I Like Being Watched by Jessica Gadziala

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Twelve

Wynn

 

 

 

"I think this one would be amazing," Perry declared, pulling one of the dresses off the back of the door where I had them hung.

I'd splurged.

I mean, I probably wasn't going to keep all of them. But when I went into the store, I couldn't pick between the five dresses I'd tried on. But Perry hadn't been available to consult. So, naturally, I bought them and waited for her to get a few spare moments to come over and look them over.

"You don't think it's a little... risqué?" I asked, looking at the simple black dress with a fairly modest hemline, but the kind of bodice that could show a lot more than intended.

"When have you ever shied away from something just because it was risqué?" she asked. "Remember that figure drawing class you took. All those penises," she said, giving me a bemused smile.

"It was difficult to get them right on the page since, you know... guys," I said, laughing a bit at the memory of all those dicks getting hard and soft again. Over and over and over. They must have all had blue balls by the time they left the room.

I would never tell Perry this, but that class had given me the experience to be able to do my own private little drawing of a certain cock that belonged to a rich, stupidly handsome, scorchingly sexy boss of mine.

I don't even know what came over me that made me do it. But I'd come home from his house, locked myself in my studio, and started tearing through paper like crazy.

There was a close-up of his perfect cock—thick, long, with shaved balls and a shapely head, then one of him leaned forward in his chair after he'd come down my throat, and one of a woman sucking a man off behind his desk while a shadowy figure stood in the doorway. There was another still of his strong hand fisted in my hair. I liked that one the most. The combination of the silky feminine hair in a strong, masculine grip.

After I finally left my studio, I'd burned through a set of batteries at the memory of going down on him, of the power I'd felt taking him in my mouth, hearing the way my mouth tore away all his defenses, leaving him spent and weak afterward.

As if that in and of itself wasn't hot enough, there was the fact that he'd let me continue to suck him, hidden out of sight, while he attempted to carry on a normal conversation.

We could have been caught.

And that was a fact that sent me shooting through four orgasms until I was too exhausted to continue, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

"Ohhh, wait. What is this?" Perry asked, putting down the one black dress to pick up another.

"Oh, that was kind of just... an impulse buy," I admitted. It had a modest bodice and hem, but a slit that went up pretty high on the thigh.

"This is really neat," she said, running her hand up the black material, which made a golden underside appear.

Admittedly, I'd bought it because I knew that if Fitz put his hand on me anywhere, that it would actually leave a mark on me, and finding myself obsessed with the idea.

"You don't think it is tacky?" I asked. "You know, for a formal affair with a bunch of uber-rich people in attendance?"

"I don't think it is tacky at all. It is perfect."

I'd been secretly hoping that she would pick that one as well. But I needed the objective second set of eyes to make me feel comfortable with the choice.

"Alright. What about shoes?" I asked, waving toward the boxes.

"Well, there will be painful blisters no matter what. My advice is to pick the pair you like so much that you will think the blisters are worth it."

"I like the way you think," I declared.

"So, you're really liking the job, huh?" Perry asked, coming to sit on the bed next to me.

I was definitely starting to really like my boss, that was for sure.

But I couldn't admit that.

"I am. It's been good work," I admitted. "It keeps me engaged, but not super stressed. Well, the party has been a little stressful. But only because of the lack of notice."

"Have you had time to work on your art, though? You are always working lately."

To a fellow creative like Perry, making sure there was always time for your craft was paramount to a happy life. It was why she never managed to hold onto a job, why she quit the moment they didn't give her as much freedom as she needed to go to auditions or do plays.

"I have been working so much lately, actually," I admitted. "I come home, and I end up working for hours. I'm not ready to share it yet," I added, stomach tightening at the idea of Perry seeing my raunchier work.

"You know I would never ask," Perry said, pressing a hand to her heart. "That is very personal. When or if you are ready, I will be eager to see the new work, though."

"I love that about you," I told her. "So, how has work been for you?"

"I have an audition for, believe it or not, a soap."

"You don't sound excited."

"Soaps aren't as big as they used to be. Well, some of them have had pretty decent increases lately, though."

