I Like Being Watched by Jessica Gadziala

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eleven

Fitz

 

 

 

It wasn't that I'd forgotten about the party, per se.

It was too important to have completely slipped my mind.

I guess the problem was I'd underestimated just how much work needed to take place to get my house—which always seemed reasonably ready for company—prepared.

Wynn had been unexpectedly prepared to tell me all the shit that needed to be done.

After sitting back a little slack-jawed at her list, she'd explained that her step-father was a businessman who often needed to host events, so she'd learned from a young age how to get a house ready for an event.

When I'd asked why she'd been the one to help rather than her mother, she'd given me a sort of sweet smile and declared that her mother was more the type of woman to spend her day out picking wildflowers for the tables than calling the cleaners or caterers.

And, in a way, I guess that gave me quite a bit of insight into Wynn.

She had a free-spirited mother that had likely instilled in her a love of art, thus encouraging her to go to school for it, but a business-minded, practical step-father that gave her the skills to self-start and be good at a more regimented job.

Not that I needed to be thinking any more about the woman than I already did.

Ever since the pool, all I'd done was think about the feel of her curves, the soft sighs that escaped her when I touched her, the taste of her pussy on my tongue.

It was enough to make me hard just thinking about it in passing while at work, while on my way home, while listening to the woman herself kindly but firmly boss people around my house over the next several days.

It was no use trying to avoid her, either. She was everywhere, seemingly handling ten different things at once. Even when I tried to shut myself into my office to keep away from her, not trusting myself fully not to reach for her again, to finish what we started in the pool.

Because it seemed like every twenty minutes or so, she had some reason to need to burst in to give me options, or for me to sign off on things.

The caterer, the menu, the drinks, the music.

And, invariably, she needed to discuss this with me while leaning over my shoulder. Her hair would always be tucked to one side, giving me the perfect view of her unconfined breasts that played peek-a-boo with her button-down shirt. And then there was her smell—rose and vanilla—that was impossible to ignore up close.

"Yeah?" I called to the familiar tap to my office door.

Wynn again.

Three soft fingertip taps.

That was her signature.

"Mr. Buchanan," she said. No, not said. She purred it. Or I just thought that because everything about the woman seemed to scream sexuality to me, intentional or not.

"Yes, Wynn?" I asked as I took a slow, steadying breath.

She looked unexpectedly worn-out.

She'd always been a hard worker, but she'd clearly been burning the candle at both ends if her eyelids looked so heavy, if there were slight bags under them.

She was wearing a simple dark green wrap dress instead of her usual button down shirt and pencil skirt. It was no less perfectly tailored to fit her, though, hugging every curve I now knew so well.

As she approached, quiet in her flat shoes, I could see the peaks of her nipples against the thin material of her dress, making my cock stir to life yet again.

That was all it took with her.

Her presence.

I didn't know what the fuck was wrong with me.

"Alright," she said, sighing heavily as she rounded my desk, dropping that perfect ass of hers onto the top of my desk right beside me, her leg actually touching my chair.

It was then that she raised that ever-present notebook of hers, flipping to a page, and giving her notes a nod.

"I think we have covered most of it," she declared. "We will have to greet the florists and the liquor store employees the morning of the party, obviously. And I will handle the caterers and the band before I head out."

"You're staying." The words were out before I even got a chance to really think about them. But there was no taking them back. What's more, I didn't want to take them back.

"I mean, everything should run smoothly. But if you want me to hang back in the kitchen or what have you, I can do that."

"Do you have a dress?" I asked, my tongue just doing whatever the fuck it wanted without input from my head.

"I wouldn't need a dress to be in the kitchen," she said, brows furrowing a bit.

"You won't be in the kitchen. Not all night," I added.

"Al...right," she said, looking no less confused. "I will get a dress," she agreed. "There is one last thing..." she said, trailing off, tapping her pen on her notepad.

"What's that?"

