Everything makes me want her. She can’t take a breath without me wanting her. She can’t put on a shirt in the morning or wiggle her hips into sleep shorts at night without me wanting to fuck her. I should have more control over my urges at this point in life. Jane Mendoza has demolished that idea. I’m at the mercy of her.

“You didn’t like the bedroom?”

“I love the bedroom.” She watches me get closer. Tips her face up as I cage her against the desk. “I like your office, too.”

“With the door wide open like this?” We’re alone in the house, but she likes the suggestion of an illicit game. “Anyone could see you. Or hear you. There’s nothing to block the sound.”

“You’re the only one I care about.”

*     *     *

Jane Mendoza

Beau’s arms are like a cage. They hold me in place. There’s a touch of fear, but that only drives the desire hotter.

“Do you remember?” he asks. “Do you remember when you came in my office?” There’s dark knowledge in his eyes and I know exactly what he’s talking about.

It feels like my cheeks are on fire. Without breaking eye contact, I shake my head no. “I don’t remember.” It’s a lie and it’s also a challenge. I want him to remind me.

The corner of his mouth lifts. He reaches back to hold my hair, his fist tightens until it tugs my scalp, until tears sting my eyes. He leans close and licks at my lips. Bites at them.

It’s not a sweet kiss, it’s aggressive.

And my body reacts, readying itself for him.

I’m already halfway to orgasm and he’s barely even touched me. He definitely hasn’t touched me between my legs. He won’t, if this is anything like last time.

“Let me remind you,” he says, the words low against my lips.

And then his hand directs me down, down, down until my knees touch the ground.

They’re straddling his shoes, the same brown dress shoes that probably cost some ungodly amount of money, probably imported from Italy.

“Go ahead,” he says, his eyes glittering with sexual menace. “Make yourself feel good.”

I’m too embarrassed. It was one thing to do it in his dark office at Coach House. This one is full of light. No one’s watching, but anyone could see me.

His expression says he knows. He knows, but there isn’t going to be any mercy. He taps two fingers against my cheek in command. “Bear down, sweetheart. You know how to begin. You did it so well before. You did it so sweetly, humping your pretty cunt on my shoe, holding my leg, riding me for all you’re worth. You remember now, don’t you?”

I let out a jagged breath. “Yes,” I say unsteadily.