"Well, no one says you need to stay on it until the end of time. Think of how many of today's biggest stars got their start on a soap opera. I mean, if you think about it, what better way to get experience? It is a daily show. And within a year on cast, you would likely have to have three separate star-crossed relationships, several enemies, some sort of health or natural disaster emergency, a faked death, and a dramatic return."

"You seem to know a lot about soaps," Perry said, small eyeing me.

"Okay. It's a guilty pleasure of mine, but I started watching one when I was home sick with the flu as a teen, and I still tune in here and there. There's really nothing else on TV as immersive as a world that has been going for like seventy years, and is on the air five days a week most weeks of the year."

"I can't believe I didn't know this about you."

"I wasn't sure how you would feel about soaps."

"Oh my God, Wynn, you know I would never judge you for what you are into," she said. "Well, except for avocados. Because I am judging you harshly for liking those. You know what I heard about them recently?"

"I don't think I want to."

"That they taste like clean dick."

"Well," I said, mouth falling open. "That... that's... goddamnit, Perry. Now I can't eat them anymore."

"I mean, hey, maybe you like the taste of clean dick," she said, beaming. "But just know that I will be thinking that whenever I see you having some on toast."

"Are you sure you have to go?" I griped, realizing how much I'd missed her lately. We'd both been so busy with work, and then working on our passion projects. We texted and did video calls, but it wasn't the same. "We could order lots of Italian and eat until we are bitching about feeling sick, then eat some more."

"That sounds amazing. But I have my audition. And you need to fit in that amazing dress. But next weekend? We are doing it," she declared as she climbed back off the bed. "Tell me how the party goes, okay?"

"Absolutely. And I want to be your first call after your audition, no matter how it goes."

"You are always my first call," she told me with a big smile as she made her way out of my room.

Alone, I picked out my shoes, and hung the dress on the back of my bedroom door where I could look at and fret about it until it was time to put it on.

And put it on I did.

But not at home.

I'd gone to Fitz's house early to meet all the staff for the party, doing so in ballet flats and a simple pair of slacks and a button-up.

"You're not dressed," Fitz declared as he came down the staircase about an hour or so before the event, still slipping on his cufflinks.

"I've been running around. I have my dress. I just need a minute to get changed."

"I can handle whatever is left," he told me, waving around at the house that looked even cleaner than usual. There was the hustle and bustle of the band, caterers, and servers, but everything was calm and collected chaos.

"You're sure?" I asked, anxious about one of the balls I'd been juggling falling, and potentially ruining the whole event.

"Absolutely. Go up and unwind for a few minutes, then get dressed," Fitz invited.

Whether he knew it or not, a thrill moved through me at his words. Because I knew exactly what kind of unwinding I wanted to do.

"Wynn..." he groaned, letting out a deep sigh.

"Yes?" I asked, tone innocent.

"Don't," he demanded, sounding tense.

"Don't what?" I asked, head tipping to the side.

"You know what," he said, brow raising.

To that, I let a wicked smile tug at my lips. "Don't watch if you don't like it," I suggested, moving past him, making sure to brush him just enough that it could seem like an accident.

So I grabbed my dress, shoes, and small makeup bag, and made my way upstairs.

There were many rooms for me to get ready in. But I walked my ass right into Fitz's room, laying my dress out on the bed, then brought my makeup with me into the bathroom.

Where I did what I'd dreamed about more than a few times in the past. I drew a bath in that amazing tub of his.

Wrapping my hair up to keep it dry, I turned toward the camera, making sure it was positioned toward the tub, then started to strip out of my clothes.

With anticipation sparking off every nerve ending, I slipped under the hot water, feeling it ease the tension in all my muscles. My head tilted toward the camera as my hands started to move over my body, teasing over my breasts, sliding down my belly, then slipping between my thighs.

I knew that Fitz was in the house somewhere watching. In his study, trying to watch in private while people bounced around to get the party ready. Or maybe closed up in a bathroom or spare bedroom, watching on his phone as I brought myself up and through an orgasm, wasting no time since we didn't have it, but needing the release.

Did he get a release too?

Had he jerked off while watching me?

Or had he needed to fight through the desire, deal with a painful erection after I was done?

Either scenario filled me with pleasure as I got out of the bath, as I carefully applied my makeup, styled my hair, and then slipped into the dress.

