“I’ll call the housekeeper and have her let you in. Make yourself comfortable while you wait.” Make yourself comfortable means get naked.
“Like I said, take your time,” I repeat.
The gate retracts moments after I end the call, and his housekeeper greets me by name at the front door when I’m dropped off.
After she takes my coat, she says, “Mr. Buckingham will arrive shortly. He asked that you wait for him wherever you like.” She nods politely and walks away.
“I will,” I say to her retreating figure as I watch her ass sashay in her short skirt. When I move in I’m firing her and replacing her with someone older and less attractive. Someone whose ass sashaying is past its prime.
I walk directly to his office and close the double doors behind me. Everything about this room excites me. The overall masculinity is overwhelming and makes my lady parts tingle. The rich wood, the leather, the dark colors, and the faint scent of cigar are a pheromone.
After pouring a snifter of his finest cognac, I remove all of the paperwork and photographs from my bag and spread them out in a showy presentation on his desk. I’ve been busy creating a scandal; the massive desk is covered. After that I strip down to my lace bra and thong, leaving on my stilettos, and take a seat in his oversized, leather desk chair, patiently sipping my drink. I ponder masturbating because this high I’m riding has me uncomfortably at the edge of release, but I wait because I want him to relieve the ache before I crush him. Fuck him before I fuck him, if you will.
When he finally opens the door, he smiles approvingly at my lack of clothing. “You’re my favorite houseguest, you know that?” He’s removing his clothing, letting each article fall piece by piece as he walks toward me. His naked form is something I’ve always admired. He goes to the gym and runs obsessively; his body looks good if he were half his age.
I stand and remove my thong and bra. I do it slowly, a striptease to wind him up.
He’s watching me with rapt attention as I lie down on his desk atop my masterpiece.
“My favorite,” he whispers as he mounts the end of the long desk prowling toward me on his hands and knees.
When his hands land on either side of my waist, I halt his advance, “Stop right there.”
He does.
“You’ve kept me waiting,” I purr.
He glances down and smiles. I know he smiles for his whores exactly like that, it’s not special anymore.
“Me first.”
His smile widens as he looks up and licks his lips. “You first?” he questions teasingly.
“Now,” I command.
His descent is slow, keeping his eyes locked on mine. It’s part of the buildup with him. The slow pace, the control, he gets off on it. And I can’t deny that I do too.
His mouth devours me. Lips, teeth, tongue—the way they work together is blissful. He throws in a few fingers, and I’m on fire. My hands grip his hair tightly holding him in place while my hips choose to increase the pressure and pace as needed. I’m giving him orders, talking absolute filth and loving it. He’s groaning into me, intoxicated with the act he’s engaged in. “Miranda, I need inside. Now,” he begs.
He begged. The scenario I’ve built up here just keeps getting better.
“Me first,” I remind him.
And that’s when it happens, the most exquisite orgasm I’ve ever experienced. The combination of the trap I’ve set, his submission, and his talented fucking mouth created a trifecta that will never be replicated. I ride it out long and hard, screaming, “Fuck you!” repeatedly, which only serves to turn him on more.
The moment I still and open my eyes, he sits back on his heels and takes in the view.
I smile. “You like what you see?” I ask.
His eyes are dark. His chest is heaving. His dick is pleading. “Very much,” he says.
I wink. “You haven’t seen anything yet.” He grins greedily as he watches me climb off the desk and sit in his chair. “I rather like this chair,” I say, stroking the leather arm with my fingertips. “It makes me feel powerful.”
He’s stalking every inch of me with his eyes while he steps down off the desk and stands in front of me. “Down on your knees.” The way he says it would normally leave no room for negotiation.
“Not tonight, Mr. Buckingham.” I lean back in the chair, cross my legs, and steeple my fingers. “Why don’t you get down on yours?” I add with a smile sent straight from hell and gesture to the scattered array of evidence on his desk.
“What’s that?” he says pointing to the papers.
“Oh, those? Those are your balls, my dear,” I say sweetly as I bat my eyelashes. “I’ve got you by the balls. And you know I’m never gentle. This may hurt a bit.”