This is what I needed.
A few more strokes rubbing inside, coupled with a few more swipes across my clit, and I moan loudly while orgasming hard. “Yes, yes, yes!” I cry out.
I finally stop moving my hands as the spasms subside. My eyes stay closed as I remain in the moment and linger in a state of bliss. It’s been too damn long!
Then, reality floods through my brain, and my eyes pop open. I rise to a sitting position and immediately reach for the sheet at the end of my bed to cover myself. What I just did feels wrong somehow. Thinking about James was wrong of me—somehow I used him, and I’m ashamed.
Damn that Jamison Fox!
Goodbye bliss, hello self-loathing. All the more reason to resent him because he’s the last person I need to think about. To top it off, I lost out on precious study time.
Crap!
4
Jamison
It’s after midnight, and I’m still staring at the fucking contract, determined to prove to El tomorrow—hell, now it’s today—that I know my shit and can manage this project. I texted her several hours ago, and she didn’t fail to show me her bitchy side. She never disappoints in that respect.
I’m still holding out hope that she’ll soften and one day show me she has a vulnerable side with the capability to exhibit human qualities. Otherwise, I have an absurd theory there’s some kind of artificial intelligence that inhabited her body. Oh and what a fucking body it is, I hiss through my teeth at the inner thought.
Paperwork is strewn about my living room, and it looks like a goddamn mess in here. However, it’s immaculate when I have company. There’s no way El’s place is in such disarray; her organizational and technological skills rival anyone in the field. Except, I don’t get her planner book; it’s an archaic practice. Each time she scribbles something down in her calendar, I find it odd. There’s got to be a quirky side to her that other people don’t see.
I run my hands through my hair and pull at the roots like I’ve done many times recently. Christ, I’ll never understand her and how she has the time to memorize all these terms and conditions. She has a knack for business superior to that of even her father.
A little spitfire like her could cripple other firms if Mr. Alcott were to be ruthless and savage in the industry. But they’re not about putting others out of business. This family company was built from the ground up, and the persistence and tact they operate with is admirable. I think that’s why I have the utmost respect for Alexander. He runs this company like we’re people and not numbers. As much as we’re successful and in demand, he’s still a humble man.
His daughter could use a serving of humble pie now and again. And I’d gladly volunteer to feed it to her.
With that thought, her sensual mouth comes to mind. I think about her licking her pouty lips. The sheen from her sparkling saliva beckons me—lips just begging to be kissed and sucked—like eating a ripened cherry.
She could stand to mellow out. Either getting laid or getting herself off would do her some good. Knowing her, she probably can’t do either because she would need a master list or contract involved in order to do the deed. I chuckle to myself thinking about her ticking off boxes on a checklist during sex—she’s that damn uptight.
My jaw hurts from clenching it each time I think about that woman, and consequently, each time, my dick hardens and lengthens. She’s maddening, and tonight the havoc she’s wreaking upon my system is no exception.
Reaching down to my crotch, I adjust my cock. Jacking off now would do me some good, and maybe I could concentrate on my documents. At this point, the words are just blurred on the page, and my eyes ache from rereading the same goddamn sentence over and over again with no comprehension or retention in sight.
Elodie is too deep-seated in my brain, and she’s topping me without even being here. Fuck, I want nothing more than to show her that she needs to let go and let someone else be in charge for once—someone else be on top. If she truly became submissive in the sense that I would control her pleasure, then I’d venture it would be freeing for both of us.
By no means am I considered a Dom, but with her, she’d make me feel like a god. I’ve done some kink and shit, and there’s a few things I’d like to try on her to help her relax. Venturing into something darker is not something I’m interested in, though. Being in charge is satisfying enough for me without adding more sadistic, dominant elements.
With a rough tug to the hem of my T-shirt, I whip it off and slide my shorts down because I’m too damn hot. While I’m at it, I strip off my boxers and lean back in my recliner with my dick in hand. I fist the base as I picture El’s lapis-blue eyes fixing her gaze on mine—watching me, taking it all in—her eyes registering each inch of my length.
My head rests against the soft black leather of my recliner, and I close my eyes, absorbing the sensations, and wish she was the one squeezing the root. Her hands would be confident, thinking she knows everything, but I’d show her how to pleasure me properly. I’d have her mouth snugly wrapped around my shaft, and her lips would be stretched to their fullest as I slide in and out.
“Fuck,” I say aloud, succumbing to the images I’m conjuring.
My balls painfully tighten. My muscles are straining, and I grit my teeth while pumping my hand faster and harder down my shaft.
A few more minutes of jerking my hand up and down, and I’m there.
“Goddamn you, Elodie!” I groan out and spurt my cum all over my stomach—effectively making another mess in my room.
Picking up my shirt from the floor, I use it to wipe off my stomach and then stand up to toss it in my hamper in the bedroom. Stretching my neck from side to side feels incredible. There’s still so much tension I have throughout my body. It’s because of her!
A part of me wants to text her—despite the hour—and set her straight on some things. But killing her with kindness might be the better route. I’ll catch more flies with honey—just wait and see, El.
5
Elodie
Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
Yeah, right. I roll my eyes at the thought as I strut up to James’s office door.
My lips suddenly become dry when I peer in and see him poring over the documents on his desk. He’s still reading? I thought he would’ve given up by now.
Seeing his long, thick fingers move across the sheets of paper while scanning the words elicits a light shiver rolling through me. My mind immediately wanders to remembering last night’s activity by my own hand. A blush creeps into my cheeks. This is so not like me. I’m cross with myself just as much as I am with him. He caused me to require additional hours of study time, and I’m lucky I’m as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as I am this morning—copious amounts of coffee have helped.
I run my hand along my neckline and graze my collarbone, eliciting another intense shiver. My black chiffon blouse suddenly clings to my warm, damp skin. Perspiration beads up around my upper lip, and I swallow as silently as I can so as not to alert him. I also wish and pray for a breeze of some sort to shoot down this hallway. I’m wearing a killer set of red patent-leather heels and a pair of gray, high-waisted designer pants. I’m loathing the pants and frustrated I didn’t choose a skirt because my southern region is so overheated.