He Stole My Bill, So I Divorced Him and Outranked His Father novel · Chapter 5 of 24

Chapter 5: Yes, Ma'am

"Don't ask me about the bank," I said. "Not tonight. Make me stop thinking."

I was sitting on the edge of his kitchen counter with my shoes off and my skirt around my thighs.

Emilio stood between my knees with his hands flat on the Formica on either side of me.

It was past midnight, and the only light was the one over the stove.

"Tell me what you want, Greta," he said.

"I want you on your knees, Mr. Cavazos."

He went still.

I watched it land. His eyes went dark, and his jaw worked once, and he did not smile.

"Say it again," he said.

"On your knees."

"Yes, ma'am," Emilio said.

He went down slowly.

He knelt on his own kitchen floor in his white shirt and gray trousers.

He put his hands on my knees and looked up at me.

I had never seen a man look at me from there.

My heart was going hard, and I could hear it in my ears.

"Skirt," he said.

"Not you," I said. "Me. I'll tell you when."

His mouth curved at last, a small, hungry curve, and he sat back on his heels and waited.

I lifted my hips and pushed the skirt up to my waist.

I slid my underwear down my legs and dropped it on the tile beside him.

I spread my knees.

His eyes dropped, and his breath went out of him in a rough sound.

"Look at me," I said.

His gaze came up.

"Now put your mouth on me. Slowly."

He bent his head.

The first touch of his tongue was a long, flat, wet drag from the bottom of me to the top.

I grabbed the edge of the counter with both hands.

"Oh," I said.

He did it again.

He took his time, exactly as ordered.

He opened me with his thumbs and licked in slow, patient strokes, circling and then dipping in.

My thighs began to tremble on his shoulders.

"Slower," I said, and my voice cracked.

He slowed.

He lapped at me so gently that I wanted to scream.

I put my fingers in his hair and held his head where I needed it.

"There," I said. "Right there. Don't stop."

"Yes, ma'am," he said against me.

"Don't you dare stop."

He closed his lips around my clit and sucked, softly, and I arched off the counter.

My head knocked the cabinet behind me, and I did not feel it.

He kept the rhythm exactly. He did not speed up or pull away, and his tongue moved in small, firm circles.

Two of his fingers slid inside me and curled, and the pleasure doubled.

"Oh, God," I said, through my teeth. "Harder, Mr. Cavazos."

He gave me harder.

I felt it gather low and hot, and I tightened, and I stopped him with a hand on his forehead.

"Stop," I said.

He stopped at once.

His mouth hovered an inch from me, breathing hot, and his fingers stayed buried and perfectly still.

"Don't move," I said.

"No, ma'am."

I looked down at him.

His eyes were black and his lips were wet and his shoulders were shaking with the effort of obeying.

I had never in my life had that kind of power over anyone. It was dizzying.

"Tell me how I taste," I said.

"Sweet," he said roughly. "I could do this all night."

"Then do it. Slowly."

He bent and licked me once, a long deliberate stroke, and I shuddered.

"Again."

He did it again.

I let him build me back up, then stopped him once more with my fingers tight in his hair.

He groaned against my thigh and held.

"You're so good at this," I said.

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