I feel his fingers weaving between our bodies, moving down---

He starts rubbing on my clit.

I scream.

And still the sweet, sensual torture continues, his mouth on my breast, his fingers on my clit---

It takes only a few seconds before I peak.

And then I’m screaming as I fall into a familiar abyss of pleasure, and I come so hard and long that by the time the pleasure starts to fade I can only collapse against his body, completely spent.

As my eyelids drift shut, I hear Mr. Rochester whisper into my ear, “Don’t sleep just yet.”

H-huh?

“I want to fuck you as soon as we get home.”

Minutes later, and I realize that Mr. Rochester isn’t lying.

He doesn’t even give me time to dress myself the moment we reach his place. Before I know what’s happening, he’s already taken his jacket off, gets my arms into its sleeves, and holds me tightly to him so not a single inch of my bare body is exposed.

“Hold on to me,” he mutters.

It’s all the warning I get before he steps out of the limousine.

Shit! My arms immediately wound around his neck while my legs lock around his waist. I’m appalled and aroused, but even so I do my best not to move too much, conscious of the fact that he’s bearing my entire weight with his uninjured arm.

Consuelo’s by the front door to greet us as usual, and I manage to smile weakly in response before quickly hiding my face against the crook of Mr. Rochester’s neck. Having glimpsed an army of maids lined up behind her, I’m not exactly eager to see how his staff would react to the sight of their lord and master with his obviously naked PA in his arms.

“Damn you.” But the muffled tone of my words makes it like I’m being coy, and my cheeks flush in shame, more so when Mr. Rochester’s chest rumbles with his low, taunting laugh.

“Damn me all you want, Ms. Reed. I don’t really care what you do as long as you let me fuck your brains out.”

I beat his back with my fists as he carries me up the stairs. “Asshole.” But my anger’s a complete sham, and we both know it, with the way my breasts are swelling against his chest.

Seeing us bypass our room makes me stiffen, but my throat is so tight with emotion that I can’t even make the tiniest sound of protest.

Oh God. Is this really happening?

A moment later and we’re entering Mr. Rochester’s vast suite, but he keeps on walking, straight towards his bed. His arms loosen and I fall on the bed.

Mr. Rochester’s gaze glitters.

Oh!

I remember too late that I only have his jacket on, and with its folds spread wide open, my breasts are completely exposed. It makes me sit up in the bed with a cry, and I start to cover my chest---

From now on, you are never to hide them from my sight.

I remember his command, and I slowly, shakily pull my hands back.

A smile curves on Mr. Rochester’s lips, and dipping one knee on the bed, he leans forward to caress my cheek. “Good girl.”

The words should anger me, but instead I have this embarrassing urge to rub my cheek against his palm like a pet in need of affection.

When he moves forward, I find myself leaning back until I’m lying on the bed and he’s looming over me----

A shiver of apprehension skitters down my spine as Mr. Rochester continues to gaze down on me, a feral glint of desire in his sapphire eyes. This close to him, I’m again reminded by just how larger and stronger he is, how so much harder and more powerful his massive body is---

“Last chance, Jane.” His words make me swallow hard, its guttural note a perfect foil for the shadows playing around the walls. Heavy curtains have barred daylight from coming and though I know it isn’t even early evening, the intimate darkness of his suite makes me feel like I’ve entered a world of eternal night---

And the man above me is its master.

“You can still go,” Mr. Rochester grates out, “and you need not worry about repercussions.”

Anxiety sweeps over me, and my fingers curl restlessly against the bed sheets.

Am I really going to do this, let a virtual stranger take my virginity?

I may have worked for Mr. Rochester’s company for years, but I’ve only been his P.A. for a few weeks and I’ve only met him in person for the first time just the other day.

No matter how you look at it, our circumstances can only make Constantin Rochester a stranger.

And yet here I am, half-naked on his bed, unable to jump on his last offer of safety.

“If I fuck you tonight, there’s no turning back. Everything will change, and I don’t bloody know how things will turn out. ” Mr. Rochester slowly lowers his body, just enough for me to feel the heavy twitching of his monstrous cock.

I bite back a moan.

“All I know is that I want you so badly right now…” Mr. Rochester grinds his crotch down on me harder.

Oh God.

“All I know is that if you say yes, I’m going to fuck you so damn hard you won’t be able to walk.” Mr. Rochester punctuates his words with a nudge of his cock against my clit, and my entire body lurches.

So good. So damn good. And I just know it’s going to better---

“So what’s it going to be?”

There’s no other answer I can think of except for---

“Yes.” I moan out my surrender.

And then it’s exactly what Mr. Rochester says it is, and everything changes.

Mr. Rochester abruptly moves away, and I almost cry out in confused protest when I hear him order harshly, “Get rid of the rest of your clothes. Now.”

Aaaaaaaaaah.

The commanding note of his voice is a huge turn on, and I find myself shakily hurrying to do his bidding. The jacket goes off first, and when I start wriggling my hips to get my skirt down my legs I catch sight of Mr. Rochester’s nostrils flaring---

That’s when I notice how my breasts are jiggling with every movement I make, and heat explodes in my cheeks. “Stop making this more embarrassing,” I mutter.

“What’s there to be embarrassed about?” Mr. Rochester’s tone may be lazily amused, but the look in his eyes is nothing but. It’s intense and predatory, and I feel like a lamb about to be eaten---

And I can’t wait for it to happen.

“You’re my woman now,” Mr. Rochester croons. “It’s my right to watch you undress.”

The possessive words make my fingers falter, and I croak out, “You’re s-such a Neanderthal.”

“And you, my beautiful Jane,” Mr. Rochester mocks, “are a liar. Do you think I don’t smell your desire from here? Do you think I don’t know you can’t wait for me to fuck you---”

“S-shut up!” But my voice is weak and breathless, and I can’t help squirming in heightened consciousness as his sapphire gaze leisurely travels down my body.

Ooooh.

I have to clench my fists against the urge to cover myself. Except for the lace panties covering the triangle between my legs, I’m completely naked and I feel my whole body turning pink as his gaze lingers on my breasts and its pouting tips.

God. Oh God. I suddenly remember the way his mouth sucking on my nipple feels, and I instinctively press my legs together as I feel moisture threatening to gush out of me.

“You’re getting wet, aren’t you, Ms. Reed?” Mr. Rochester purrs.

“Fuck you.”

He throws his head back with a laugh. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He gaze moves down. “But we digress, Ms. Reed. It’s time to get rid of your last piece of clothing.” His voice lowers into an authoritative tone. “Now.”

And oh, intoxicated little fool that I am---

I do what he asks.

In a second, my panties have joined my skirt on the floor and I’m completely naked. A sensual jolt strikes my body as Mr. Rochester rakes my nude body with his gaze.

Oh God.

Just one look, and it’s enough to make me go up in flames.

“Beautiful, my dear.”

Mr. Rochester’s whispered words make me press my legs harder together. It seems like everything he does and say is a turn on for me, and I hate it. Biting my lip, I mutter, “You’re still fully clothed.”

“I know. I’m hoping you can help with it.” When my head jerks up, Mr. Rochester only smiles and crooks a finger towards me. “Come here and undress me.”

Ooooooh.

“Now, Jane.”

And of course I find myself unable to resist this command either.

My legs threaten to crumble with every second that passes, and when I finally make it to my side I feel so dizzy and faint I’m seriously worried that I’ll pass out.

Mr. Rochester raises a brow, saying in mock surprise, “Why, Ms. Reed. It seems like you’re quite excited to see me naked---”

“N-no!” But the squeak in my voice gives me away, and Mr. Rochester smirks.

“Let’s not waste time then, shall we?”

“I told you I’m not---”

Mr. Rochester’s fingers start working expertly down the buttons of his shirt and my voice trails off as inch by inch his the bronze muscled wall of his chest is revealed.

Oh God.

The shirt falls to the floor, and I’m treated with the most amazingly sexy sight of Mr. Rochester’s broad shoulders that then taper down to his strong chest and sculpted abs.

