Page 131 of Sexting the Boss
Not a full shift. Just enough to feel the presence of him, weight and warmth close and deliberate.
He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t ask.
His hands settle on my knees.
They’re steady. Warm. Wide enough to cover most of my thigh in a single span. He squeezes—once, twice—then eases my legs farther apart, spreading me wider under his gaze.
Still fully dressed, still untouched, I let him arrange me like I’m here for this and only this.
My phone buzzes one last time on the mattress beside me.
Ethan: Don’t make a sound.
I don’t get the chance to type anything back.
Because his mouth is on me.
Hot. Open. Starving.
No preamble. No gentleness. Just tongue and pressure and slow, devastating intent. He drags his mouth through the slick heat like he’s tasting a promise and refuses to waste a drop.
My head knocks back against the wall.
I almost break the rule—almost make a sound—when his tongue circles right there, slow and focused, like he’s learning me again from scratch.
He pulls back just enough to say, low against my skin, “You followed every instruction. And now you’re going to lie here and take exactly what you’ve earned.”
Then he buries his mouth again.
His hands grip the insides of my thighs, holding me wide and still, and his tongue moves like he’s unmaking me on purpose—flattening, flicking, teasing, sucking. Every second makes my spine arch, my hips jerk, my fingers twist in the sheets.
He groans when I move.
Like it pleases him to know I can’t control it anymore.
Like he’s getting off on every twitch, every choked breath I try not to make.
When he seals his mouth over me and sucks hard, my vision goes white at the edges.
Then he does it again. And again.
My legs lock around his shoulders as I come, trembling so hard I think I might black out. My head falls back again, lips parted, no air left in me to even break the rule and scream. His grip only tightens, anchoring me as if he’s the one keeping me from coming apart completely.
Then he moves.
Without a word, without even letting me come down from it, he rises onto his knees between my legs. I barely manage to register the shift before he grabs my hips and drags me down the bed, fast and rough, until I’m flat on my back with my legs dangling over the edge. The cold rush of the room against sweat-slick skin makes me gasp.
He’s still fully clothed.
I feel the weight of his open belt press into my thigh as he shoves my dress higher, bunching it at my waist, exposing every wet, quivering inch of me he just ruined.
Then—he’s inside.
One hard thrust, buried to the base, his breath ragged against my neck as he holds still, just for a second.
I cry out, body jolting, the aftershocks of my orgasm still making me twitch. The stretch of him is too much and not enough,familiar and new all at once, and I can’t think through the rush of sensation slamming through my nerves.
He lifts one of my legs and plants it over his shoulder, forcing my body open at a sharper angle. The new position makes me feel it everywhere, like he’s rearranging something deep inside me.
