Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
The cigar holder.
The cigar holder, the cigar holder, the cigar holder.
I wanted to combust right there and then.
But I refused to appear humiliated.
I cleared my throat and smiled to the camera. “Yes?”
“Are you finished contaminating my library?” It came out matter-of-fact. Unfazed and unaffected.
Suddenly, it drove me mad that he hadn’t busted into the room as soon as he saw me spread my legs. Didn’t throw me against the window and fuck me raw.
I slumped against the laden shelves, keeping my legs open. “Pretty much.”
I knew he could still see everything.
My swollen clit. My pink folds. The juices running down my thighs, onto his carpet. The residual blood from Brett’s finger painting messy strokes on my thighs.
But I refused to show him weakness.
“What about the room turned you on, exactly? Was it the Dostoevsky and Murakami hardcovers or the Degas paintings?”
I flicked a bang away from my forehead. “It was mainly the absence of you.”
He chuckled on the other end of the intercom. A static noise that still managed to drip into my gut.
I dusted off my hands. “Are we done with the chitchat?”
I wanted to stand up and clean myself. Then, obviously, slink under a rock and spend the rest of my life mortified by what happened.
“Almost.” Silence. And then, “Suck your fingers.”
I wanted to defy him. To deny him. But…
I also wanted to do this for myself. My nipples had already pebbled again, my body springing to attention at his husky command.
I turned my head to grin at the camera. “Ask nicely.”
He paused, considering it. “Kindly shove your fingers into your mouth and taste what my mere existence does to you.”
“Cocky much?”
“Much. And all of it, root to tip, is about to fill your pussy, ass, and mouth. Soon.”
A tremor of eagerness and euphoria rolled through me. I wanted that. I wanted that more than anything else in the world in this moment.
I circled my nipple with my wet finger. “Do you think you’re capable of touching me?”
Another beat of silence.
He answered, firm, “I know I can.”
Slowly, I raised my fingers to my mouth and sucked, gaze still trained on the camera.
“Taste good?” It came out thick. Strained. Barely controlled.
“You have no idea.”
I smirked, pulling my knees together and shimmying my ruined panties off. The dress tumbled down my legs when I rose to my feet.
I crouched, collecting the panties and cigar holder, about to tuck them both into my uniform pocket.
“Tsk, tsk.” Something like a dark chuckle rumbled through the speakers. “No stealing, Little Octopus. This is your second strike. Shall I put up signs in each room to remind you of the rules?”
I scowled to the camera. “It’s a cheap cigar holder.”
I’d reached a new low. Standing in an empty room, talking to the boss I wanted to climb like a tree.
And yet, somehow, it felt like a high.
“It’s mine nonetheless.”
“I’ll buy you another.”
“I’m afraid this one is utterly irreplaceable.”
“You’re just pulling at my leg at this point.”
“Sweetheart, I want to do so much more if you’d just let me.” He paused. Something like a hoarse chuckle tickled my ears.
I crossed my arms. “What now?”
“It’s not a cheap cigar holder.”
“How expensive can it be?”
“It’s not about the price. It’s about the history.”
I resisted the urge to slink into the shadows, finally processing all the antiques this room held.
“What?” I flipped my hair over one shoulder. “Did Winston Churchill own it?”
“Close. Thomas Jefferson. He held it in his other hand as he signed the Declaration of Independence.”
Well, fuck.
No way could I ever fix an oopsie that big. No point in trying.
With more confidence than I expected, I sauntered to an empty display case, popped off the lid, and tucked the cigar holder inside, along with my panties.
I pivoted to the camera, arching a brow. “Happy?”
“Only after you’re sprawled on top of my Go board, creaming on my cock. The invitation remains open.”
“Are you hard?” I croaked.
“No,” came his instant reply.
“You’re a liar.”
I strode to the door, wondering if he was.
Maybe I wasn’t his type. Maybe he just got off seeing me masturbate but didn’t want to touch me. Maybe he always did this. Hired girls as the help and toyed with them.
What did I know about this man?
Only the dry facts delivered to me by Wikipedia.
His voice tickled the backs of my ears as I walked away.
“Maybe, but you can’t handle my truth.”
Ididn’t even bother kicking everyone out of the house. That would imply I had my shit together, which I most certainly did not.
I simply locked myself in the master bedroom, launched into the shower, and turned the handle to the coldest temperature.
Didn’t work.
I braced my hand over the tiles, fisting my engorged cock. It throbbed, pre-cum leaking from the crown.
Drip, drip, drip.
So hot and heavy that it turned purple.
Don’t jerk off.
Have a shred of self-control.
You are breaking all your rules.