Jared

 

 

 

The drive to my place takes less than fifteen minutes, but those minutes stretch into eternity when there's a new seduction sitting next to me, a new toy to be played with.

I know this is wrong. I shouldn't take her with me before the damn paperwork is complete, but I can't help it.

Her eyes are dazed when our gazes meet as I’m helping her out of the car, her chest heaving with treacherous breaths and her legs shaking when I lead her up to my penthouse.

"This doesn't mean anything."

It's the first thing she said after I stole that first kiss from her, and she's repeated it several times since then.

When she willingly followed as I pulled her into my car… "This doesn't mean anything."

When my hand traveled up under her blouse to cup her firm tits… "This doesn't mean anything."

When she moaned as I squeezed her hardened nipple… "This doesn't mean anything."

I can tell that she's about to say it again when we enter the elevator and I pull her close to me, eager to taste and devour every single inch of her body. I block her words with a kiss when she's about to part her lips to speak. Her soft moans accompany our frenzied kiss as her body squirms against mine. She wants this, she really wants this. She's not playing an act, not trying to win me over, she's not doing anything like the shit I've become used to from other women.

On the contrary, she's trying to fight against her strong urges plaguing her soul because her conscious brain has doubts about this, even though her body screams at her in a different language.

"From now on, you'll only speak when I give you permission," I instruct upon ending our kiss when the elevator doors open directly into the entrance area of my penthouse.

Her eyes are glued to mine. I notice they’re underlined with questions as she processes my words.

"Do you understand?" I ask her.

She nods. "I think so."

Wrong answer.

I shake my head and brusquely grab onto her upper arm, shoving her forcefully into my home. She yelps in protest, stumbling alongside me as I march us past the open staircase leading up to the bedrooms and my office on the upper floor and into my living room.

Her eyes fly around the hall-like room, taking in the vastness of it: the designer furniture to her left, the living room ceiling that’s open to the upper floors, and the floor-to-ceiling windows framing the entire wall in front of us. The panoramic view of the cityscape is admittedly breathtaking, but I don't give her time to enjoy it. She'll have plenty of opportunity if she agrees to stay with me.

Right now, though, she needs to be taught a lesson.

I let go of her arm when we reach the middle of the room.

"Look at me," I growl.

She drags her attention away from the window and turns to me, rubbing her upper arm and casting me a reproachful look.

"Was this really necess-"

"Two things," I say, rudely cutting her off. "You'll address me as Sir from now on. Always. And when I tell you to do something, I want you to reply nothing but 'Yes, Sir'. Do you understand?"

She scrutinizes me as if I'd just told her to strip naked in front of a jeering crowd. Mortified, appalled, and stunned. Our eyes lock. She’s standing in front of me, rigid as a statue, and it’s obvious that she’s trying to figure out how she's supposed to handle the situation. I've never witnessed a woman struggling with how to react to my demands the way she is right now, but I have a pretty good idea of what's going on inside that pretty head of hers.

"Do you understand?" I repeat, urging her to speak.

She nods. "Yes... Sir."

Frankly, I’m rather surprised that she responded to my command so quickly. I expected her to protest, to talk back to me, offended by my request. Instead, she has given me permission to take the next step.

She's shaking. I approach her, tenderly placing my right hand on her cheek as I lean in close to her face. The wild struggle still tormenting her remains evident in her sea-colored eyes.

"You can keep telling yourself this doesn't mean anything, little girl, but that's not how this is going to work. Everything that happens between us will mean something – to both you and to me – whether you like to admit it or not. No matter what you decide about my offer, you'll leave this place a changed woman. It doesn't matter whether we ever see each other again or not - I won't leave you untouched, because that's not how I operate."

She narrows her eyes, and the expression could be described as nothing short of furious. I just don't know whether she's mad at me or at herself. It's probably a little bit of both.

"Do you understand?"

"Am I not allowed to a-"

"Do you understand?!" I hiss.

She bites her lower lip, and I can tell that this restraint is killing her. Not being allowed to speak and ask questions is probably harder for her to do than obeying any other single command.

Yet she’s determined to prove herself to me. She inhales deeply before gathering herself enough to follow my very first and most important rule.

"Yes… Sir."