Perry had been right.

It was the perfect choice.

It hugged my curves, but in a subtle way that didn't make it seem like I intended to be sexy.

I stood there for a moment, toying with the material, watching the way the gold appeared and disappeared when I ran my hand over it.

Then, finally, as I heard the first set of doors opening and closing in the driveway, I spritzed on a little perfume, slipped into my shoes, and made my way toward the stairs.

That was where I found Fitz, greeting his first guests with handshakes and hand claps on shoulders, offering them smiles that didn't come frequently to him.

He was just turning to invite the men into the living room where the band and drinks were set up when his gaze lifted, and he saw me.

I swear, the look on his face right then damn near knocked my breath out of me. There was a fluttering in my chest at the way his hungry gaze slid over me, settling on my face with something that resembled awe in his eyes.

"And who is this?" one of the men there asked. The two of them were non distinct in the looks department. Just two men in their forties with very average builds and bone structure that suggested they were related.

I knew his kind immediately. The kind of rich guy who thought his power and position in life somehow made his leering glances and roving hands less creepy. He was a walking sexual harassment case in the making.

It was something other men tended not to notice, or not acknowledge, but as I made my way down the stairs, knowing I couldn't be rude, Fitz stiffened as he eyed his clients or business partners or whoever they were.

"Robert, Mack, this is my house manager, Wynn. Wynn, Robert and Mack Cloyton."

"House manager," Robert said, offering me his hand, and I had no choice but to shake it. "That is an interesting job title. What does such a job entail?"

I could hear the innuendo in his tone. And despite it being true that I'd been messing around with Fitz, I didn't like the suggestion. Like the only use I served in the household was spread thighs and an open mouth.

"Wynn oversees the rest of the staff, does the household shopping, plans events, and generally makes it possible for me to focus on work," Fitz informed the men before I got a chance to figure out how to explain.

"Interesting," Robert said. "Sounds like something I could use. Do you have any spare time for more work, Wynn?" he asked, and I swore I needed a shower to wipe off the slime his words left all over me.

"I'm afraid I keep her busy," Fitz said. "And she works on her art in her free time."

I didn't intend to have my head whip over to watch his profile, but I couldn't help it. I was a little surprised he even remembered that about me, let alone acknowledged that I spent a chunk of my time working on it. I'd been less than thrilled to find out that most people figured that being an artist meant I scribbled in notebook margins, or could whip out a human-sized canvas in a couple of hours. It was rare to find someone who actually took not only art but the artist and the process seriously.

"Shame. That is a shame," Robert said, shaking his head as his eyes dipped to my chest.

"There is a full bar in the living room, gentlemen," I announced, offering up a tight smile as I waved an arm toward the room. It was a civil dismissal, one they couldn't turn down, so they shuffled off to go get drinks that would likely make Robert even more slimy as the night went on. I made a mental note to avoid him.

"They were... charming," I drawled when they were gone and Fitz and I were alone.

"They're the CFO and CMO of the company I am attempting to buy."

"Attempting?" I asked, waving a hand around his home. "It looks to me like you could afford it."

"It's more that it is an old family business. And the CEO is having a hard time handing it over."

"So you're schmoozing him."

"Something like that," Fitz agreed. "You might want to avoid Robert after he ties on a few," he told me, shaking his head.

"I have already made that mental note. I have no interest in getting groped," I told him, purposely, and very slowly, running a hand across the highest part of my stomach, just under my breasts, turning the black fabric gold.

"Fuck," Fitz hissed under his breath, almost too low to hear. "That's an interesting dress," he said more loudly.

"Isn't it?" I asked. "Try it," I suggested.

"No," he said, and I watched as his hands actually balled into fists like he was struggling to keep himself from doing it.

"What's the matter?" I asked. "Don't trust yourself?"

"Wynn..."

"Just imagine," I started, shooting him a sultry smirk, "me walking around all night with your hand mark on my dress."

"For fuck's sake, Wynn," Fitz said, exhaling hard.

"Were you watching me in your tub?" I asked, knowing from the fire in his eyes that he had. "I figured you would have been dying to touch me—my dress," I said.

"I'm not touching you again, Wynn." I'm sure he intended that to sound more firm than it came out.

