The First Taste(23)

“He comes by here?”

“It’s his apartment, but I don’t let him in.”

“Hmm.”

“What?” I ask, sensing his hmm is more than just a hmm.

“Have you thought about moving out?”

“And give him the satisfaction?” I shake my head. “He loves this place—it was his first seven-figure purchase. But he claimed to love me too.”

“Don’t you want to be free of him?”

“Of course. It’s more complicated than that, though. He’s an investor in avec. My PR firm. He dumped a large sum into it. I thought it was a blessing at the time, but now I know it was a power play to control me.”

“Control you how?”

“He owns a larger share than I do.”

“Shit,” Andrew mutters. “That’s not good.”

“I was financially able to buy him out a while ago, but he always made up excuses to deny me. Then came the divorce, and he continues to fight me on it. Until he agrees to give up avec, I won’t leave.”

“Why do you like it here so much?”

“I don’t,” I say. “This isn’t the neighborhood I’d choose, and this place has a lot of bad memories. But I don’t want him to have it, either.”

“You’re angry,” he says, “and you have every right to be.”

“Of course I do,” I say.

“Anger is a strong emotion. It stems from love. Like hate.”

“I don’t love him,” I say. “I don’t even feel sad about the divorce. For me, our relationship ended a while ago. Why does that mean I can’t be angry?”

“It doesn’t. I don’t even completely understand anger, and I’ve been dealing with it for almost four years. You assume it’s there, that it’ll never go away, until the day you stop to wonder if you still feel it. At some point, it starts to fade. Whether or not you want it to.” He shrugs beneath me. “Some people can’t accept that, so they convince themselves it still exists.”

I hesitate, not sure if I’m offended by the insinuation. “You think that’s what I’m doing?”

“No. You’re early in the process. I think you’re still entitled to be mad. I’m mad for you.”

“Don’t be,” I say. “I’m mad enough for two people.”

“First you were telling me what not to talk about. Now you’re telling me how to feel?”

“Is that a problem?” I tease.

“Ah, I see how it is,” he says. “The boss is back. Trying to tell me what to do,” he slips his hand down my stomach, between my thighs, “again.”

I inhale sharply as he slides a fingertip along me, grazing my clit. I close my legs around him, capturing his hand, then move against it.

He pushes my thighs apart. “Keep them open.”

“It feels too good.” I struggle against his strength. “Let go.”

“No. You’re not in charge.”

“I should be,” I say. “I’m a good boss. Give me a chance to prove it.”

“Why should I?”

I inch back just enough to move my ass against his groin, and he rumbles. “I’m used to being the woman on top,” I say. “I like to give orders.”

Without warning, he pushes a finger inside me. I bite down on my lip. “What kind of orders?”

I have to concentrate harder than I should as he begins to f*ck me with his finger. “Get me coffee. Deliver this contract. Make me come.”

His cock twitches against my lower back. He drops his mouth to my ear, nipping the shell. “That shouldn’t be a problem, boss. Consider me for the position?”

“Which position?”

“Any. But I’d love to learn more about ‘woman on top.’”

I turn my head sideways to give him my mouth for a kiss. He adds another finger as I meet his thrusts, grinding against his palm. It’s a heady feeling, him hardening against my back when I’ve barely even touched him. I want to make him feel good too, so I reach back between us.

He catches my forearm. He slows but doesn’t stop pleasuring me as he places one of my hands along the edge of the tub, then the other. “You told me to make you come,” he whispers in my ear. “That’s what I’m doing.”

“What about you?”

“It’s enough for me to watch you.” He pulls his fingers out and circles them over me. I buck my hips and moan louder than I mean to. “Perfect,” he murmurs. “Just let me touch you.”

I’m not used to this kind of attention, to sitting still. I like to act. To touch and feel and return the favor. But spread open and positioned how he wants me, Andrew has complete control over my orgasm. I curl my hands into fists, frustrated at being both trapped and aroused, but Andrew’s too good to fight against. He f*cks me with his fingers while gyrating his hips against my backside. I’m all his, and the only thing he asks is that I let myself feel it. It’s harder than it looks, but each time I get the urge to take control, Andrew brings me back to the moment with a kiss on my neck, under my ear.

He keeps a steady pace as my orgasm builds slower than before. Reaching along the lip of the tub, he locks his other hand over mine, interlacing our fingers.