Impossible, I think weakly. Surely it’s impossible for any human being to have this kind of godlike body of perfection?

Mr. Rochester unbuckles his belt, and I gulp hard when this, too, falls to the floor.

What’s left now, I wonder dazedly.

Mr. Rochester suddenly reaches for my hand and steadily but firmly pulls me close until the erect tips of my breasts graze his chest---

A whimper escapes me just as Mr. Rochester sucks his breath.

“Finish the rest, Ms. Reed.” His voice is harsh with desire, and the look on his face is taut with strain.

After unzipping him carefully with trembling fingers, I find myself kneeling on the floor as I slowly pull his pants down. He steps out of them and now I’m just left with his boxers---

A moment later, that, too, disappears and I’m suddenly at eye-level with his cock.

I gulp.

It really as monstrous as I imagined---

“Do you think it’s big enough for you, Ms. Reed?”

“I…ah…” For God’s sake, if I have to be honest, I’m seriously worried it won’t fit.

When Mr. Rochester chuckles, I realize I’ve spoken my thoughts out loud and I turn red.

“It will fit,” Mr. Rochester drawls, “but it may feel like I’m tearing you apart at first.”

Ooooooooh.

Mr. Rochester pulls me up, and that annoying-slash-sexy smirk is back on his lips when he asks with mock concern, “I hope that’s alright?”

“Uh. Yes.” My voice is hoarse. I can’t even muster the energy to get mad.

Tearing me apart, he says.

I can’t wait.

Mr. Rochester takes my hand and as he leads me back to the bed, he asks under his breath, “Are you nervous?”

I look away, muttering, “A bit.” But even so I don’t murmur a single word of protest as he lays me on the bed, and I only draw my breath sharply when his body slowly covers mine.

Aaaaaah.

My world spins just a little faster as every inch of our bodies come into contact, and I feel the delicious heaviness of his length.

“I’m going to take care of you, Jane.”

The words are completely unexpected.

Tender.

I don’t quite know what to make of it, much less what to say, so I end up giving him a small, simple nod.

He lowers his head slowly, and my eyelids fall shut.

Mr. Rochester’s seduction begins with the softest, gentlest brush of his lips against mine, and it’s so painfully sweet that my toes curl hard at the sensation. Over and over his mouth brushes against mine until I find myself relaxing. My arms move on its own volition, looping around his neck---

Mr. Rochester chooses that same moment to slip his tongue between my lips.

I arch against him with a soft gasp of surprise, and Mr. Rochester takes advantage of my parted lips by pushing his tongue further.

Aaaaaaaah.

Our first kiss, I think dazedly.

And it’s exquisitely erotic.

The movement of his tongue inside my mouth is sensual and bold. I can’t quite explain it. All I know is that every stroke makes me want him more and more and more.

“Open your mouth, Jane.”

And I do.

“Suck on my tongue.”

And I do this, too, because I know---

“That’s it,” Mr. Rochester rasps. “Exactly like that.”

---everything he makes me do always makes me feel good.

When Mr. Rochester tears his mouth away I can’t stop myself from moaning in protest---

“Sssh.” Mr. Rochester’s tone is soothing. “You’re going to feel even better. I promise.” And he proves this as his mouth latches to my breast---

Oooooh God.

Each breast is given lavish attention, and the way he spends sucking on my nipples is so good it’s almost tortuous, causing my fingers to drive up his hair until I’m clutching his head hard and arching up to push my nipple deeper into his mouth.

And then Mr. Rochester is moving again, and I can only moan and writhe restlessly under him, knowing that it’s as he promised, and everything will be even better---

When I realize where his mouth is heading, I shake my head in protest, whimpering, “No!” My legs automatically try to close, but Mr. Rochester only forces them apart again.

“Be a good girl,” Mr. Rochester grates out, “and just open wide for me.”

Aaaaaah.

“Now, Jane.”

Even as my legs part wide open slowly, I can’t help muttering, “Damn you.”

“You can say that as many times as you bloody want. I won’t give a fuck as long as you do what I say.”

Mr. Rochester’s possessive gaze falls on my pussy.

“Stop staring,” I moan.

“So I can start eating your pussy?” While I choke in surprise, Mr. Rochester clucks his tongue. “How impatient of you, Ms. Reed.”

“You---” But I can’t say anything else. Mr. Rochester has already dipped his head between my legs, his tongue lining my folds.

I shudder. I scream. And most of all, I hope it never ends.

My fingers once again tighten its grip on his hair. “Please.” I shake my head restlessly against the pillows as Mr. Rochester continues to thrust his tongue in and out of me. “Please.” I don’t even know what I’m pleading for. I just know everything is up to him.

As Mr. Rochester’s tongue begins to move faster and thrust deeper I feel pleasure start to build inside of me. My body begins to tighten, and I can no longer stop myself from thrusting my hips up, wanting Mr. Rochester to fuck me harder with his tongue.

Oh God.

Oh God.

Oh God.

It’s sooooo goooood---

And before I know it Mr. Rochester has already sent me flying, and I’m screaming as I fall.

I come so hard I can’t even scream. All of my energy is focused on the creamy wetness gushing out of my pussy---

And God oh God, throughout it Mr. Rochester’s mouth remains on my core, his tongue lapping up every drop of my cum---

It’s just too much, and even as the pleasure begins to fade in the aftermath, my body continues to shudder.

Just too much.

When Mr. Rochester lifts his mouth, I let out a tiny, tremulous sigh, thinking it’s over for now and I finally have time to catch my breath.

But I’m wrong.

The next thing I know Mr. Rochester is already bracing his arms on the bed and his eyes capture mine as he starts to lower himself---

“W-what---”

And then I feel it. The bulbous tip of his powerful erection nudging against the swollen trembling folds of my pussy.

My eyes fly wide.

“Mr. R-Rochester?”

“Remember what I told you,” he whispers. “It will feel like I’m tearing you apart---”

And it does.

Mr. Rochester plunges his thick, monstrous cock inside of me in one swift, hard stroke and I scream, my fingers instinctively digging into his back.

“Oh God.”

The feel of his possession is indescribably raw, and I feel so stuffed it’s almost as if I can’t breathe without feeling his cock pulse inside of me.

Above me, I see beads of sweat line the sides of Mr. Rochester’s face. His expression is taut, and I can see the amount of control he’s exerting to keep himself from moving.

“Does it still hurt?” Mr. Rochester asks tightly.

Instead of answering, I take a deep breath before moving experimentally and raising my hips a fraction---

“Don’t,” Mr. Rochester bites out.

But I keep moving my hips up until his cock involuntarily thrusts deeper.

I moan.

Mr. Rochester inhales hard even as sapphire eyes furiously rake down my body. “What the hell, Jane?”

“I…I…” But for some reason, the words just won’t come. All I can do is clutch his shoulders more tightly as I raise my hips again---

His nostrils flare. “Jane.” His voice is rough with need.

“Mr. Rochester…”

“Bloody hell, woman.”

And then he starts to move, and I cry out.

“I wanted to wait longer, but fuck it.”

And his thrusts become just a bit faster and harder.

Oh God.

I love it.

It’s so damn good.

Clinging to Mr. Rochester, I instinctively raise my hips to meet his every thrust.

“You’re so bloody tight,” Mr. Rochester grates out. “It makes me want to tear you apart.”

His words should’ve frightened me, but instead excitement sweeps over my body, and I can only moan. I want it. I want him to tear me apart.

And it’s as if Mr. Rochester has heard me because the next moment the movements of his cock have changed.

He’s ramming it into me relentlessly now, so damn hard my body slides up and down the bed with every thrust.

And it’s good. So damn good. Oh God it’s soooo gooood---

“Please.” I no longer care that I’m begging. “Please don’t stop.”

“Never.” And Mr. Rochester rears up to his knees, placing my legs over his shoulders before shoving his cock back into me.

I scream.

