Empire of Desire by Rina Kent

“Tsk. Language.”

“Oh, please. As if you don’t say it yourself.”

“Are you sure you want to talk back to me when I can leave you unsatisfied?”

“No, no…please…please…”

I’m almost there, I can feel it deep inside me. The more he strokes and curls his fingers, the more he spreads my inner juices over our fingers.

He pumps them in me and I’m clenching him—us—in a choke-like hold.

“Fuck. Do you feel how your tight pussy is strangling me?”

“Yeah…”

He groans deep in his throat and it does things to me, things like making me tighten around him harder, swallowing him deeper.

And I can’t help moaning. I don’t have the space of mind to control it or the rest of the sounds that come out of me.

I’m a mess of chaotic emotions and sensations, and there’s no way I can mute myself anymore.

“Is it because it feels full?”

“Yeah, full and good and…and…I’m…”

“And you’re what?” He pumps harder faster, pressing the heel of my palm against my clit.

The sureness in his movements, the pure dominance of it, drags me under in one swift movement.

“I’m coming!”

I clench around him the hardest yet as that wave crashes into me. The orgasm is neither gentle nor soft. It’s callous and demanding, just like him. My legs shake over his shoulders and my head is a fog of mixed emotions—emotions I can’t get hold of, so I let them swirl around me like a halo.

Or maybe I’m the one in the halo, floating in a dreamless land where everything feels so good.

After what seems like forever, I’m brought back to the present, suddenly and without warning, when he removes the fingers from inside me—his and mine. And I grab onto him, not wanting to let him or this feeling go.

What if this is a dream and I’ll never feel this way again? What if I’ll wake up and never find my way back?

But his next words erase any misconception I had about how real this is. “From now on, if you have any sexual urges, I’ll be the only one who satisfies them.”





17





Nathaniel





A mistake.

That’s what it should be.

Every second from the moment she walked inside and I lost my fucking cool to when she detonated in my hold as if she’s waited her entire life for me to come along.

As if she’s been saving up for me, for the moment she’d explode all around me, strangle my fingers, and refuse to let them go.

And it all started with when I saw her hopping off the kid’s motorcycle. Her lips were red and her hair was blown by the wind and she was smiling. Wide.

I should’ve looked the other way and kept my distance, as usual—that’s what I’ve done ever since I moved in. I make sure she has everything she needs from afar. Like her stock of vanilla ice cream, her milkshakes—vanilla again—and her favorite fruit, bananas, just because there isn’t a version of vanilla fruit.

Martha has specific orders to let me know when those things run out so one of us can take care of getting more.

It’s all because of Kingsley, I told myself. If it were him, he would’ve made sure she had her comfort food if she was feeling down.

In my head, I used that excuse again when I stood there in the middle of the fucking darkness and watched her knee-length skirt barely covering her ass because she was on a not-some-normal bike, clinging to the kid.

The safe, boring kid that she said she didn’t fucking want but was with him anyway.

Then he had his hands on her, touching her hair, pulling her to him, and hugging her. And I was about to go out there, using King as an excuse again, since I know for a fact that he hates it when she rides on a motorcycle. He was anal about removing anything dangerous from her life.

But fuck that, it wasn’t because of King.

It was because of me.

A grown man thought about beating up a kid. It was as bad as that and I had to take a moment to not act out on the thought.

And that’s when she came inside. Everything after that was a chain of events. As illogical as they were, they just came together naturally.

I’ve never liked anything as illogical as when she was moaning the house down because her tight pussy could barely take in my fingers. The thought of my dick inside that narrow opening has been plaguing me since I left her room as she watched me with those droopy chameleon eyes that were mostly green.

That’s how they look when she’s aroused. When she’s talking about fingers and being full and fucking urges.

Sexual. Plural.

And now I’m having urges myself, but they’re not sexual. They’re violent, like when I saw her climbing off the bastard’s bike.

Because she’s with him right now.

The reason she left early this morning, without having breakfast, is because she was eager to get to the firm and meet with him.

He somehow got an internship. Somehow, as in, I didn’t even know he was applying at W&S. Though I should’ve seen it coming and offed him from the beginning.

Christoph is his name. And no, I don’t make it my mission to know the name of every intern, but I needed to get this Christoph’s file.

And yes, I might’ve wanted to find a loophole to kick him out of the program.