I Paid a Stranger Fifteen Hundred Dollars to Be My Boyfriend for My Father's Birthday Weekend, and He Obeyed Every Order I Gave novel · Chapter 22 of 24

Chapter 22: Tell Me What You Want

"Put your hand on my back," I said.

The guest room door had barely shut behind us.

The birthday party was still rolling up the stairs, glasses and laughter.

My mother's voice was telling the cake story for the fourth time.

Ben put his hand flat on the small of my back, over my dress, exactly where it had gone on Thursday.

It was warm, and it stayed there, and nowhere lower.

I felt it all the way down, just as I had then.

"Thursday," I said.

"I remember."

"I'm going to give you everything I told you. In order. I'm not skipping one."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Sit on the edge of the bed."

He sat, and looked up at me, with his hands on his thighs.

I stood between his knees in my green dress, in the lamplight, and my heart was going.

"Kiss me once. On cue."

"Waiting for the cue."

"Now."

He rose and kissed me, slow and warm and careful.

It undid me, again.

"Again," I said.

He kissed me again, and his hands stayed on his thighs, and I could feel what it cost him.

"Put your hands under my dress."

His palms slid up the backs of my legs, rough and slow, over my ass, to my waist, and stopped.

"Take it off me."

He drew the green dress up and over my head, and I stood there in my underwear.

He looked at me like he'd been looking at me since Thursday.

"Now yours," I said. "Take your shirt off."

He undid his buttons one by one, as he had that night.

I watched every one, and I stopped him with a finger on the last.

"Kneel."

He slid off the bed onto his knees on the braided rug.

I put my hand under his chin.

"Put your mouth on me."

He pressed his mouth to the lace between my legs, hot through the cloth, and I gasped and held his hair.

"Slower."

He slowed.

I stood there in the lamp's gold light and let him take his time.

The heat climbed in me without hurry, and he kept every word of it.

"Take them off me."

His fingers hooked into my underwear and drew it down my legs, one slow inch at a time, and I stepped out of it.

"Again. Slower than that. Don't speed up."

He used his tongue the way he had in the dark on Friday, flat and wet and patient.

I came undone against him inside of four minutes with my teeth in my lip.

I shook.

I clutched his head and rode out every wave of it, and when it was done he kept his mouth on me, gently, until I pushed him back.

"Hands on the wall," I said, breathless.

"What wall?"

"Any wall."

He laughed, helplessly, with his lips shining, and crossed the room on his knees and stood, and put both hands against the plaster beside the window.

His jeans were open and shoved low on his hips.

His cock stood out hard against the denim, and his whole back was a long taut line.

I went and stood behind him.

I put my mouth on his shoulder blade.

"Don't touch me until I say."

"Yes."

"Not a finger."

"No."

I took hold of him and stroked slowly, once, root to tip, and he groaned and dropped his forehead against the wall.

I stroked again.

His hips pushed, once, into my hand.

"Stop."

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