"Blake," she said, giving me a knowing look. "He's... he's had a lot of input about the party. I just want to make sure you're aware of that."

I wasn't.

And I wasn't happy to hear that either.

"I will have a talk with him to make sure he knows it isn't a free-for-all party." He should have known that, but you could never tell with Blake either.

"Okay, well, then that seems to be everything," she said, putting her notebook down beside my laptop.

I couldn't help but watch as she rolled her neck for a second before reaching up and behind her head to undo her hair clip. It was a motion that made her breasts strain against the thin material of her dress. And when she leaned back a bit further to work a kink out of her back, the goddamn wrap part slipped ever so slightly, giving me an eyeful of the swell of her breast.

I'd seen the woman fully naked. I shouldn't have been hard as a rock over a hint of breast. But there was no denying it, either.

I had no idea what kind of hold this woman had on me, but she'd become all I could think about when I was awake, all I dreamed about when I slept.

It needed to stop.

A little, niggling voice in the back of my head, though, was telling me that it was never going to stop. At least not until we could finish what we'd started in the pool.

Except, of course, we couldn't do that.

"You seem... tense," Wynn said, drawing my attention back upward where I found her with her arms resting behind her, making her back arch.

"N...no," I said, clearing my throat after hearing the roughness in my voice.

"Oh, hm. I must be mistaken," she said, doing a little shrug before slowly—so painfully fucking slowly—uncrossed her long legs in a movement designed to make her skirt hike up. Enough. Just enough to see she hadn't worn any panties to work. The realization made the desire like a vice grip on my balls. "Is something wrong?" she asked, feigning innocence even as she planted her damn foot on the arm of my chair, spreading herself wide for me.

"Wynn," I growled, forcing my gaze back upward. Where I found her balancing back on one hand as she dipped her damn pen in and out of her pouty lips.

"Yes?" she asked, all sweet, even if the light in her eyes told me she knew exactly what she had me thinking about.

"Stop," I demanded.

"Stop what, Mr. Buchanan?" she asked, damn near purring out my name. And I was forced to watch as that tongue of hers darted out, toyed around the curved top of the pen cap.

"You know what," I said, my voice a rumble as I forced my hands into fists on my thighs, trying to resist the urge to slip my fingers up her skirt, to slide them inside her pussy.

"I don't. You should tell me," she suggested as she started to glide the pen in and out of her mouth, filling my head with thoughts of those lips circling around my cock, working it up and down like she was doing to the damned pen. "Are you sure you're not tense?" she asked, a wicked smirk toying at her lips. "You seem a little... hard," she said as her foot accidentally slipped off the arm of my chair, her foot teasing over the head of my cock, making me see white for a second. "I mean... tense," she corrected even as she planted her foot on my upper thigh.

"I told you it can't happen again," I said even as she teased her toes over, circling around my straining cock.

"This?" she asked, curling her toes around the base of my cock and doing a small stroke. "I'm pretty sure we've never done this before," she told me, bringing in her other foot to wrap around the other side of my cock, then starting to jerk me off through my pants.

"Technicality," I hissed, leaning back in my chair, trying not to enjoy the sensations as much as I was right then, but finding it impossible to think past the growing sensations.

"Maybe," she agreed, feet moving away to plant on the floor beside my chair. "I think this might be a technicality too," she mused as she slid off the desk and onto her knees at my feet, her hands planted at my thighs and moving upward. "Right?" she asked as her fingers went for my button and zipper.

"Wynn..." I growled even as her hands reached inside to grab my throbbing cock, pulling it out of my pants, and grabbing it with both hands.

"Hmm?" she asked as her head ducked, as she ran her lips down and up my shaft on one side before doing the same to the other side, avoiding the head. Only when she was done with that did her gaze slip upward, holding mine. "What do you think, Mr. Buchanan, should I stop because of a technicality?" she asked as her tongue moved outward fully, openly inviting me into her mouth.