"Oh, but you want to, don't you?" I asked, turning to face him. "It's killing you not too."

"You need to stop," he said, voice more of a groan than a demand.

"Oh, saved by the bell," I said when the doorbell chimed. "I will see you around, Mr. Buchanan," I added, flipping the gold back to black, loving the way his gaze was glued to the movement until I turned and walked away.

Within half an hour, the party was in full swing.

There were about twenty guests, all in all, plus the staff that moved around with the calm, but purposeful efficiency that came with experience with these sorts of events.

Meanwhile, I felt completely out of place.

I was an outsider who was forced to be on the inside. Which made me hug the walls, and make pleasant but superficial conversations with anyone who would speak to me, so I didn't feel quite so awkward.

Then, about an hour and a half into the event, it happened.

The slimy jerk snuck up on me.

With that thing old men who felt entitled to your body did.

He put his hand low on my back, so low that his little finger was actually resting at the curve of my ass.

Damnit.

I'd been keeping such a close eye on him, ducking out and heading to the kitchen when he seemed to be trying to move closer to me.

"I've been trying to catch you all night," he said, whiskey breath near my ear.

"I must be very slippery," I said, stomach tightening.

"Yes, well, I've got you now," he said, his other hand moving to grab my hip, pulling my body closer to his.

Now, I'd been cornered by a man more than once in my life. I'd had unwanted hands on me. I'd felt that sick, rolling sensation in my stomach. But in those other situations, I'd been able to be loud and rude to get away, or to alert someone else to come and help me.

I didn't have that luxury in this situation.

The reasons were obvious.

This was someone my boss had been courting—in the business sense—for months. I was just the house help. If I was rude to Robert, Fitz would have needed to take a stand with him in the situation if he hoped to save the buyout.

"Mr. Cloyton," I started, trying to take a step back, which only made his fingers sink in deeper.

"I like how my name sounds on those pretty lips," he said, making me feel a little queasy.

"Wynn," Fitz's voice called, sounding tight. "Can I see you in the kitchen for a moment?" he asked. "There's an issue with the caterer," he added, giving me the out I so desperately needed.

Robert had no choice but to release me, but not before telling me he would find me later. It sounded more like a threat than a promise.

I scurried away out of the living room, only to be snagged by Fitz as I almost rushed past him without seeing him. His hand grabbed my wrist, pulling me with him up the back staircase for privacy.

"You okay?" he asked, looking down at my face that must have been flushed because it felt hot.

"Ugh. Yeah. He's a complete asshole," I declared, waving down at my dress, then doing a little circle so he could see the spots where Robert had put his hands on me.

A growling noise moved through Fitz as he reached out again, but this time not to grab me.

Oh, no.

His hand drifted down my side, over my hip, then around my lower back, making all the gold from Robert's hands disappear.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. How were you supposed to know he was a groper unless you saw it in action?" I asked.

"I made you be here," he added, his hand finished erasing, but getting busy making his own marks with the whisper-soft tips of his fingers. "You've been uncomfortable all night."

"You noticed?" I asked, gaze on his face since his was downcast, watching his fingers create patterns in my dress.

"Of course I noticed," he said, his voice a low, smooth sound that washed over my skin, making a shiver move through me. "I just couldn't get away."

"You wanted to?" I asked, needing to hear the words from him.

"Couldn't keep my mind on anything else since you walked down the stairs in this dress," he told me, fingers gliding up my belly to tease across the underside of my breasts.

"You like it?" I asked, dropping my voice a bit lower too. At that, his gaze cut to mine, showing me heavy lids and molten eyes. "Did you get a good look at the whole thing?" I asked, turning ever so slowly until my back was just barely brushing his chest.

"Wynn..."

There was next to no control in his voice right then.

Which was exactly how I wanted him.

"Did you see this?" I added, covering his hand with mine and guiding it down my belly, over my hip, then down my thigh, sliding inward to find the slit, then gliding it up my bare leg.

An actual growling sound escaped Fitz then as his fingers curled in for a moment like he was trying to keep them from moving, his fingernails biting crescents into my flesh.

He lost the battle, though, and his hand flattened and started moving up.

"I didn't see you put panties on," he mumbled in my ear as I leaned back against him.