He starts pounding into me, and I find myself gripping the bed covers tightly.

“Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.”

And without warning I start to come.

“Oh Gooooood---”

Mr. Rochester plunges his monstrous cock into me one last time with a low growl. A second later and I feel him shooting his hot sticky cum into me.

My feet dig against his back as I try to push myself up, wanting all of it.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

Fill me with your cum, Mr. Rochester.

* * *

A part of me had believed it would end there.

And yes. I know. It’s stupid.

A man like Mr. Rochester would never be satisfied with just one round---

And I’m secretly glad of that.

Following my first time, Mr. Rochester had carried me to the shower and cleaned me up. His movements had been careful and gentle, but while it had been terribly sweet I also had to remind myself not to feel bad about how experienced he seemed.

You got yourself into this with your eyes wide open, Reed.

Mr. Rochester had never lied about his past. I had no excuse to feel upset about being confronted by the fact that Mr. Rochester had sexual partners before me.

No excuse…and yet the feeling had continued to linger in the brief moments that I was alone, tormenting me with images of Mr. Rochester with other women.

Women who were more beautiful and more accomplished, women who were more suitable for him than I could ever be…

The only times those painful thoughts had faded were when I was in Mr. Rochester’s arms, which fortunately happened more often than not. Mr. Rochester and I had fucked for five nights straight---

And God oh God, the things we did in those 120 hours---

We had only eaten and slept because we had to.

But other than that it really had been fucking nonstop.

Against the wall. On the floor. In the shower. Over the table. On the chair.

And in every position he could manage to convince me---

Standing up. Sixty-nine. Doggie. Seated on his lap.

“Do I even ask what you’re thinking?” Mr. Rochester’s question, spoken in a quietly amused tone breaks the silence inside the limousine and hauls me back to the present.

“It’s nothing.” I avert my gaze as I speak and lace my fingers together over my lap. After nearly one week of nonstop shagging, Mr. Rochester and I are now back to our regular routine---

And it’s a good thing, I tell myself doggedly. If we spend too much time together, we might end up being sick of each other---

And you don’t want that, do you, Reed?

Mr. Rochester sighs. “Why do you insist on lying to me, Ms. Reed?”

I squirm on my seat. “I’m not---”

“Is it because,” he asks at the same time, “you miss being punished?”

What the---

You’d think I’d be used by now to having Mr. Rochester tease me, but I’m not. Everything he says or does still gets to me, and I’m either angry…or aroused.

Most times, it’s both…like now.

Turning to him, I half-stammer, half-snarl, “Of course not!”

“Liar.”

The limousine crawls to a stop, preventing me from responding right away. Mr. Rochester steps out first and after taking his hand, I wait until I’m on my feet before muttering childishly, “I’m not lying.”

“If you say so.” Mr. Rochester’s voice is smooth.

Too smooth, I think irritably, which means he’s just humoring me.

Bastard.

When we make it inside the building, the attention we draw is as I expected, which is a hundred times worse than usual. By now, there can’t be any doubt that Mr. Rochester and I have an understanding.

How can there be, with the way Mr. Rochester has his arm wrapped possessively around my waist?

Is she his girlfriend, I hear one of the interns ask before the elevator doors close on us.

I kinda want to know the answer to that myself, I think.

Mr. Rochester catches me looking at him. “What is it?”

I shake my head. “Nothing.” And it is nothing. I don’t need a label to define what we have, I tell myself. It’s the 21^st century now, Reed. As long as you and Mr. Rochester are having fun without harming anyone---

Then who cares what other people think, right?

Easier said than done, I realize a moment later.

When we make it to the penthouse floor, Mr. Rochester takes my hand as he leads me out of the elevator, and it’s all I can do to keep my head high even as most of the women shoot me dirty looks whenever Mr. Rochester isn’t looking.

As expected, I think with a silent sigh.

When we reach my desk, I try digging my feet in, saying, “This is me.”

“I know.” Mr. Rochester doesn’t stop walking. “But it’s not where I want you to be.”

And so I’m forcibly dragged into his office with him.

As soon as the door closes, I throw my hands up in exasperation, exclaiming, “What the hell’s that about? Didn’t we agree we’d do this low key?”

Mr. Rochester looks genuinely bemused. “That was low key.”

It was?

“If I had done what I wanted to do, then we’d have been making out in the elevator.”

“Oh.” All sorts of explicit images flash in my mind, deflating my anger and making me aroused instead.

He smirks. “Interested?”

“N-no.” But the word comes out a croak.

“Liar.”

Absolutely, I think. Even so I scowl at him, muttering, “I’m serious about keeping this low-key. Everyone’s probably talking about us now, and I’m sure they all think I’m your newest bimbo.”

“Then they’re idiots,” Mr. Rochester dismisses with a shrug. “Anyone only has to be in your company for five minutes to know you’re not the type.”

Oh.

“Secondly, your boobs aren’t big enough.”

OH!

“You fucking---” But then I meet his sapphire eyes, see the gleam of amusement in them, and grimace, realizing he’s only pulling my leg. “Bastard.” But I have a hard time keeping myself from laughing.

Mr. Rochester’s lips curve, but his tone is gently chiding when he says, “You care too much about what other people say.”

“To be honest,” I can’t help mumbling, “I never did…until you.”

One eyebrow arches. “Is this true?”

I nod jerkily. Years ago, I had left home and never looked back, not even when it reached me that my step-aunt had made up all sorts of lies about my sudden disappearance.

I ran away with an ex-convict.

I got out of town because I had to have an abortion.

I checked myself in for drug rehab.

And those were already among the nicer things that had been said.

There were other stories, more disgusting and all completely untrue, but I hadn’t even lost a single night’s sleep on any of them. As long as I knew the truth it was enough for me, but with Mr. Rochester---

My lips compress.

There’s just something about this man that makes me feel overexposed and oversensitive, and I find myself caring about every damn little thing. Something about him is so damn…different. I’ve never even found myself crushing on a guy, but then Mr. Rochester acts like the biggest ass in the world to me, and what do I do in return?

Jump into bed with him and offer my virginity on a silver platter.

I look at Mr. Rochester. Dressed in a handmade Italian suit of dark grey, he looks even more stunningly handsome than the first time we met, and when our eyes meet and his lips curve into this devastatingly sexy and annoying smirk---

I have this really bad feeling I’ve been doomed to be under this guy’s command for as long as I live.

“And aren’t I lucky,” I mutter sarcastically under my breath.

Mr. Rochester, already standing behind his desk as he browses through his morning papers, glances up at hearing me speak. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” I say sweetly. “May I go now?”

“Not yet.”

I scowl. “Why not?”

“Because I have something to tell you.” Mr. Rochester crooks a finger towards me. “Come here, Ms. Reed.”

I consider disobeying him.

“Now.”

Or maybe I’m just pretending to consider disobeying him, I think uneasily, so I can hear him order me around.

Gaaaah.

Either I’m suffering from temporary insanity---

Or I’m just plain masochistic.

It’s a horrible thought, but even so I find myself moving towards him.

Mr. Rochester settles himself on his seat, and my heart lurches.

Oh no.

Is he going to---

Mr. Rochester taps his lap.

I shake my head vehemently. “No.”

But our company’s resident bad boy only smiles, purring, “Yes.” And when he taps his lap once more, it’s like having my willpower sucked away and all of a sudden the only thing I need to do is whatever it is he wants to do.

Shit.

I am a masochist.

Mr. Rochester reaches for me, and when I sit stiffly on his lap, he croons, “Relax, my dear.”

Again: easier said than done.

But there’s nothing I can do, with Mr. Rochester already pulling me towards him, forcing me to lean against him, my back pressed to his chest---

That’s when I feel his monstrous cock stirring underneath me, and a bolt of sensual excitement strikes me, making my body shudder.

Oooooh.

“Last week,” Mr. Rochester whispers into my ear, “was one of the most enjoyable times I’ve had in recent years.”

The sweet words catch me unaware, and I say awkwardly, “O-oh?”

