Page 21 of Salt Kiss
I stop, cappuccino hot in my hand, the wooden door swinging shut behind me. The skills I learned in battle and sharpened as a diplomatic escort serve me unexpectedly here; I take in the entire scene in seconds.
The woman, curvy and pale, has bright red ropes knotting her thighs to her calves, and her wrists are bound and lashed over her head. She is tied to the edge of the desk, knees apart, so that anyone who stepped up to the edge of the desk would have easy access to her open, flushed cunt.
And Mark has already taken advantage of that access: a Hitachi wand lays next to her, and a flush is staining its way up her soft stomach to her face, all the way to the roots of her strawberry-blond hair. Her nipples are cherry red and stiff enough to look like they ache. They’re wet too, like they’ve just been sucked on. And even from here, her pussy glistens.
I notice the white latex gloves on her hands just as Mark looks over at me.
“Ah, Tristan, good morning.” His eyes drop to the cappuccino in my hand, a pleased expression on his face. “Is that for me?”
He asks this as he’s unzipping his pants.
The woman tied to his desk stares dreamily at me.
My eyes are drawn to Mark’s large hands as they make efficient work of the clasp and zipper, of the waistband of the dark boxer briefs underneath. His cock, when it emerges, is long and thick. Cut, with a large crown and a visible vein twisting down the side. I watch him tear open a condom packet with the same curt efficiency as he used to free his erection, and he rolls the sheath over himself in three brisk movements.
“You can stay. This won’t take long,” he says to me.
“I—”
He’s already sinking his latex-shiny cock into her swollen core, one hand guiding himself in as the other comes to spread over her sternum, holding her still for his entry.
My breathing comes faster as I watch her arch against the ropes tying her down, as I watch her being held down for him to penetrate.
Two things come to me just then:
The first is that I consented to this. I signed a document; I agreed that I would willingly witness acts of sex and kink at my place of employment.
The second is that the document, the consent, none of it matters right now anyway. Because I don’t want to stop watching.
I don’t want to leave.
Mark strokes in and out of her with the expression of a connoisseur savoring something that meets their approval, and I want to know how it feels. To be him or to be her. To have a soft pussy held still for my taking or to have his thick shaft working in and out of me with slow, powerful drags.
I’m hard now.
I’m aching with wanting...everything. Everything in front of me, and the cappuccino is forgotten, and the day is forgotten, and there’s just my boss fucking a woman tied to his desk like it’s as much a part of his day as reading the news.
Mark picks up the Hitachi, and the woman whimpers. “No, Mr. Trevena,please...”
“Hmm” is all Mark says. And then he proceeds to turn it on anyway.
She pulls against the ropes as if in protest, and despite the heat in my blood, I step forward instinctively. She saidno—
“Never fear, my knight,” Mark says mildly. The hand not holding the Hitachi is sliding under the knots around her plush thigh, tugging on them with something like fondness in his expression. He’s still inside her. “What’s your safeword, flower?”
“La mer,” she pants.
“And what do you say if you want to stop?”
“La mer.”
Safeword.That term was in the folio, in the comprehensive glossary included with everything else. I stop, one foot still forward and my eyes on her, making sure she’s okay.
She smiles at me and then presses her lips together, as if to show me that wild horses couldn’t drag the word from her lips right now. And then Mark presses the vibrator to her clit. Even from here, I can see that it’s rosy and swollen, and I put that together with the flush staining her skin and guess that she has had an orgasm already.
Maybe more than one—maybe so many that yet another sounds like torture.
And I can see the diabolical genius in it. Mark hasn’t beaten her with a crop or a cane, he hasn’t clamped her, he hasn’t done any of the stuff I’ve witnessed in the club, but it doesn’t matter. She’s squirming, whimpering,reacting, as he tortures her with pleasure, as he strokes himself into her center.
