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 Teasing Me

Season 4

Episode 27

I stare at the sketch I drew for Farrow in the garden, the roses growing along the trellis. He had it framed?

He wanted to save it?

The maid snatches it out of my hands, a panicked look on her face, and darts away before I can press her for more information. I watch her leave, frowning.

He kept that, and he didn’t want me to know? From the looks of it, that woman was pretty concerned about me seeing the picture…

I scowl. This has gone on long enough. Him toying with me, playing these games.

I storm upstairs.

He’s not in his study or any of the unlocked spare rooms. But I saw him at breakfast so I know he’s here somewhere. I keep trying doorknobs until I find one that leads to the corner office, a dingy little spot with barely any light, and one ancient-looking desktop set up, which I assumed no one ever used. But I find Farrow perched in front of it now, shirtless, tapping away at the keys.

For a second, I pause in the doorway, distracted by the sight of his bare chest. Even lounging at the computer desk, his abs look rock-solid, and distracting as hell…

“Did you need something?” he calls over his shoulder without turning around. Then he taps at the keyboard a few more times and reaches up to angle something toward me. A webcam, I realize, which he turns on to capture a quick still image of me. “Or did you come to see the studio where you’ll record your video in a week?”

I’m still lingering in the doorway, torn and distracted. He turns around finally and catches me staring at his chest. A smirk spreads across his mouth and he crooks a finger.

I cross the room to his side. “I’m not recording that video,” I tell him. But this close, I can feel the heat radiating off his skin, and his smirk only widens as he leans in and catches me around the waist, pulling me onto his lap.

“We’ll talk about that in 7 days,” he murmurs into my collarbone, before he starts to feather kisses along my skin. “In the meantime, if you want more of me so badly, you needn’t get angry about it.” He bites down, hard, right where my neck meets my shoulder, and I gasp, my head falling back. “I’ll happily give you what you need,” he adds, before he kisses the aching bite, his tongue tracing circles onto my skin.

He pulls my legs up around his waist, and I perch atop him on the chair as his mouth lifts to catch mine in a deep, slow kiss. He reaches down to tug my skirt out from under me, rolling it up to my waist, and I reach between us to open his jeans. His bare chest pressed against my body, hot under my hands, makes me too hungry to wait. I undo the button on his jeans, tug open the zipper, surprising myself at how easily I can do this now. Remembering how hard it was the first time he told me to strip for him. Now it feels like second nature.

We manage to push his jeans down, his boxers after, and he catches my mouth in a hungry kiss at the same time, biting my lower lip. I groan into his mouth, and he smiles, leaning back just a little, fire in his eyes. “Someone’s anxious this morning.”

“Shut up and fuck me,” I breathe before I kiss him again, harder.

He tightens a fist in my hair, pulls me back, and for a second I freeze, worried I’ve pushed too far. But the grin on his face is all hunger, no annoyance. “Normally I prefer to be the one in command,” he says, lifting an eyebrow at me. Then he arches his hips to grind his already hardening cock against me in a slow, torturous thrust. “But I’ll make an exception this once,” he adds, still grinning. “Since you’re so very desperate for a release.”

Without another word, he rips off the panties I’m wearing, and grabs my ass in both hands. This time, he puts the condom on himself, probably too eager to wait for me to fumble with it. He pulls me down onto his cock, my pussy already wet with desire, and he thrusts inside me in one long, hard motion. I cry out faintly, savoring the feel of him stretching me, filling me. Part of my brain knows I should be worried about the way I feel—so complete, when he’s inside me. But mostly I don’t care. I just want more of him, now.

“Fuck, you’re still so tight, Pamona,” he murmurs. He holds my hips in place with both hands, raising his hips off the chair to fuck me, my back arching, head falling back with pleasure. He knows how to angle his cock to drag along my front wall, to hit my G-spot every time, and before long I’m rocking my hips against him, getting close to a release.


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