"That's because I didn't," I told him, turning my head in toward his neck, taking a deep breath of his spicy cologne. "I didn't put a bra on either," I told him, taking his other hand from its placement just above my hip, and putting it over my breast, forcing it to curl in, to squeeze the soft flesh.

A low moan moved through me as I released his hand, raising my arm up and back, grasping the back of his neck, giving him full access to me.

There was the briefest of pauses before he lost his battle with himself, and his hand was sliding upward, slipping under the neckline of my bodice, closing over my bare breast in such a hard, possessive way that a surge of need pooled between my thighs at the contact.

My ass wiggled backward against Fitz, feeling the proof of his desire pressing against me.

A whimper moved out of me as Fitz's fingers went to my nipple, rolling it into a tightened bud before pinching, squeezing, then moving across my chest.

"We have to stop," he murmured as I wiggled my ass against his erection.

"I can't imagine why."

"I have a house full of guests."

"They're being wined and fed. They don't even realize you're gone."

"Someone could see us," he said. And despite his words to the contrary, his hand on my thigh moved higher still, teasing the skin there, but not quite making the contact I so desperately needed.

"Oh, but doesn't that make it all the more exciting?" I asked, arching upward, so when my hips slipped down again, his cock pressed between my thighs.

"Wynn..."

"Just say yes," I demanded, leaning in to press a kiss to his throat. "We both want it," I added, wiggling against him. And the motion made his hand slip.

"Fuck, you're so wet," he groaned as his fingers seemed helpless but to slide up my cleft, to tease around my clit.

"See how much I need you?" I asked as his finger moved down and slipped inside me. "I want you inside me," I added as his fingers started to fuck me.

I knew by the sound of his growl that he was too far gone to fight it anymore.

I turned in his arms, wrapping my arms around his neck, and sealing my lips to his.

If I'd been expecting hesitation, I found none as his lips crushed to mine, deepening the kiss, demanding more, everything.

His teeth nipped my lower lip, dragging a ragged moan from me that allowed his tongue to move inside and claim mine.

His hand roamed over my back, my ass, then slipped back between my thighs, driving me up toward that fever pitch.

"Fitz, fuck me," I demanded as my hands went between us to work his button and zipper free.

On a growl, his hands moved down to snag the material of my dress, starting to slowly pull the skirt upward, bunching in his hands even as my hand grabbed his cock, pulling it out, and stroking him.

"Fuck," he growled as my finger stroked over the head, making a shiver course through him. "Back pocket," he said, voice rough.

My hand slid around his hip, sinking into his ass for a second before fetching his wallet out of his back pocket, then searching blindly for the foil.

"Here," he said as I found it and tucked his wallet away again.

"I've got it," I told him, watching the heat in his eyes for another second as I stroked him before opening the condom, and sliding it on.

As soon as I was done, he turned us, slamming me back against the wall, reached down to grab my thigh, pulled it up, and spread it wide against the wall as he stepped inward.

His cock pressed between my thighs, slipping up and down my slick cleft, then tapping on my clit until I was writhing and begging for more.

"Fitz, please," I begged, wiggling my hips against him.

Before I could even draw in a steadying breath, his cock was surging inside me, making me take every thick inch of him as he buried to the hilt.

A choked moan escaped me as my forehead pressed into his shoulder as I was overcame with the strangest set of sensations. The only way I could describe it was, it felt right.

I couldn't think of a single time that had ever been on my mind.

Sure, sex was usually good, something I wanted. But I'd never felt such a strong and immediate connection as I did right then.

"Wynn," Fitz called, pulling me out of my confusing thoughts and feelings as I leaned back against the wall, angling my head up to look at him. "There you are," he said as his free hand settled at the side of my throat as his cock slid out then surged back in. Slow, measured. And he seemed to take a lot of pleasure in watching my reaction to his surprisingly patient movements. "You're so fucking tight," he growled as he started to thrust faster, losing his tight grip on his control.

My arms went around the back of his neck, pulling him down toward me, muffling my moans with his lips as he fucked me harder and harder still.

"Come," he demanded as he felt my pussy clench hard around him as I teetered on that edge for a long moment before getting pushed over it, crashing down into my orgasm. "Fuck," he hissed, fucking me through it, drawing it out. But when I came back down, he was still hard inside me, still aching for more.