"No," I hissed, grabbed the back of her neck, and shoving her face down, feeling my cock slide into her welcoming mouth, pressing hard against the back of her throat as she let out a little gagging sound that only managed to make me harder still.

My hand eased on the back of the neck, wanting her to take over, so I could get lost in the sensations as she started to move, slow and torturous at first, then going faster and faster as my breathing started to hitch, as she dragged ragged groans out of me.

"Shit," I hissed, jolting upright, mind half-foggy from the need for release. But that was a car door I'd heard. "Wynn, door," I told her, reaching down to pull her back off me by her hair.

She released me.

But only to shoot me a wicked smirk with her eye makeup running down her face as she scooted backward, going under my desk, and grabbing my chair, pulling it forward.

"What? No," I insisted, even as a surprising thrill of desire coursed through me.

That was not the kind of man I was, the kind who got sucked off under his desk.

Or, perhaps, it was more accurate to say that never used to be the kind of man I was. Because, clearly, it was who I was now as I scooted a little closer to the desk, and grabbed the remote to turn the speakers on low just as the front door opened.

And in walked Blake as Wynn's tongue traced down the underside of my cock, then started to tease over the sensitive skin of my balls.

"Hey, do you know where Wynn is?" Blake asked, coming a couple feet into my study.

Oh, I knew where Wynn was, alright.

In fact, the second she knew we weren't truly alone anymore, her lips gently closed around one of my balls, sucking gently, damn near making me come right then and there.

"Why?" I asked, trying to focus on my breathing.

"I wanted to talk to her."

"About what?" I asked.

"The party. Her car is still outside. You haven't seen her?"

"It's a big house." With lots of surfaces to climb under. "What about the party did you need to discuss?" I asked, needing to curl my hand into a fist, nails biting into my palm, as Wynn's tongue moved back upward, and was circling around the head of my cock, lapping up the precum that had beaded up there.

"My list."

"This is a work event. You're not inviting your friends."

"Guests," Blake corrected.

"You get a date, Blake. A date, that's it. And if she could wear something that covers at least a third of her body this time, that would be appreciated."

"Fucking prude," Blake muttered as he walked off through the back of the house.

Prude.

While I had my house manager sucking me off under the desk.

Wynn's lips closed around me again, a low moan escaping her as she did so, the vibration moving through me, making my hips jerk upward, going deeper into her waiting mouth.

I could hear Blake banging around in the kitchen cabinets, but I was too far gone to care about him still being in the house.

Scooting the chair backward so I could see, I grabbed a handful of her hair, moving it out of the way. Then I watched as she mouth-fucked me like there was nothing else in the world she would rather do.

Fast, deep, messy, making me curl forward as the need for release grew. Her hand moved out, massaging my balls as she took me deeper, the head tapping the back of her throat with each downward motion.

My breathing got fast and ragged.

My entire body tensed.

"Fuck," I hissed, my hips rocking into her mouth as I got to that edge. "Just like that," I ground out as she started to twist her head around as she moved up and down my cock. "I'm going to come," I told her as my hand crushed into the back of her neck, making her take me deep, coming down her throat so hard that the world went black for a moment. And afterward, I was panting and boneless, folded forward in my chair, one arm braced on the desk as I tried to pull myself together.

Wynn let my cock slide out of her mouth, then took the time to tuck me back away before sliding backward, rising up, and sitting off the edge of the desk again, making it so I had to lean back to look up at her.

Mascara ribbons stained her cheeks, her lips were swollen, and her skin flushed. But that look in her eyes? Pure fucking triumph.

It was the sexiest thing I'd ever seen in my life.

And it lasted all of five seconds before I could hear Blake calling out as he moved closer, "Did you say something to me?"

"Shit," I hissed as Wynn moved away from the desk, eyes huge, knowing what her face looked like.

Then, I shit you not, this woman slammed her foot against my desk at almost full force, then fell down onto the spare chair.

