“Now too.” God, it was my last secret. How much I thought about him. How much he invaded my mind. “All the time.”
His grip tightened on the armrests, and my pussy fluttered in response. I liked telling him, I realized. I liked him knowing, just like I liked knowing he had dirty thoughts about me.
“Do you get yourself off when you have these dirty thoughts?”
“Yes.” I pressed my thighs together, seeking relief. I was so turned on.
“Show me.”
“Show you?” I’d heard what he’d said. And I knew what he meant. I just needed a second to process what I thought about the idea.
“Yes.” He sat up straighter in his chair, obviously eager. “And tell me. Tell me what I do to you in your imagination. Show me and tell me. Show and tell.” He smirked at his own pun.
“Well.” I’d never played with myself in front of someone else before. I’d never wanted to. Donovan was different though. He brought out different things in me, and saying no to him never crossed my mind, much less felt like an option.
I lay down on the bed, propping my head up with pillows so I could see him when I opened my legs. Now which scenario would I share? “There’s a few different…”
“Tell me your favorite,” he interrupted.
Variations on a rape. That was my favorite and most played out. No way was I telling him that. I’d stick with one of the more generic fantasies. Maybe the one where he threw me across his desk…
I closed my eyes and prepared the scene in my mind. Then I opened my mouth to begin.
“Now, be honest, Sabrina,” he said, cutting me off before I’d started. “It’s no fun if you aren’t honest.”
My heart thumped louder against my ribcage. Could I really tell him the truth about this? It was so dirty. So wrong.
I opened my eyes just enough to peek at him. He wouldn’t know if I lied, not if I made it good enough. But he was right—what would be the point of that? Wasn’t my whole fascination with him about this filthy daydream of mine anyway? Wouldn’t it be best to tell him so I could finally get this sick perversion out of my system?
No. I should tell him because it might be my only chance to live out this deepest, darkest fantasy. And feeding that need, that craving, that endless hunger, was reason enough to be worth it, humiliation and all.
And, honestly, as humiliating as the act was to think about, it was equally as hot. Hot because it was humiliating.
I took a deep breath. This time I didn’t close my eyes—I met Donovan’s instead. “You hold me down.” My voice sounded slow and monotone, like a narrator stripped of emotion, but even just that much of my story was enough to make Donovan’s eyes flare. “I can’t get away. You’ve muffled my screams. No one can hear me. No one can help me. You manage to get my pants down—”
“But you struggled first,” he added, in a similar matter-of-fact tone.
“Yes.” His addition to my fantasy surprised me, but it added to my arousal. My nipples immediately budded. I brought my hands to my breasts, caressing them, easing them from their sudden heaviness.
“How did you struggle?”
“I kneed you, but I didn’t get you where I aimed.” I lowered my glance to his cock and saw it had grown even bigger, which made my breath catch. “Fighting just turned you on more. You punish me with a hard bite on my nipple.”
He raised his brows, and I realized he wanted me to act this out how I would if he wasn’t there. Taking a nipple between my thumb and forefinger, I pinched and pulled as hard as I could.
“Harder,” he taunted.
I tugged harder and tears formed at the corners of my eyes. “Until it makes me cry.”
He adjusted slightly in his seat, as though his erection was growing uncomfortable, but he didn’t even touch himself. It made me antsy that he didn’t. I wanted to touch him. Wanted to rub my palm across his crown. Wanted to wrap my fingers around him and feel him throb in my hand.
If I couldn’t have that, then at the very least, I wanted to watch him do it.
Then I remembered—I had myself to touch. Spreading my legs wider, I pressed two fingers between my folds and began massaging the bundle of nerves in quick, aggressive circles. “You’re rubbing my clit now. You’re rough and you’re relentless, working me to orgasm.” I could already feel it building. This fantasy always brought me to climax fast. “I’m close.”
“Close to coming?” His voice was threadbare and ragged, a reflection of how I felt.
“Yes,” I panted. “You’re glad because you’re impatient and you want me to come. Not because you want me to feel pleasure, but because you hate going in dry.”
He grinned like he was admitting something. “Nice detail.”
I had my own confession to admit. “But what you don’t know is that I’m already wet.”
He threw his head back and groaned in the back of his throat. “Show me.”
Though I was teetering on the edge, I pulled my hand away from my clit and moved it lower where I dipped two fingers inside me. When I withdrew them, I held them up so that Donovan could see them glistening with my wetness.
“Jesus, Sabrina.” His expression tightened, and he bucked his pelvis in the air. I could feel his control abandoning him. Especially when I brought my fingers to my mouth and sucked them clean. “Are those my fingers?” he asked.
“Yes. You shove them so far down my throat I think I’ll gag.” I stick my fingers in my mouth again, shoving them in as far as I can.
“Fuck, the things I want to do to your mouth right now.” He shifted once more, and I could see his thighs tightening through his pants. “Then what?”
“Then you fuck me.” Watching him get aroused made me even more turned on. I writhed on the bed, trying to rub my pussy against the mattress. We were both miserable—surely we’d played enough of this game. I needed him inside of me. Now.
But he didn’t move.
“Fuck me, Donovan,” I begged. “Please!”
“No. You have to do it.” He was cold and in charge. “Show me how I fuck you.”
I whimpered, but I didn’t protest. There was no use arguing with him, and I knew it. Reaching down, I rammed several fingers inside my pussy, thrusting in as far as I could go.
He sat abruptly forward in the chair. “Three fingers—is that what you always use?”
“No,” I gasped, drawing my fingers back out. “Sometimes I use a toy.”
“What else?” He was on edge. I could feel it in the air between us.
“Nothing else.”
“If I couldn’t fuck you with my cock, I wouldn’t use a dildo.” His eyes began to frantically search the room. “Next time, use that bottle over there.”
I followed the line of his gaze to my moisturizer sitting on the nightstand. The bottle was thicker than my toy. It would be an uncomfortable fit, but because the order to use it had come from Donovan, I was more than eager to comply. “Okay. I will.”
Seemingly satisfied with my response, he returned his focus to me, to my hands and what they were doing, what I was pretending he was doing to me.
He stood up, as though to get a better view. “Now,” he said, finally, finally drawing his cock out. “Tell me how I fuck you.”