“I want more of it.”

Oh.

“But unfortunately---”

And of course there’s a but, I think darkly. All kinds of worst-case scenarios rush to my mind, and just about every one of them involves Mr. Rochester dumping me for another woman. Unable to bear the possibility that it’s so, I blurt out, “Are you ending things?”

Mr. Rochester turns me around to face him, and I catch sight of the flash of exasperation in his eyes as he remarks, “A negative Nancy, aren’t you?”

My face remains stoic, and I ask flatly, “Are you or aren’t you?”

“No, my dear.” His voice is amused. “I’ve barely had my fill of you so why the bloody hell would you think I’d end things this soon?”

Oh. His words alleviate my worries somewhat, but even so I say defensively, “You can’t blame me. You’ve been acting so shady since you said you were going to tell me something. I mean, why don’t you just say it---”

“I’ll be gone for two weeks.”

My jaw drops. Two weeks? Two weeks?

Mr. Rochester pulls me back closer to him, murmuring, “I’m sorry it’s sudden. I only got the call about the emergency in London earlier.”

“It’s your life.” My voice is stiff. I try pulling away from Mr. Rochester, but my boss doesn’t let me up.

“Are you mad?” His uninjured hand moves up to cup my breast, and I hate the way it immediately swells at his touch despite the inner chaos I’m struggling with.

“I’m not mad.” But I can’t help slapping his hand away. Seriously, two weeks? When he chuckles, my hackles rise, and I snarl, “I’m really not. Okay? In fact, I wish you a safe trip.”

Mr. Rochester’s lips twitch. “You don’t sound like you mean it.” His hand goes back to my breast, and I slap it away again.

“Will you stop---” But my voice weakens when his fingers find my nipple.

Gah.

How desperately horny am I for this guy?

“Perhaps,” Mr. Rochester suggests softly, “what you mean to say is that you’re going to miss me?” He tweaks my nipple in the end, and my breath stutters.

“N-never---” But I end up gasping as he pinches my nipple harder.

Mr. Rochester’s mouth touches my ear. “Consider it said.”

Even knowing he’s only deliberately provoking me, I still can’t help gritting out, “I didn’t say anything, bastard---”

Mr. Rochester forces me to turn towards him with a smirk. “I’m going to miss you, too.” And then he’s kissing me.

Hard.

My toes curl even as I do my best to keep from succumbing to his kiss.

“Promise me you’ll be a good girl,” he murmurs against my lips.

I shake my head, just to be contrary.

He nips my lips. “Promise me, Jane.”

Ah God, he’s so unfair. He knows what it does to me when he calls me that.

“Fine.” My voice is sulky.

“Good girl.” His lips move down the side of my neck. “I’ll call you every night.”

“Yeah, sure,” I say sarcastically even as I can’t help arching my neck. “I’ve heard that before.” But that’s a lie. I’ve never been close enough to any guy to receive such a promise, and it’s only my way of bracing myself for disappointment.

And the blasted man seems to know it since my words just make him chuckle before he draws the tender skin of my neck into his mouth---

Aaaaah.

“Try not to weep tears of joy when I prove you wrong, mm?”

I’m unable to answer. The way he’s sucking on my neck has taken over my senses. I vaguely feel him moving as he does, but I’m too lost in the feelings he’s evoking to pay attention until---

“W-what are you doing?” I manage to gasp when I realize that he has us both on our feet and he’s gently exerting pressure on my back, causing me to bend over his desk.

“A parting gift,” Mr. Rochester croons, “for you to remember me by while I’m away.”

I hear the distinct sound of his pants being unzipped.

My eyes widen. No. My gaze jerks towards the door. I don’t think it’s even locked.

Mr. Rochester pushes my skirt up to my waist.

Oh my God.

“No---” But I end up whimpering as Mr. Rochester calmly rips my panties off.

He starts rubbing the head of his cock against my pussy, and I feel myself becoming wet with every stroke of contact.

“You c-can’t---” And yet my fingers are already gripping the edges of his desk, preparing to hold on instead of letting go.

My eyes squeeze shut. I’m so hopeless. So damn hopeless when it comes to----

Aaaaah.

Mr. Rochester has finally thrust inside me, the monstrous girth of his cock causing the walls of my pussy to expand deliciously.

When he starts to move, his pace is excruciatingly slow, and I can’t help gasping, “Please.”

“Please what?” he rasps out even as his thrusts remain steady and leisurely paced.

My fingers tighten around the edges. It’s good. It’s so good. But it’s not enough. “P-please---”

“Didn’t I teach you to say what you want?”

I can no longer bear the torture, and I gasp, “Faster. Harder---”

His cock withdraws and shoves back in. But this time it’s exactly how I want it, and I manage to swallow back a scream even as my entire body bursts into flames.

Yes, yes, yes!

Mr. Rochester begins pounding into me, harder and faster, and my breasts begin to slide back and forth against the surface of his desk.

Papers and pens start falling, littering the carpeted floor, but neither of us stops, and I can only close my eyes more tightly as I do my best to keep my cries to myself.

So good. So good. So good---

Mr. Rochester slaps my ass.

Ah!

“How does that feel, my dear?” He slaps it again, and this time I can’t help letting out a little cry---

But it’s not out of pain, and we both know it.

His thrusts become more forceful, and so do his slaps. I imagine my ass is a fiery shade of red now, but somehow the thought only arouses me even more.

So good. So good. So good.

My body starts to tighten, and behind me Mr. Rochester lets out a rough groan.

“Come with me,” he says hoarsely.

It’s all the invitation I need.

He plunges into me one final time, and I come with a shuddering moan. Mr. Rochester groans again, and then he’s shooting his cum into me, his seed mingling with my own release, and God, I feel so hot, so stuffed, so full---

My eyes sweep shut.

Yes, yes, yes.

I love it when he’s filling my pussy with his cum.

When Mr. Rochester finally pulls out, I’m bone-tired and barely able to lift my head while Mr. Rochester draws me to his private washroom. Exhaustion turns me into a doll in his hands, and I can only let Mr. Rochester clean me up and set my appearance to right.

“There,” Mr. Rochester murmurs. “You look so bloody innocent once more.”

I follow his gaze to my reflection on the full-length mirror.

He’s right, I realize absently. My hair, my clothes – everything’s been perfectly restored. It’s like nothing happened at all, and the only proof that something did is my bare pussy still quivering faintly under my skirt.

When we step out of his washroom, I sit on the couch and watch him get ready to leave.

Two weeks. He’ll be gone for two weeks. Two weeks.

Mr. Rochester bends down to kiss my forehead. “Take care of yourself for me.”

And then he’s gone.

* * *

My first night alone in Mr. Rochester’s home leaves me feeling oddly lost. It confuses and angers me, so much so that when his promised call finally does come, I find myself pretending to be asleep and leaving Consuelo to make up excuses on my behalf.

Time continues to pass ever so slowly. I feel like it’s been hours, but when I check my watch it’s barely nine in the evening.

God.

I hate this. How is that mere days in Mr. Rochester’s company have usurped the routine which had dictated most of my life?

It doesn’t make sense.

Or it can’t make sense save for one thing, but the sheer possibility of it scares me---

Not yet. Not now.

And so I deliberately shun the thought, and instead continue tossing and turning on a bed that suddenly feels too big and empty. I desperately search for something to keep my mind off things---

I get it sooner than I want, and it’s worse than I can ever imagine.

A rustling sound reaches my ears in the dead quiet of the night, and I sit up.

Impossible, I think nervously.

Mr. Rochester’s place has all kinds of high-tech security checks in place. It’s impossible for any burglar to get in – right?

And yet I keep hearing it, someone moving around in the next room---

The supposedly empty room next door.

Gulping, I ask out loud, “Is anyone there?”

The sound stops…and so does my heart.

I wait with bated breath, but the sound doesn’t resume.

Lying down, I slowly pull the covers over me.

I must’ve been imagining things. Right?

