Dominated by My Dad's Boss novel · Chapter 3 of 24
Chapter 3: Lesson One
In her apartment she puts him on his knees and rides him, then orders him to take it back; they set the terms of the secret; a text from Uncle Gus asks her to dinner.
He walked through my whole apartment before he sat down.
Closets, window locks, the fire escape, the space behind the shower curtain.
I stood in the kitchen with the two tags on the counter.
A man in an open-collared shirt was searching my home.
"Nothing," he said, coming back. "No one's been inside."
"Great. Then I'm only being followed."
"Who is Ember?"
I pulled out a chair and made myself sit.
"My mother," I said. "She left when I was ten. Fifteen years ago. My father says she ran off with another man."
"Is that true?"
"A card came to the foundry three weeks ago, in her handwriting."
I slid the card across the table.
He read it standing up.
He read it twice.
When he looked at me, his face had changed.
"Do you know what the Lantern is?"
"It's a room where people get placed," he said. "You walk in unclaimed and somebody claims you."
"Placed," I said. "Like a parcel."
"Like a parcel that has to say yes."
"I went through that door a few times years ago. I haven't gone back."
He set the card down gently.
"So you want to walk in as a Domme."
"A Domme can't be placed."
"Not without her consent. Not easily."
"Four weeks," I said. "Teach me. Or tell me no again and I'll go find the next man who isn't watching the stage."
He took his time.
He pulled out the chair across from me and sat, and rubbed his beard with the heel of his hand.
"Terms," he said.
"Go on."
"Wednesdays and Fridays, and whenever you call me. Nobody at that foundry ever learns of it. Not your father, not a foreman, not the receptionist."
"Agreed."
"The sale is untouched."
"Your father gets his full price and his jobs clause, whatever happens in this room."
"You don't owe me one thing about the company, ever."
"I wouldn't give you one."
"And you can end this any time you like, and I walk out and you never see anything but a suit in a meeting."
"I won't want to."
"Then I'll be a very bad suit."
His mouth twitched.
"And you?" I said.
"I don't kneel unless you tell me to," he said. "And I'm not going to be easy about it."
My pulse jumped.
"Stand up," I said.
He looked at me.
"Not you," I said. "Stand up and take your shirt off. It's my apartment, and you've just spent ten minutes opening my closets."
For a second I thought I'd gone too far.
Then he stood slowly, undid the buttons without hurry, and let the shirt fall over the back of the chair.
His chest was broad and hairy, with grey in it, and a white scar curved under his left ribs.
My mouth went dry again.
"Living room," I said. "Walk ahead of me."
He walked.
"Stop."
He stopped in the middle of the rug.
"Hands behind your back. Feet apart."
He obeyed, and I walked a slow circle around him, my heels loud on the floor.
I'd read about this for three weeks on my phone.
None of it said I'd feel like this, with my pulse in my throat and a grown man holding still for me.
I stopped in front of him.
"Kneel."
He went down in one smooth drop, and this time there wasn't a shred of politeness in it.
"Better," I said.
"Thank you, ma'am."
I sat on the couch, took off my boots, and put one stockinged foot on his thigh.
"Take off my stockings."
His big hands were careful.
They slid up the back of my knee, found the band, and rolled the nylon down in a long, slow stroke.
His knuckles brushed the inside of my thigh.
I made a sound, and he looked up at it.
"Don't look at me," I said. "Look at what you're doing."
"Yes, ma'am."
When both stockings were gone, I put my hand into his hair and pulled his head back.
His throat moved.
"Do you want to put your mouth on me?"
"Yes."
"Say please."
"Please, ma'am."
"Louder."
"Please let me put my mouth on you."
I hitched my skirt up around my waist.
I had no idea what I was doing, but I knew exactly what I wanted.
"Go on."
He leaned in, and the first stroke of his tongue through my underwear dragged a noise out of me that I hadn't known I owned.
He hooked his fingers into the band and I lifted my hips, and then his mouth was on my pussy, hot and slow and sure.
I fisted his hair.
"Don't stop."
He didn't.
He licked me up in long strokes, then circled my clit with the tip of his tongue until my thighs shook against his shoulders.
"Good," I breathed. "Just like that. Harder."
He growled into me, and the vibration of it nearly finished me.
I rode his face without any shame, my heels digging into his back, his beard rough against my thighs.
When I came, I came with a shout, and his mouth stayed on me until I pushed him away.
He knelt there, breathing hard, wet around the lips, his cock a thick shape against his trousers.
"Take it out," I said.
He unbuckled and shoved his trousers down, and I took one look at him, thick and flushed and straining, and my whole body clenched.
"Hands behind your back."
"Yes, ma'am."
I slid off the couch onto his lap, one knee on either side of his hips, and took him in my fist.
He hissed.
I rubbed the head of his cock through my slick folds until we were both trembling.
"Ask me."
"Please," he said, rough. "Let me be inside you."
I sank down on him inch by inch.
He was big, and he filled me so completely I had to stop halfway and breathe.
"Look at me," I said.
His brown eyes were wild.
I rode him slowly at first, my hand in his hair, my mouth an inch from his.
He kept his hands behind his back through every roll of my hips, though I could feel the strain in his shoulders.
"Do you want to come?"
"God, yes."
"Not yet."
I rocked harder, took his bottom lip between my teeth, and bit.
He groaned.
His whole body shook with the effort of obeying.
Then something in me turned over.
I wanted him to stop obeying.
"Take it back," I said into his mouth.
He went very still.
"Ma'am?"
"Take it. Everything you've been holding back. I want it."
For a second he only looked at me.
Then his hands came out from behind him and clamped on my hips.
He stood with me wrapped around him.
"Bedroom."
I pointed.
He carried me there with his cock still buried in me, every step a jolt.
He dropped me onto the mattress hard enough to bounce.
He pinned my wrists above my head with one hand.
"You've had your lesson," he said, in a voice I'd never heard, deep and ruined and certain.
"Now I'll teach you what it feels like on the other side."
He fucked me.
There was no other word for it.
He drove into me with long, brutal strokes that slid my whole body up the sheets.
I locked my legs around his waist and screamed his name.
"Torin."
"Say it again."
"Torin. Torin, harder."
He gave me harder.
He gave me his weight and his heat and the rough scrape of his beard along my neck.
When my second orgasm broke through me, my back left the bed.
He followed, with a groan I felt in my teeth, his hips snapping against mine as he spilled inside me.
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
He lay half on me, his breath hot on my shoulder, and I stroked the grey hair at his temple.
"That," he said at last, "was not on any syllabus."
"I thought the student was supposed to be in charge."
"The student was."
He lifted his head, and there was a smile on his face that I would've followed anywhere.
"Ma'am again?" I said.
He laughed, a real low laugh, and kissed my forehead.
"Only when you tell me to."
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
I reached for it with a heavy arm.
A text lit the screen from a contact saved as UNCLE GUS.
Dinner at your father's on Wednesday, sweetheart. Torin's coming too. Wear the green dress. I miss seeing you in it.
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