When my gaze found his again, he grabbed me, turned me, and pressed me forward, forcing me to grab the very top of the banister over the floor below.

Someone could pass by and look up at any time.

I was rubbing off on him.

But before I could relish that fact, he was fisting my skirt at my lower back and slamming inside me.

Hard.

Deep.

He dropped my skirt, his hands grabbing my hips instead, using them to slam me back against him as he thrust forward, forcing me to take each thick inch of him.

There was nothing slow or explorative of him right them.

He fucked me hard and fast, the sounds of our bodies slamming together rivaling the band in the living room below.

"That's it, squeeze my cock," he hissed as he pushed me to that edge, then tossed me over before I could even prepare for it. "More," he demanded as I just barely managed to keep a cry inside me as the final waves crashed through my system.

"I... can't," I whimpered, all my nerve endings feeling shot, leaving me frazzled and overstimulated.

"You're going to," he told me, releasing my hips to grab a handful of my hair with one hand, the pain blooming across my scalp with each thrust as he continued to fuck me, harder even than before.

His other hand moved forward, yanking down my bodice in the front, exposing my breasts to the air, to anyone below, to whoever might be driving past out the big foyer window.

Fitz's gaze was pinned on our reflection in that window as he fucked me, making my tits bounce.

His hand grabbed one of my breasts, squeezing for a moment before moving downward to slip between my thighs, engaging my clit, and proving to me that he was right.

I was going to come again.

"I'm going to come," I moaned, wiggling my hips in circles as he fucked me so hard, I was genuinely concerned we might both surge forward over the banister and fall to the foyer floor below.

"Yeah, you are," he agreed as my pussy tightened around him.

"Oh my God," I cried as he got me closer and closer. "Fitz," I moaned.

And just like that, his cock slammed forward as his finger swiped my clit.

And I fucking shattered.

I splintered all around.

My cry was a loud, uninhibited sound that ricocheted off the walls.

Before I could even realize what was happening, Fitz was dragging me backward with him away from the banister, knowing my cries would draw someone's attention.

Back in the relative privacy of the hallway, his hands grabbed my shoulders, holding me in place as he fucked me faster and faster as his body tensed, as he got close.

And when he came?

Yeah, it was my name on his lips.

Again, I was overwhelmed with that feeling of rightness even as I came back down from my orgasm, leaving me shaky and weak, and somehow both hot and cold at the same time.

"Christ," Fitz hissed as he pulled me back against his back, his arms going around me—one above my breasts, just under my clavicles, the other low on my hips.

Tight.

Possessive.

And, God, did I like that.

I shouldn't have.

It didn't make sense.

I liked the thrill of the chase. I got off on having a man want me, but not be able to have me. I didn't get all warm and fuzzy over a man who had me, who seemed to want to hold onto me. That wasn't how I was wired.

Or, perhaps, I'd just never found the right man in the past.

The right man?

No.

I didn't want that. I wasn't looking for that. And Fitzwilliam Buchanan was the last person I could ever have that with.

I could feel myself recoiling from that thought. Which was why I forced my brain to repeat it over and over until it had me stiffening and pulling out of his hold.

"You have guests," I reminded him, wincing a bit at the sharp edge to my words as I moved away completely, straightening my dress and tucking my breasts away again before turning to face him again.

And there he was, head ducked to the side a bit, watching me with a quizzical brow.

"What's the matter?" he asked, refusing to just let me have my confusion in peace.

"Nothing," I said, lifting my chin a bit, trying to give the impression of honesty through the lie. "But there is going to be something the matter if you don't get back down there and kiss-ass with your business partners," I added, making my tone a little higher, lighter, but it sounded painfully fake even to my own ears.

"Wynn..." he said, his arm moving.

I knew that if I let him reach out to me right then, it was not going to be good for me in the long term. I needed to keep my distance right then. I was feeling too raw and vulnerable, too mixed up in my own head and heart. I needed some time and space to get myself together.

"I need to go... freshen up," I said, waving at my hair that had to have been askew from his hands. "I'll see you down there."

With that, I turned and all but ran away from him.

And the growing feelings there was no denying I was starting to feel for him.