I try convincing myself of this even as my heartbeat continues to stutter and I can’t quite breathe properly.

It can’t be a ghost, I tell myself. And it can’t be an intruder either.

I close my eyes.

I must have been imagining it---

But the thought has barely formed in my mind when I hear the same rustling sound.

SHIT.

The next day I give Consuelo the shock of her life when she finds me in the kitchen at five in the morning, drinking my third cup of coffee.

“Madre de Dios!” She hastily makes a Sign of the Cross.

“Morning, Consuelo.” I smile weakly. “Sorry I frightened you.”

“Te ves terrible,” she says forlornly as she peers at my face.

I don’t speak Spanish, but I definitely get what she’s saying, and I sigh. “I know.”

The housekeeper clucks her tongue sympathetically. “You didn’t get to sleep last night?”

“Uh huh,” I answer while suppressing a yawn. My eyelids are finally starting to droop, and I wonder tiredly how I’m going to get myself to work.

“So you came down for a change of surroundings.”

“Uh huh.” I cover my mouth as I yawn.

“But then you drank coffee and it kept yourself up instead.”

“Uh huh.”

She nods understandingly. “I see.” Turning away, she takes her apron off the hook, saying, “You miss the master, si?”

“Uh huh.” And then I realize what I’m saying, and I sit up. “I mean, no!” I make a face at the housekeeper, but Consuelo only laughs with a knowing look on her face.

“I don’t miss him! Okay?”

“You want to have breakfast now?” the housekeeper asks cheerfully.

I groan. “You’re not taking me seriously---” My stomach interrupts me with a grumbling sound.

Consuelo shoots me an inquiring look.

“But yes, I’d like breakfast.”

The older woman smiles, promising, “I’ll have it ready in ten minutes.”

“Thank you.” I bite my lip, and unable to leave it alone, I stress, “But I mean it. I’m really not missing him.” I get up from my chair, adding, “I’m a free bird, you know. My happiness doesn’t depend on a man---”

“---are words that all girls say,” Consuelo finishes with a snort, “when the man they want still haven’t placed a ring on their finger.”

“You make a terrible feminist,” I tell her earnestly. “Has anyone told you that?”

But the older woman only shrugs, clearly unaffected.

On my way out to the kitchen, I pause by the doorway. “Umm, Consuelo?”

“Si?”

“I kept hearing things last night.”

A pause.

Then Consuelo coughs. “O-oh?”

The sound is suspicious, and I whirl around to look at her properly, and the housekeeper gives me a guilt-stricken expression.

Aha!

My eyes narrow. “You know something.”

“I don’t know anything.” The housekeeper turns her back on me and starts busying herself taking out pans and food from the pantry.

“You make a terrible liar, too, Consuelo.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Is this place haunted, is that it?”

“N-no?”

“I don’t believe you.” It’s clear that the woman’s hiding something, and when I remember the sounds I heard last night I feel the hairs on my nape start to rise.

Shit.

I don’t care if Consuelo admits it or not. I just know the place is haunted…and it won’t be for weeks until Mr. Rochester comes back.

Damn it.

Mr. Rochester calls me again when I get back from work that day, and this time I’m unable to resist the urge to hear his voice.

“Ms. Reed.” His oh-so-British accent makes me shiver. I’ve forgotten how sexy his voice sounds. “How have you been?”

Missing you. Badly. But out loud, I just say gruffly, “Okay.”

“Tell me about your day.”

“One of your business associates from Turkey called.” And so I go on and on, telling him everything about work.

“I’m glad to hear you’re handling everything well while I’m away.”

“Yes, well, that’s what you’re paying me for, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely.” He pauses. “And now that you’ve gotten that out of your system---”

Realizing he’s easily seen through my ruse, I mutter darkly, “Know it all.”

Mr. Rochester ignores this. “May we start talking civilly? I asked about your day, Jane.”

I say sweetly, “Bastard.”

But my boss only chuckles. “I am that. And if you were to be honest, you know you’d thank God I am---”

“No, I won’t!”

“Otherwise you’d find me utterly boring,” Mr. Rochester completes silkily.

Oh.

He has a point.

“Now tell me about your day,” Mr. Rochester invites me once more.

“Why should I?” I can’t help sounding childish and sullen.

“Because I asked you to,” Mr. Rochester answers easily, “and you promised to be a good girl, didn’t you?”

I can’t help laughing a little. Oh, the gall! But even so, I end up acceding and I start telling him about my day, leaving nothing out except the hauntings. After, I hear myself say, “Tell me about your day, too.”

There’s a moment of pause before Mr. Rochester says slowly, “I’ve never bothered to talk to any woman I’m fucking.”

“If they didn’t bother to ask,” I say sweetly, “then maybe they didn’t really want to hear what you have to say.”

“Another woman would’ve said it was because they were stupid.”

“We all are,” I say with exaggerated sadness, “for wasting our time with you.”

Mr. Rochester laughs. “Touché.” And then he starts to speak again, and I find myself gripping my phone tightly when I realize he’s doing exactly what I asked, and he’s telling me about his day.

We talk until the wee hours, but when it’s time to end the call I can no longer help it. “Mr. Rochester---”

“What is it?”

My lips move, but no words come out.

A moment later, Mr. Rochester sighs. And then he says very softly, “I miss you, too.”

Ah, shit. I squeeze my eyes shut. “Are you a mind reader now,” I mutter sulkily. “Is that it?”

“My soul knows yours like it’s its other half, that’s all.”

I close my eyes more tightly. “And now you’re a fucking poet?”

A lazy chuckle is my response, but when I don’t say anything else, Mr. Rochester sighs once more. “Something’s wrong.” The words aren’t a question. “Tell me what’s wrong, Jane, and I shall fix it for you.”

He speaks in such a matter-of-fact voice I can’t help smiling a little despite the trepidation that’s making my heart ache so badly.

“It’s just…” I look back at the past few days. In so short a time, he’s managed to make my world revolve around him so quickly and easily. And that’s not normal, is it?

“Things are going too fast,” I say finally.

“Maybe.” Mr. Rochester’s tone is quiet. “Or perhaps neither of us are simply the type to waste time on bullshit.”

I choke back a laugh.

“Sleep now, my dear. I’ll call you again tomorrow.”

Hearing him end our call is bittersweet, but somehow I feel better and I find myself drifting to sleep easily…until the sounds wake me up once more.

Shit.

This place really is haunted.

* * *

“You took too long to answer my call.”

And you’re taking too long to come back, I think dourly as I close the door to his office. But out loud, I only say, “I didn’t want to answer your call where everyone’s around. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m still at the office---”

“And in case you’ve forgotten, I’m the CEO at that bloody office.”

“True,” I agree, “but it still doesn’t mean you have any right to command me unreasonably.”

It’s a nice line if I say so myself. Unfortunately, I completely ruined it with an involuntary yawn.

“You sound tired.”

“I’m not.” But it’s a lie. The two weeks are almost up, and I honestly can’t wait until our resident bad boy is back home. It’s not just that I miss him. I also just want to get a good night’s sleep for once, and I’m thinking that maybe the hauntings will stop when the lord and master of the manor returns.

I’ve been reading about hauntings, and several books have mentioned how some “spirits” are less likely to make their presence felt when around a home’s true owner.

Which could be why they’re only making those terrifying noises, I think wearily, when Mr. Rochester’s away.

“Perhaps you’re missing me too much,” Mr. Rochester suggests.

“Yeah.” I don’t even have the energy right now to lie about my feelings. “That could be it.”

A pause, and then Mr. Rochester asks abruptly, “What’s wrong, Jane?”

“Nothing---”

“Do you need to see a doctor?”

“Huh? No!” The jump from Point A to Point Z makes me dizzy. “I’ve just been having a hard time sleeping.” The idea of telling him about the hauntings doesn’t even occur to me. Even now, it still sounds silly to my ears, and besides he’s coming back tomorrow anyway.