The tone of her voice is low, but firm and tenacious, and her expression matches it. It's this kind of angry determination that will likely make her the most voracious fuck I've ever had. She's burning with a deep-seated fiery passion that’s fueled by her conflicting inner struggle accompanying all of this.

I can't wait to taste her, to really taste her, and make her mine.

Not today, though. I can't have all of her today. I shouldn't. She'll taste so much better if I break her bit by bit, bite by bite.

"Today is a test run," I tell her offhandedly. 

I lean in closer and claim her with another kiss. My hand instinctively wanders to the back of her neck, holding her tight to me as our tongues intertwine. This kiss is different. It lacks the desperate hunger, instead speaking of patience and a restrained desire that comes from the knowledge that I will have her, all of her, soon enough. She hasn't officially said yes or signed a contract yet, but the fact that she's still here, with her breathing still rampantly professing that she can barely wait to sit on my cock. She’s trying so hard to please me, even though it goes against everything she prides herself in - all of that is enough for me to know that she will say yes. She will be mine. I've never been more confident.

She's greedy already. Her hands wander up to my waist, and I’m certain she’s unaware of the soft moans she’s emitting during our lingering, passionate kiss. Without thinking, she reaches for the waistband of my suit pants. Finding the belt, her fingers eagerly travel to the center of my body, where she starts fiddling with the buckle.

Greedy little thing.

I interrupt our kiss and reach for her wrists, clasping her hands in place with an iron grip. I shift them away from my belt buckle, forcing them back to the sides of her body.

She casts me a quizzical look, and I shake my head no.

"You're not allowed to touch me, unless I command you."

Her eyebrows furrow into a suspicious grimace.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

She speaks the words, but her reply is laced with questions.

It almost angers me that she's not accustomed to a man who can wait, a man who doesn't devour her body at the first opportunity. The way she looks at me proves she's never known patience, and she's never practiced restraint herself.

That’s all about to change. There will be a lot of firsts for her today.

She stands in place when I let go of her wrists and put some distance between us by taking two steps back. I cross my arms in front of my chest and jut my chin out.

"Strip."

Little Miss Porter flinches as if I'd just hit her, and her eyes widen in shock. She awkwardly steps from one foot to the other, shifting and hugging herself before she turns around to face the panoramic windows behind her. The sun is setting later these days, so it's still a bit light out, but darkness is not far off. I haven't turned on any lights since we got here; the dim lighting provides a far better view of the cityscape below us and less chance of anyone seeing inside my living room. My penthouse is so far up that it’s unlikely anyone would see us even if they were to lift their eyes and seek us out, but it’s still obvious that she is worried about it.

So cute.

I repeat my command. "Strip."

She turns back to face me, and even with the gloomy lighting, I can see her cheeks flushed with heat. It’s followed by a flash of insecurity, and then she quickly recovers and the furious frown returns.

"I'm not going to say it again," I tell her impatiently, unimpressed by her attitude. "Do you want me to encourage you with a little spanking? Because that can very well be arranged."

She inhales a deep breath and is about to say something, when I cut her off again.

"You won't like it, though. And I can't promise to keep your clothes in one piece.” I pause to make sure she’s paying attention to my next works. "Or you."

Her eyes narrow again. She's seething with rage.

Hungry rage. Needy rage.

I don't even have to tell her to keep her eyes on me when she finally begins peeling away her clothes. She unbuttons her blouse first, her gaze locked on mine the entire time. Her eyes don't move away when she lets the blouse slide down over her shoulders, and not when she unbuttons her jeans and steps out of them, when she kicks off her shoes, or even when she reaches around to unhook her bra. She's wearing a cute little white bra and panty set decorated with lace, but it’s of mediocre quality, at best. She'll have to get used to wearing higher quality lingerie once she's living with me.

My eyes don't evade her unwavering gaze when the bra drops to the floor, exposing her perky breasts in front of me, as hard as it is. It would feel like a defeat, and I'll have plenty of opportunity to savor them in the future.

This is when she stops. She’s standing before me, wearing nothing but her lacy panties and breathing erratically, though she’s trying to appear calm. I cast her an impatient look, nodding toward her.

"You're not done."

Instead of following my command, she breaks another rule by raising her voice.

"You remove the rest… Sir."