Waylon is paranoid, and his one fetish is watching us fuck over and over. There is even a mirror on the ceiling so he can have a better view.
Where there are cameras, there is Langston. I know he’s tapped into the security feed. I know he’s watching, which makes this all the more fun.
Langston thinks he can demand I repay my debt to him by giving him my body. I’ll show him exactly what he’s missing, exactly what he’ll never have.
“Kneel,” I say.
Waylon looks up at me excitedly. He may like ordering people around in the boardroom, but here, he likes me bossing him.
I look up at the camera in the entryway corner.
I reach around my back and unzip my dress. Then I let the straps fall off my shoulders, before wiggling my hips as I push the dress to a pile on the floor.
I’m wearing nothing but heels and black lacy lingerie—bra, thong, and garter.
“Lick me. Make me come.”
Waylon’s eyes brighten. He loves making me come, but this isn’t for him. This is for Langston, to show him what he will never taste. What he will never have.
Waylon’s hands slide up the length of my long legs, and I focus on his touch instead of staring into the camera. Langston already knows that I know he’s watching. Now to revel in the feeling of ecstasy as Waylon worships my body in a way that Langston never will.
His fingers hook into the bands of my thong, and he carefully slides it down my body, his brooding eyes locked on his prize as he drops my panties to the floor in a pile on top of my dress.
He licks his lips like he’s about to devour his favorite food. Waylon is a lot of things; he has a lot of traits I like about him. But this might be what I like the most.
“Waylon, lick me,” I command, my voice raspy in anticipation of him eating me out.
He grins at the desperation in my voice and then does as I order. His arms wrap around my hips as his tongue licks the length of my slit, tasting the sweetness of my arousal. He moans, sending vibrations through my body.
My body shudders, and I grab onto his head for support as he licks over me. Tasting, teasing until he’s making me pant at a pace that rivals any exercise routine I’ve ever had.
“You taste so fucking good. I can’t believe I’m the one who gets to taste you. The only one.”
I grin as my hands sink deeper into his hair, gripping him so fucking hard that I should be afraid I’m going to rip his hair out. I’m not, though; Waylon can take it.
I do let my eyes roll up to the camera at Waylon’s words. You hear that, Langston? Waylon’s the only one who gets to taste me like this.
And then, he’s pushing his fingers inside me. He’s not gentle, but not rough enough to spark nightmares of my past. It’s just enough to make my body explode in a rolling orgasm that is just the start of my night.
“Yes!” I scream, not using his name yet. After all, I’m the woman in control here. One orgasm isn’t enough for him to earn hearing me call out his name. Not yet.
Waylon removes his fingers after I’ve come down from my orgasm. Then he licks his fingers, savoring every drop of my cum on his fingers.
“Stand and go to the bedroom. Undress and get ready to fuck my brains out.”
Waylon stands and gives me the softest of kisses on the lips, reminding me, as if I could forget, how incredible his kisses are. Promising me that he’s going to fuck me better than any fantasy I could ever imagine.
Waylon is breathtakingly sexy as he walks to our bedroom while still wearing a tux and my cum on his lips.
This is the life I always imagined but never thought I could get.
When Waylon is gone, I walk to the fridge, still wearing my heels, bra, and garter.
I grab a water bottle from the fridge and take a sip while I wait for Waylon to get undressed and ready for me.
It gives me a moment alone with Langston.
I take my time removing the bobby pins, holding my curls to one side until my hair is down. I run my hands through them to loosen the curls before taking one last sip of water.
“He’s mine. And I’m no one’s. You hear me, Langston? I belong to myself.” I glare at the camera with the full force of warrior about to go into battle. I know that Langston won’t back down easily.
But I just won the first battle. And I’m about to put an arrow through his heart with what I have planned the rest of the night. When I fuck—I fuck all night. I fuck until I can’t move, can’t think—until all I feel is the thousands of tiny nerve endings exploding from waves of pleasure beating through my body.
I fuck to forget.
I fuck to feel alive.
I fuck like it’s what I was made to do.
“You will never have me,” I whisper into the dark before I strut down the hallway to the bedroom where Waylon waits for me.
He’s done what I asked. He’s undressed. Condom is already on his hard dick. And he’s lying face-up on the bed, the handcuffs ready for me to use on him.
He’s ready to be dominated.
He’s ready to give me what I need, and take what he needs.
I’m not sure if this is love or something like it—but I never feel happier than I do in moments like this where I can take complete control. I love that I don’t have to fight him, that he just follows my orders.
I walk over to the bed silently. His eyes follow me. I’m sure Langston’s eyes follow too.
I never thought I was one to enjoy having another watch me fuck, but the heat spreading through my body is like nothing I’ve ever felt before. So maybe I like being watched. It’s something I’ll have to explore after I deal with my Langston problem.
I grab Waylon’s wrist and pull it up until I can lock the first handcuff around it, tying him to the poster bed. And then I kiss the palm of his hand as he lets me tie him up.
“Good boy,” I say.
His eyes roll back at my soothing words. I may dominate, but it’s not about pain. It’s not about hurting Waylon. I just want the control—no, I need it. I can’t fuck without it. I can’t be in a relationship without complete control.
I have trust issues.
But it’s also my greatest strength. I don’t need a man to make me feel wanted or powerful. All I need is me.
I repeat the same binding to his other wrist and both of his ankles. He’s tied up and ready for me to fuck him. He can’t hurt me. He can’t touch me. And unlike me, Waylon trusts me completely.
I climb up onto the bed as I kiss up his body. His thick, muscled thighs from all the weight lifting he does. His hard condom covered cock. He’s hard and ready for me, but I lick up and down his shaft to feel as turned on as possible, as wet as I can get before I fuck him.
I vowed to myself a long time ago that I wouldn’t let sex ever be painful—not ever again. He knows I won’t fuck him until I’m completely drenched and have already come at least twice.
I continue my teasing up his rippled abs, his strong chest, and chiseled jaw.
“Make me come,” I say as I straddle his face, my pussy hovering over him.
“My pleasure, my love.”
He lifts his head to feast between my legs while I grab the headboard for support with one hand while my other plays with my breasts, freeing them from the lace bra and then rolling my thumb over one of my nipples. I shift my hips back and forth over his face to increase the friction as I get riled up again.