So just one last night of haunting, I remind myself, and then it’s done.

“What time’s your flight?” I ask.

He tells me, adding, “But I’ll need to drop by the office first.”

An idea occurs to me, and I say slowly, “Is it okay if I wait for you here? I mean, I want to sleep in the office tonight.” The more I think about this, the more I’m convinced it’s the perfect solution. I’m so tired of the ghostly noises, and I just want to sleep eight hours straight for once.

“Why would you want to?”

“Because I, umm…” Shit. What excuse can I give? Racking my brains for an answer, I blurt out the first idea that comes to me. “I…want to give you a…a…welcome fuck?”

As soon as the words are out I want to kill myself.

“A…welcome fuck?” Mr. Rochester echoes the words blankly.

I can’t blame him. What the hell, Reed? Like, what the hell? But since I’ve already said it, might as well stick to it.

And so I say, “You heard me right.”

Mr. Rochester sighs. “You’re obviously lying, but…I’ll still take you up on your offer. I’ll let Maria know about the arrangements so no one will bother you. I’ll have Sam deliver a change of clothes to you as well.”

His thoughtfulness surprises me as always, and I say awkwardly, “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do,” he murmurs devilishly, “when I have a welcome fuck to look forward to.”

The line goes dead before I can answer, and I stare at my phone for several moments, wondering if hitting my head with it will perhaps knock more sense into me.

Welcome fuck! Had I really promised Mr. Rochester a welcome fuck?

The realization makes me cringe, but even so it’s not enough to get my mood down. With every minute that passes I find myself increasingly buoyed by the knowledge that at least for tonight I won’t be troubled by any kind of hauntings.

By six in the evening everyone working at the penthouse floor has left, and an hour later I’m having dinner alone at the staff kitchen. Just being there makes me feel nostalgic---

Everything started here, I think wistfully.

And so much has changed then.

Bunking in Mr. Rochester’s office that night turns out exactly as I predicted, and as soon as I curl up in the couch I drift into sleep, one that’s peaceful and completely uninterrupted by any kind of haunting.

The morning after, however, is a different matter. It’s around five in the morning when I hear sounds.

Shit.

Not again, and not here, too?

For long moments I remain under the duvet while waiting for my eyes to adjust the darkness. I see the faintest ray of light streaming from the windows, but it’s not enough to throw out the shadows in the room.

Eventually, I spy a figure near the desk---

My heart stops.

Oh God. So this time it isn’t a ghost but an intruder, and the slight figure is bent over the CEO’s desk, ruffling through Mr. Rochester’s drawer.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

What do I do?

I fight to keep still when the figure suddenly turns towards my way.

Oh God. What if the person has a gun? What if he shoots me for no reason?

The figure keeps moving closer.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Closer and closer---

Until I realize I’m not staring at a man. The intruder turns out to be a young female, and I almost gasp in surprise.

What the hell?

She doesn’t even seem a day older than sixteen!

My mind boggles at the idea, but I manage not to give myself away as the girl continues to stare at me.

Finally, she turns away, and I watch the intruder move towards the door, actually tiptoeing to keep her footsteps noiseless.

I bite my lip hard, struggling in my own fight for silence.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

The door closes behind the intruder.

I wait a few seconds, fearing it’s a trap and the intruder is just waiting to see if I’m awake.

A few more moments pass, and when nothing happens I jump off the couch, hit the emergency button, and tell security that an intruder’s been to Mr. Rochester’s office.

And then I wait.

I pace the length of Mr. Rochester’s office, biting my nails every once in a while as I struggle to figure out how exactly the intruder was able to sneak past security. And were they able to catch him or not?

An hour later someone knocks on the door, and I rush to open it, uncaring that someone sees me still in my PJs. Instead of the security, however, I find myself face to face with a sneering Virginia.

“I had to come in early today because of a meeting,” the receptionist says with a curious smirk on her lips. “And it’s a good thing I did because I needed to fix the mess you created.” “What mess?” I watch Virginia make this huge pause like she’s biding her time before making a big announcement, and my brows furrow. What the hell is this about?

The other woman meets my gaze once more, asking, “Were you the one who asked security to catch an intruder?”

“Yes.” And so what if I was? Does she want to take the credit for it?

“I see.” And she starts smirking again.

“Can you just tell me what this is about?” I try not to sound bitchy or impatient, but I’m honestly beginning to feel tired at how she’s dragging things out.

Virginia laughs.

I just stare at her. “I don’t see what’s funny.”

“You certainly wouldn’t,” Virginia jeers, “since you’re the joke here.” She takes another pause and looks at me expectantly as if waiting for me to die of embarrassment.

Idiot, I can’t help thinking. I’m sorry I’m being a bitch, but she really is an idiot.

“If you want me to feel bad,” I say very slowly and patiently, “you need to explain a little more, okay?”

Virginia turns red. “Stop treating me like an idiot!”

“I can’t help it if you keep acting like one.”

“Bitch!”

“Better that,” I say honestly, “than an idiot.”

“Fuck you,” Virginia shrieks. “You’re the idiot here because you’re acting like you have everything when you don’t!” And for some reason she starts cackling like it’s going to hurt me.

Idiot, I think again. Inside jokes can’t hurt if they’re not shared.

“You!” She cackles even more. “You still haven’t figured out, haven’t you?” She throws back her head with another shrill laugh. “You’re so clueless. It’s too much.” She makes a show of trying to control her laughter, and this time it works.

I’m feeling just a little bit pissed, and I say thinly, “Just get to the point.”

But of course Virginia doesn’t and instead takes her time brushing off imaginary dirt from her clothes.

My teeth grind. I know when I’m being symbolically brushed off, but even so I’m grudgingly impressed she can be that subtle.

Finally, Virginia turns to me and says without preamble, “Mr. Rochester has a daughter.”

I still.

“And she’s the intruder you had security apprehend.”

* * *

She really was Mr. Rochester’s daughter. The words hammer nonstop in my brain as I sit on the couch in the CEO’s office. His eighteen-year-old daughter is seated next to me, beautiful, witty, and currently chatting my ears off. She is refreshingly candid, the total opposite of her father.

I’m Adele, but you can call me Addie, had been her first words just before giving me a hug.

“I’m so sorry I frightened you,” Addie says once more.

“It’s honestly okay,” I say yet again. “But if you don’t mind me asking – what were you looking for in your…father’s desk?” The word ‘father’ sounds strange on my lips. I’m still having a hard time imagining Mr. Rochester as someone’s father.

“I was checking his drawers to see if the college sent him a letter or something,” Addie explains with a sigh. “That’s all, really, which is why I feel so horrible something so inconsequential ended up like this.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” I remind her. “No one’s at fault---” Except Mr. Rochester, I think.

Addie gives me another hug, gushing, “I knew you’d be this sweet! I feel like I’ve already known you forever since we’ve been living next door to each other---”

It takes me a couple of moments to understand what she’s saying. “You’re the one behind all the haunting?”

Adele gives me a sheepish smile. “When I found out from Consuelo that Papa hasn’t told you anything about me, I thought I shouldn’t say anything myself.” A look of sweet apology followed after. “Say you’re not angry about it?”

“Of course not,” I reassure her right away. And I mean it. I may be quick-tempered, but even I draw the line on taking my anger out on teenagers.

If there’s one person who I should be mad about – and I am – then it’s none other than the devil himself.

A moment later, Mr. Rochester appears almost on cu, striding inside the office with a decidedly taut look on his handsome face.

“Papa!” Addie’s happy cry has his head snapping towards our direction, and even as he opens his arms to embrace his daughter, Mr. Rochester’s sapphire blue eyes remain on me.

I don’t have a hard time keeping my face expressionless because it’s exactly how I’m feeling. I’m still numb at knowing he’s hidden his daughter from me. It’s not like him at all, but it’s what he’s done, and now I’m just…lost.

“Will you excuse us for a moment,” I hear him murmur to Addie.

“Of course.”

When Addie glances at me, I muster a smile. “It’s been nice meeting you.”

