Sweet Possession

“Fuck that,” he states firmly, crossing his arms over his broad chest. At the sheer sight of him behind his massive desk, I’m almost tempted to agree with him and say fuck rule number one. He’s magnificently dressed in his work attire, which never ceases to have the same effect on me as the first day I saw him in it. His hair is fuckably messy, his deep emerald eyes are piercing into mine and continually raking over my body, and his lips are wet and ready for me.

I lean forward, giving him a better view of my cleavage and seeing him notice it instantly. “You touch me, and I leave. And I’ll do it without my coat on.” Yeah, right. I’m praying he doesn’t call my bluff on this one, because there’s no way in Hell I would walk outta here without being covered up.

His eyebrow arches. “How long is this song?”

“Four minutes and thirty three seconds.”

“No fucking way. I’ll give you two minutes and then I’m touching every part of you.” He reaches out and runs his hand up my thigh, playing with the clips on my garter. I tremble at the contact. “What’s the second rule?”

I smile slyly and stand up, seeing his body tense as I reach for him. “You only get to feel me.” His expression shifts quickly to confusion as I loosen his tie, pulling it out from underneath his collar and walking behind him. “And if you take your blindfold off, I’ll be withholding your orgasm.”

“I can’t touch you or look at you? Not happening.” I’m quickly grabbed and pulled into his lap, his mouth firmly pressing against mine. “Nothing stands in my way of you.” He kisses me brutally, his tongue invading my mouth with firm strokes. “Nothing.”

I pull back, which is an extremely difficult task, and grip his shoulders tightly. “Let me do this.” He starts to shake his head when I grab it, holding it in place. I drop my forehead to his and exhale softly. “Please. I love that you hate the idea of not being able to touch me or look at me, but I swear I’ll make it worth it.” His minty breath warms my face and I feel his muscles relax beneath me. “Let me properly thank you.”

After several seconds of him contemplating my offer, he places the tie back in my hand, giving me the okay to follow through with this. Leaning closer to me, he presses his lips to my hair. “Make it count.”

I shudder against him and bite my lip. Come on, Dylan. Focus.

“Two minutes.” He pulls out his phone and sets his timer as I move behind him, draping the tie across his eyes.

After securing it, I move around him, making sure to brush against his body as I reach for my phone and cue up the song. Leaning down, I brush my lips against his ear. “Are you ready, Mr. Carroll?” I whisper, hearing him inhale sharply at my words. The song starts playing and I watch him to gauge his reaction, seeing him smile immediately at my selection.

“Two minutes,” he repeats, and I’m with him on this one. There’s no way I’m making it four minutes and thirty three seconds without begging him to touch me. No fucking way.

“Two minutes,” I echo softly, feeling my skin flush at the thought of his hands on me.

Two fucking minutes that, I’m sure, will feel like an eternity.

24

“Do I Wanna Know?” begins playing throughout the office, the erotic tempo pulsing through the air. The bass is pumping through my body, slow and steady as I close my eyes and feel the music. It really is an insanely hot song, one that carries the perfect rhythm for fucking, or dancing. And in this case, the dancing comes first. This song holds so much history for us, and when I had decided this was going to be my response to his delivery, this song was the only song I thought of. I press the start timer on his phone and turn away from him, gripping his strong thighs with my hands. Spreading them open, I lower myself down and firmly brush my backside against his crotch along with the tempo. I repeat the motion several times, rubbing into his erection and feeling it twitch against me. He is already hard, no doubt from the sight of me in this lingerie he’s never seen before, but with each movement, he gets stiffer.

“Shit, Dylan,” he pants, his voice strained and fragile.

I’ve never heard him say my name like that. So delicately. Helpless even. I’m making him weak. Doing this to him, rubbing against his body with my own and not allowing him to touch me or see me is slowly pulling him apart. I sway my hips, continually brushing against the massive hard-on straining at the zipper of his khakis. I can see the outline of his cock, the heaviness of it and its perfect length tempting me. Take me out, Dylan. You know you wanna touch me. It’s insanely difficult to ignore, but I can handle two minutes. Leaning back against his chest, I feel his hot, panting breath on my bare shoulder as I grind to the music.

“Mmm, you’re so hard for me.”

“I’m always hard for you. Let me see you.”

I groan softly, gripping his thighs and dipping my body between them. “Not yet.”

He moans, lifting his pelvis to meet my movements. His hands are holding tightly to the arms of his chair, his knuckles stark-white. Low, rumbling groans escape his slightly parted lips as I press my body against his. I feel him shake against me with each breath he takes, straining to stay still and keep his hands off me. My body glides against him, swaying and pushing against his with a teasing pressure.

“If I come in my pants, it’s your own damn fault.”

I giggle, shaking it off instantly because I need to stay focused. I’ve never given a lap dance before and was actually worried walking in here that I wouldn’t be capable of pulling it off. But apparently, according to the reaction I’m getting from my sexy-as-fuck fiancé, I’m more than capable. I slide against his clothing, feeling him tremble slightly from the contact.