Cathleen Ross - Sex at Work - Come Back to Me / This Is What I Want / Psychic Sex

“How does it feel to have those beads scraping, rubbing against those plump, juicy pussy lips?” He didn’t even have the decency to wait for me to respond. “Spread your legs, rock back and forth, and ride those beads, baby. Pretend it’s my fingers, my tongue licking, stroking you, and tell me how good it feels.”

Oh God, it felt so good.

My body was humming; what he was doing to me—forcing me to do to myself—was the most incredibly erotic experience I’d ever had.

Yet I was ashamed of myself, even as I slid my creaming pussy over and against the beads attached to the panties, not caring that anyone could walk in the studio and catch me in the act of pleasuring myself.

“This is so wrong,” I sobbed, the words escaping of their own volition.

“No, it’s okay, it’s okay, baby. You’re doing fine, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s just you and me, and this is good,” he murmured.

It made no sense to me, but his words soothed me. He soothed me.

The shame of what I was doing washed away.

“Put me on speaker and hang up the phone. You’re going to need your hands, now.” His voice had grown increasingly rough, and I wondered if he would come with me this time. With shaky hands, I did as he instructed and pressed the speaker button and cradled the receiver.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes,” I answered, reluctantly.

“Good. You’re doing real good, baby. Unbutton your blouse and undo your bra for me, can you do that?”

“Yes,” I croaked, my trembling hands smoothing over my straining breasts. My fingers trailed along the silk-covered buttons and slipped them open. I then unsnapped the front closure of my lacy demi-bra and my breasts tumbled free.

“We can’t leave those pretty little tits of yours unattended, can we?”

“No,” I groaned.

I already knew the drill. He would draw this out, wring out every bit of emotion, every hot sinful sensation that he could from me, not relenting, until I came all over myself. And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

“Cup them.”

“What?” I asked, my mind spinning, body taut, ready.

“Cup those pretty tits while you ride the beads.”

I gingerly cupped my breast as I continued to undulate my body, grinding against the beads now deeply centered between my slit.

“No, that’s not good enough.”

“Wha—what do you mean?” I groaned. The sensation of the beads rocking against my clit was unbearable in its pleasure as I lightly toyed with my breasts.

“Harder. Pinch them, roll those long nipples and pinch them. It’ll feel good, baby. Trust me.” His lava-hot voice issued the demand.

I pinched my nipples, and the slight pain caused a direct zing to my clit that forced me to buck harder, my body now writhing mindlessly. The room was filled with my low moans and the creaking sound of my chair as I bounced my butt and clit against the hard beads and desperately reached for the pinnacle just out of reach.

“God, I can smell you,” he groaned and the hot words sent me that much closer to the edge. “Keep playing with those pretty nipples, pull them, tug on them.”

“Oh God, I need to come, I need to come so badly,” I cried harshly, no longer caring if anyone came by the booth and witnessed what I was doing to myself, what I was allowing someone else to do to me.

“Shh, baby, it’s okay. I’m going to take care of you.” Again his voice calmed my spirit, soothed me. “Slip one of your fingers inside the edge of your panties, and rub your clit. Play with it, roll your fingers around it.”

Immediately I did as he said. I tugged on the blood-filled turgid tip of my clit, pinching it, and rolled it between my fingers until a sob tore from me. Dear God, it wasn’t enough. I needed something, something to quell this fire raging inside of me.

“You belong to me, your body is mine to pleasure. Say it.” His harsh demand pierced my brain, despite the fire raging inside. I refused to give him that and it hurt so badly not to, to force myself not to give over completely.

“No.” I denied him, refusing to give him that last bit of control over me even as I played with my clitoris and tugged on my nipples, all because he told me to, all because it felt so sinfully good.

“Say it! If you want relief, say it!”

“No!” I cried out, the truth of his words raining down on my head like a warm shower.

But my body belonged to him. I knew it and so did he.

It belonged to him this night. It belonged to him this week…and heaven help me, it had belonged to him for most of my life. I belonged to him.

I felt tears slip down my face, as I continued to thrust my hips and grind against my fingers.

Unable to hold back any longer, I felt the orgasm slam into me. My body bowed down, overwhelmed as sensation upon sensation flooded me. My head ached and I was no longer in control as I screamed my release.

When the trembles left my body and a semblance of normalcy returned, I glanced up, and weakly leaned back against the cool leather seat.

Naked and exposed, my skirt hiked up, blouse draped open, and fingers buried deep inside my vagina, I met the familiar blue-eyed gaze of the one man I thought I’d never see again.

My husband.

“Come back to me.”

Mack closed the door and locked it behind him, the sound of the bolt turning unnaturally loud to my overly piqued senses as I waited, my heart caught in my throat, for him to reach me. I closed my legs and tugged my blouse shut, suddenly embarrassed to be found half-naked, even though he was the cause.

My hungry gaze roamed his body. I hadn’t seen him in over ten years, yet it was though not one day had passed.

He was dressed elegantly, his loosely fitted trousers and casual shirt draping his long, hard frame to perfection, his large feet encased in dark, Italian-styled loafers. So well turned out, so different than what I last remembered.

But it was him.

No finely tailored clothes or handmade shoes could disguise his raw masculinity.

I nestled my flushed and heated back further against the cool leather seat and desperately kept my face blank to keep the wild emotions crashing over me from showing in my expression, trying to keep it all together.

I wanted to either run to his arms or go screaming and crying in the other direction as far away from him as possible, to put as much distance between us as I possibly could.

My gaze returned to his face and I recognized the determined expression in his hauntingly familiar gaze. Dark slashing eyebrows were set above bright blue, deep-set eyes that were surrounded by lashes so thick they seemed unreal.

His aquiline nose was saved from model perfection with the addition of a small bump in the middle, one he’d gotten in high school playing football. Chiseled cheeks, a well-defined, determined squared chin, and a hard yet sensual wide mouth completed the picture of utter masculine beauty.

As I had been hungrily checking him out, he had been doing the same. “God, you’re beautiful, Sheena,” he groaned.

I knew what he saw; not much had changed with the exception of my hairstyle in ten years. Outwardly at least. I was still average height, with the same dark brown eyes, slightly rounded nose and full cheeks. And a body that still had a tendency toward curves.

I wanted to do what most women did and instantly refute his compliment, but the look in his heated eyes told me he meant every word of what he said.

I ran a self-conscious hand over my short, curly hair and laughed nervously.

“My hair is different, I imagine, than what you expected,” I answered. The last time we’d seen one another, I’d worn my hair long and relaxed, having chemically straightened my natural curls.