She returns my smile, albeit uncertainly. “I’ll see you at home?”

I keep smiling, unable to answer.

When the door closes behind her, Mr. Rochester wastes no time, crossing the room to crouch in front of me. “Jane.”

But for once, hearing him say my name doesn’t make me melt.

His hands enfold mine. “Look at me.” Our gazes meet, and he draws his breath sharply.

“There’s dirt in my eyes,” I mutter, knowing – feeling – how…glassy my eyes have become.

“I didn’t mean to lie to you about her.” He waits, but when I still don’t speak, he continues tightly, “I wasn’t lying when I told you I never talk to the women---” He breaks off.

Too late, bastard, I think. So I say it for him. “The women you fuck?”

“I don’t see you like that,” he says sharply.

I only give him a brittle smile, knowing it can do the job of saying it all. He’s a goddamn liar, and I hate him for it.

“I know you’re angry, but just hear me out first. I’ve never let any woman close enough to me that she’d deserve to know about Adele. But you---” His grip tightens. “You were different right from the start. And it’s like what you said. Everything happened so fast and it…bothered me, too. I’ve never meant to hide the fact I have a daughter from you, but somehow…I couldn’t make myself tell you either.” A grim expression settles on his face. “I suppose I felt if I did…then it would be acknowledging that my life has to change.”

I feel his sapphire blue eyes on me, but I can’t make myself say a word. I’m still frozen in numbness, but I also know that the moment its icy layer cracks open---

The pain would be there, and it would eat me alive.

I get what he’s saying. Hurt has never made me unreasonable and impractical, so I do see it from his point of view.

But what I don’t know…what I can’t be sure of…is if I should believe him.

“Jane.” Mr. Rochester’s voice is unlike anything I’ve heard from him. It’s hoarse and low, almost…vulnerable.

But for some reason, the knowledge just makes me want to distance myself. I instinctively try pulling my hands away, but it only makes Mr. Rochester’s grip tighten.

“Jane. Talk to me.”

I shake my head mutely.

“Please---”

“I can’t,” I hear myself say stiltedly. He wouldn’t understand. No one can, not unless they lived the same life I did.

For many years, I’ve tried to mold myself into a daughter that my step-aunt would want. She’s the only mother I’ve ever known and for such a long time, I had thought there would be something I could do to make her love me.

But all she did was beat me.

Over and over, until my tears have permanently dried, and my heart has turned into stone---

By the time I left home at eighteen, my old, sensitive self was gone. The new one – the current me – had only one goal in mind.

I would work to be independent, and I would work so that I wouldn’t need to seek comfort in love. Money would take care of all of my needs. Money would be all I’d need. And I had succeeded…until Mr. Rochester.

* * *

“Good morning…” Addie greets me as soon as I enter the dining room, and she waits until I’m seated across her before finishing mischievously, “Mom.”

I roll my eyes. “Good morning, brat.” But she knows I don’t mean it, and the exchange is merely a part of what’s become our daily routine.

It’s been over a month since Addie has started living with us. At first, Mr. Rochester had been coldly furious and was adamantly demanding that she return to the ladies’ college she was enrolled in for her first year.

But then in the middle of their confrontation, Addie had dashed out of his study and went all the way up to my bedroom, where I had been busily packing my stuff. Her cries had me rushing to open the door. I had been seriously worried that Mr. Rochester was beating her black and blue.

But the young girl had only thrown herself in my arms, begging me to make her Papa see reason.

Please tell him you understand me, Addie had sobbed, and that I deserve to choose where I want to study. Please, Ms. Reed! Please!

And even though I had been aware I was being manipulated, her big dark eyes were just impossible to resist. And so I had been forced to say, “Please listen to her.”

A long tense moment of silence followed before Mr. Rochester had drawled, “I’ll agree…”

Addie and I had looked at each other in surprise, and it was evident then that both of us hadn’t really thought it would work.

“On one condition,” Mr. Rochester had finished.

“What’s that, Papa?” Addie had asked warily.

“If Ms. Reed agrees to live with us for the duration of the year---”

“What the fuck?”

Both Addie and Mr. Rochester had winced at my language, and for a second I had been distracted at how similar they were.

“Then I will agree with your decision to leave your current school and transfer to wherever it is you want to study.”

The memory of how I ended up still living in Mr. Reed’s mansion makes me fume in the present. Cunning bastard, I think furiously. Now I get why he didn’t use the video against me. The asshole knows that such methods of blackmail never have a good ending for any of the parties. On the other hand, emotional blackmail where other people’s feelings are at stake---

Cunning bastard, I think again.

“Mom?”

Addie’s voice makes me realize I’ve been lost in my thoughts, and I grimace. “Sorry, what’s that again?” Then I remember what she’s called me and flash her a look of exasperation. “And seriously, can you quit calling me that?”

The teenager responds with an impudent grin, saying, “But I like it, and I want you to be my mom.”

I’m in the act of sticking out my tongue at her – just to show Addie how immature I am to be her mother – when we hear Mr. Rochester murmur, “Good morning, ladies.”

I stiffen in my seat.

A moment later and he’s reached my side, the scent of his aftershave making my body clench.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

As always, he bends down to kiss me on my cheek.

And I jerk my head away, avoiding his kiss, as always.

Mr. Rochester’s lips tighten but even so he doesn’t say a word and takes his seat at the head of the table. The rest of our breakfast is spent in angry silence. I know it’s because of me, but even so I mulishly keep my gaze on my plate and only respond to Mr. Rochester with nods and shakes of my head.

After, he asks me if I want to ride with him to work and I say stiltedly, “No, thanks.”

His lips presses together once more, but even so his voice remains mild as he says, “I’ll see you later then.”

In front of me, Addie is clearly bursting to speak but she’s smart enough to wait until we both hear his limousine speeding away before blurting out, “He won’t wait for you forever, you know.”

I force myself to shrug even as her words make my heart stutter in pain. “I don’t care.” And I don’t. I really don’t…even though the past month has been more horrific than anything I can remember experiencing.

“Can’t you just forgive him?” Addie pleads.

“I’ve already forgiven him,” I mumble. “I just don’t trust him.”

“I know Papa. I’m certain he didn’t mean to deliberately lie to you about me. But…I also know he’s not the one to talk about his feelings. He’s already going out of my way with how he’s wooing you---”

“I didn’t force him to do those things,” I say defensively. “If he wants to stop, then he can stop---”

Addie shakes her head in exasperation, demanding, “Do you really mean that?”

I shift restlessly on my chair.

“Oh, Ms. Reed.” Worry flickers in her dark eyes as Adele gazes at me. “He was wrong not to tell you about me right away, but don’t you think you’re being too hard on him now? Papa has a lot of pride, and things to continue as they are…” She falls silent.

“If he gives up,” I say thinly, “then doesn’t that mean he never really cared enough?”

Addie opens her mouth to answer, but I don’t give her a chance to do so. Getting up from my chair, I mumble an excuse and quickly leave the room. I hate that I’m being rude, but I have no choice. If I stay to listen, I’m terrified the younger girl will end up convincing me---

To go after Mr. Rochester, the know-it-all voice in my head sneers, the way you really want to?

My jaw clenches at the thought.

It’s not like that. It’s not. Mr. Rochester is the wrong one here, and so it’s entirely my privilege to act like a bitch to him.

Right?

I desperately remind myself of this as I get to the office and I’m once again forced to work in close proximity to Mr. Rochester.

With Virginia having told everyone who cared to know about what had gone down that day, the nosy looks I attract have significantly multiplied. I feel like I’m under a microscope wherever I go now, and every little thing I do or say is being dissected.

Most times, I manage to grit my teeth and ignore it. They can waste time talking about me all day long, and I won’t give a fuck. It’s their lives, anyway.

But there are times when it seems the whole world is conspiring against me, throwing all sorts of painful reminders my way…like today.

Virginia stops by my desk, asking, “Is Mr. Rochester busy?”