"Ow ow ow ow ow," she hissed, cradling her foot in her hands just as Blake came into the room, taking in the scene with a furrowed brow.

"You okay, Wynn?" he asked as I started to genuinely wonder if she'd really hurt herself.

"She slammed her foot into my desk," I told my brother as he moved in closer.

"Are you crying?" he asked as Wynn lifted her head. And, sure enough, there was a glisten of tears in her eyes that could explain the black streaks on her face. "Did you break something?" he asked, dropping down, reaching out toward her.

"Don't touch her," I snapped, my voice a whip cracking in the quiet room, making the both of them stiffen and look over at me. To be honest, I was surprised at the ferocity in my tone, in the tug of possessiveness in my chest. "She didn't say you could touch her," I added in a much more even tone. "Do you want a sexual harassment complaint?" I asked.

"Glad to see you care so much about the people who work for you," Blake said, voice tight.

"I'm fine," Wynn insisted, seeming to sense the growing tension between us. "Really. I'm just a big baby about this kind of thing," she added, flexing her toes a couple times. "Your brother told me that you will be bringing a date," she added, accepting the handkerchief I handed across the desk to her to wipe at her cheeks.

"I, ah, yeah."

"What's her name?" she asked.

At that, Blake shot her a boyish smile. "I don't know yet," he admitted.

"Typical," Wynn said, shaking her head as she got to her feet. "Well, be sure to tell her that the event is formal. If she doesn't know what that means, you can give me her number, and I can send her some examples," she told him. It was such a slick way of putting him in his place that I wasn't even sure he caught on.

"Okay. Sure. Sounds good. Where are your shoes?" he asked, making me stiffen.

"Oh. The must have gone flying when I tripped."

"I thought you hit your foot."

"Well, both. I tripped over my own feet, and lost my shoe, then slammed my foot into the desk as I tried to right myself. I don't know where the other shoe got to," she added, starting to look around, which made Blake do the same as I quickly kicked them away from my side of the desk.

"Over there," I said, drawing their attention behind Blake.

"Don't strain yourself to get up and get it," Blake mumbled, retrieving the shoe as Wynn did her best to hold in a smile.

"Thank you, Blake," she said, slipping her feet back into her shoes. "I should get going," she said.

"Yeah, me too," Blake agreed, nodding, making his way to the doorway. "Goodnight, Wynn."

"'Night, Blake," she called before turning back to me as she leaned in the doorway to the foyer.

Taking a deep breath, I got to my feet, moving across the study, and slowing as I passed her.

"We're done. That's it. Never again."

"Mmhmm," she said, a soft smile playing at her lips.

"I mean it," I added more firmly.

"Of course you do," she agreed, talking to my back as I walked into the foyer, then toward the stairs because, quite frankly, I didn't trust myself not to turn right around, grab her, and give us what we both knew we wanted.

"Wynn..."

"Goodnight, Mr. Buchanan," she called in a sing-song voice, one that said she knew damn well she had the upper hand, and wasn't above using it again when the mood suited. "Have pleasant... dreams," she added as she made her way toward the front door. "I will see you for the party," she finished, shooting me a smile when I turned to watch her back out of the door.

I'm not proud to admit that I watched through the window from my position on the steps as she made her way down the front path and slid into her car. I watched, too, as she bounced around in the front seat of her beat-up car, trying to keep herself from freezing as the heat warmed up.

I should get her a car.

What?

What the fuck was that?

I didn't buy random women cars just because their cars were old and unreliable.

But I could buy her a car if her old and unreliable car meant she might not be able to perform her job.

Jesus Christ.

What the hell was wrong with me?

Back in her car, the heat must have gotten warm enough for Wynn to crank up the air, judging by the way her hair was dancing around her shoulders as she strapped in, then pulled out of the driveway.

Fuck.

I needed to get it together.

At least the next time I saw her, it would be in a house full of guests that would prevent anything from happening between us.

Or so, you know, I thought...