Why don’t you ask him?

Or at least that’s what I want to say.

Instead, I force a smile, saying, “He has no meetings at the moment.”

“That’s great,” Virginia immediately gushes. “I’ve just taken a call from Ms. Blanche Ingram, and she only wants to be connected if Mr. Rochester isn’t occupied.” Before I can get another word in, she goes on, “Ms. Blanche is an old childhood friend of Mr. Rochester. They grew up together, and she knows everything about Mr. Rochester.”

Ah. So that’s what the cruel gleam in her eyes is about.

I abruptly rise to my feet, surprising the receptionist into taking a step back. “Where are you going?” she demands.

Instead of answering, I march past her, and despite the countless pairs of eyes that start stalking me I make my way to the door of the CEO’s office and knock.

“Enter.”

I open the door but stay outside. When our gazes meet, I say tonelessly, “Ms. Blanche is on line one.”

Mr. Rochester jerks.

“And according to Virginia---”

The receptionist lets out a nervous squeak behind me. “You bitch.”

“This other woman knows everything about you.” I shut the door closed without waiting for an answer.

Damn him. Damn him. Damn him.

I cling to my anger as I walk away.

I was different, he had said. I was the only one, he had said.

But even those things were a lie.

* * *

I’m once again busy packing when someone pounds heavily on my door. But this time it’s not the product of a frantic teenager but a full-fledged male adult. “Jane, let me in.”

Also known as the biggest liar in the world, I think furiously, but underneath my anger is pain.

So much pain that I can’t quite see properly and my fingers are shaking too hard I have to give up folding my clothes and I just start dumping them on my suitcase.

Damn him. Damn him. Damn him.

“Jane!”

I ignore it. Only a few things left, and I’ll be out---

A crashing sound explodes behind me, and I whirl around in shock.

Mr. Rochester stalks in.

Oh my God, did he just break his own door?

His handsome face whitens when he sees what I’m doing. “No.” His voice is violent.

Ah God, I have a sudden urge to cry. He makes it sound like I’m destroying him by leaving, but we both know it can’t be---

Damn him. Damn him. Damn him.

“I’m leaving,” I manage to say without breaking down.

I start to turn away, but Mr. Rochester catches hold of my shoulders and forces me to face him. “Let me explain---”

The words are all too hurtfully familiar, and I find myself snapping.

“No!” I use all my strength to strike his chest with my fists. “No, goddamn you, enough explaining! That’s what you said the last time and you still lied! And you’re still lying---”

Lies. All lies. Every word a lie.

And yet I still feel it in me.

The realization makes my arms fall back to my sides.

Oh God.

How do I stop myself from feeling?

How?

His fingers bite into my arms. “I know what you’re thinking about Blanche---”

“You lied to me about her,” I cry out. “You keep lying to me---”

“I didn’t lie about Blanche,” he grates out, “because I’ve never fucked her.”

My head snaps up.

“I can’t help it that she knows everything, Jane. She has been around for as long as I remember. Our parents know each other, we’ve been to the same schools, we have the same friends---” He inhales heavily. “She was there when I married Adele’s mother and she was there when my marriage crumbled.”

His sapphire eyes capture mine. “And that’s the only reason why she knows everything. It was only because she was there.” And when I still don’t answer, he begins shaking me. “Do you understand, Jane? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I can’t make myself speak. I’m too terrified.

“It wasn’t because I talked to her,” Mr. Rochester says rawly. “It wasn’t because she knew me…like you know me---”

What he’s saying---

What he wants me to believe---

It’s just too much, and I shake my head. “I don’t want to hear anymore.”

“Jane---”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “I said I don’t want to hear a single---.”

Mr. Rochester has cupped my face, and the mere feel of his hands on my skin threatens to break me.

Tears sting my eyes.

“I’m so scared,” I choke out. “You have so much power over me---”

Mr. Rochester hauls me towards him, his arms closing around me.

Oh God, I want to cry even more---

It’s been so long since I felt his strong powerful arms wrapped around my body.

“Do you think I don’t feel the same terror that you do,” Mr. Rochester mutters against my hair. “You’re an obsession with me, and unlike you I’ve known it from the start. The way I want you close all the time defies logic, but I’m done questioning it.” Mr. Rochester pulls slightly away so our eyes would meet. “All I know is that I fucking need you in my life.”

And again he’s cupping my face---

A tear falls.

But I don’t care.

Mr. Rochester’s lips have covered mine, and it’s all I can think of.

Even as the tears suddenly start rushing down my cheeks, seeping into our kiss, I can’t help weaving my arms around his neck---

So long. It’s been so long. So damn long.

Mr. Rochester deepens the kiss, his tongue sweeping further into my mouth, and I moan.

Lifting his head an eternity later, he whispers, “Come back to me.”

I swallow hard.

“Jane?”

“I will…”

He tenses. “But?”

“If you fuck up,” I choke out, “you’ll never see me again.”

Mr. Rochester jerks, and then he says savagely, “Never.”

My eyes widen.

“I’ll never let you go.”

Ah God, it’s Mr. Rochester at his most arrogant---

And despite everything my body still finds it a turn on.

The shameful truth makes me struggle to get away. “Let go---” But my words end up in a gasp when I feel him grab my blouse---

A second later and Mr. Rochester has torn it away from my body, and I scream. “No!”

Another second passes, and he’s done the same to my skirt. “No!”

He sweeps me off my feet, and I let out another shriek. “Are you insane? Let me go!”

But if Mr. Rochester was strong before, he was invincible now.

With his hand injury fully healed, it’s become overwhelmingly and annoyingly easy for him to overpower me, and before I know it, he’s already tossed me on the bed. I scramble up as soon as my back hits the bed, and I try to crawl away.

“You’re going nowhere, Ms. Reed.”

And Mr. Rochester takes hold of my ankles before yanking me back.

“No!” But even to my ears the word comes out like a moan of excitement than of fear.

Mr. Rochester flips me on my back before his weight bears down on me, and I find myself imprisoned in place.

Oh yes---

No, I mean, shit.

SHIT.

“Let go!” I try pushing him away.

But Mr. Rochester only pins my wrists over my head while his other hand busily tears off the remaining scraps of clothing that cover my body.

“No,” I moan as my bra is tossed out of the way.

His fingers move down my body, stopping at the hem of my panties, and I let out another moan even as I try to kick him off me.

Mr. Rochester looks down at me with a devilish smile. “Keep fighting,” he croons. “It only makes things more exciting.” He rips my panties away as he speaks, and I moan.

I feel him unzipping himself and I try shaking him off.

“You can’t be serious---”

“I am.”

“You just can’t---” I feel the head of his massive cock nudge against my entrance and I whimper.

Oh God.

“T-the door,” I manage to pant out as his cock starts rubbing against my folds.

Doesn’t he remember that he’s broken it? That Addie could walk in on us any moment?

Mr. Rochester sucks hungrily on my lip, saying, “Then you better stay quiet, won’t you?”

He thrusts into me before I can answer, and it’s so forceful, I feel like I’m being torn apart.

Aaaaaah.

I cover my mouth and scream against my hands as Mr. Rochester pounds into me.

It’s so good.

So damn good.

So gooooood----

And I know, in my heart, that this is just the start.

Dear Reader,

This may come as a surprise to some or most (or maybe none if it turns out I was bad at hiding things), but I also write under different pen names. This – Mr. Rochester – was written under one of said pen names, and due to various circumstances I am now “allowing” myself to share this one with you.

I’m really excited to hear what you think! I have so many things planned for my Classics Made Smutty series. Any requests?

XOXO

Marian Tee

P.S. If you enjoy my work but have never reviewed a book of mine, pretty please consider making an exception and write a review for MR. ROCHESTER? I would truly appreciate hearing your thoughts, and while I do not as a rule reply to reviews, please do know that I read each and every one of them. Of course, you are also more than welcome to share your personal review with me, and you may do so by or using any of the social media links below to drop me a message.