26. Lia

26

LIA

"Look, I—" I began, and then hesitated. There were dark circles under her eyes and she hadn't put any make-up on in days—weeks?

It didn't matter.

She was still so beautiful it crushed my soul.

I couldn't imagine a world where she reciprocated my feelings, wherein I didn't say what I was thinking without being an asshole.

I know my brother's dying and all, but do you think you could manage to keep me on deck?

—Caleb, from One of a Thousand Wishes by A. R. McGeorge

I had no idea what I'd gotten myself into, but I didn't have a choice now, did I?

I mean, well, technically, I did, but...I didn't want to have one.

I knew on some level Rhaim and I were still playing a game. I'd been ground down psychologically before— still was, depending on the day —but whatever he was doing so far was not that.

No, it was something that I had agreed to. And it made sense that he called me little moth, after seeing my tattoo—because if I was a moth, then he was my flame, and I was just going to keep flying nearer and nearer until he burned me alive.

I stepped into his office and closed the door behind me, then walked over to him to stand nervously nearby as he gave his lap another meaningful pat and said, "Hitch up your skirt a little."

I fisted it up some, raising it to mid-thigh, and then carefully sat down atop him, the reverse of how I'd been that night at Vertigo, sitting up and tense, as he wrapped one strong arm around my back, and we were so frighteningly close.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked, his gaze intent on mine. I gave the tiniest of nods. "Good," he said, and then touched my cheek with his free hand, making me look at him and leaving it there. "Are you going to behave?"

"I'll try," I said quietly, and he chuckled.

"You'd better do more than try, little girl, or we'll both be stuck here all night," he said, and I anxiously licked my lips.

"What was it you wanted me to do?" I couldn't give him a blowjob from this angle, or even grind against him all that much, and I had no idea what to do with my hands.

"Touch yourself. Till you come."

"No," I gasped, in thoughtless horror.

A cruel smile played across his lips. "Yes," he refuted me.

"Rhaim—"

"We talked about this, Lia," he said, his gaze on mine going slightly cruel. "You can get up and walk away if you want to. Or you can use your safeword. Or you can be the good little girl I know you are and fucking do what you're told."

"But—that's—" I went on, unable to stop myself.

"You'd better think carefully about anything you might say next, Lia," he cut in, as his tone became terse. "Or I might think you're questioning my authority." His dark eyes washed over my face, like they were memorizing everything about me. "Tell me why you're fighting."

All sorts of words I could give him rushed to the surface. How this was possibly wrong, maybe disgusting, definitely embarrassing, but what they all really boiled down to was this: "I'm scared."

"Mmm. Do you have any reasons to be scared around me, little girl?" he asked, his hand still on my cheek so I couldn't look away.

Yes.

So many.

Because what if we did all this and then something went wrong and he left? What if I let myself fall into this moment and he wasn't there to catch me?

What if this was just a game to him—but it became my everything?

But I knew I couldn't unpack all the ways I was crazy right now, like this, in front of him. Even I had enough sense of self-preservation to know it was too soon. So I gave him the answer I knew he wanted.

"Not if I behave," I whispered.

He nodded—and then I had no choice.

I wriggled my skirt up higher, and he made a pleased sound. I screwed my eyes tightly shut, as my fingers found the edge of my skirt's hem and dipped beneath it, starting to trace the outside of my pussy.

It wouldn't be any different from all the other times I'd gotten myself off, dreaming of him.

I knew how to make myself come.

The only difference was that he was finally here.

With me.

"Tell me what you're doing, little girl."

I pouted but did not open my eyes up. "What I was told to do, sir," I said spitefully, and absolutely without detail. I both heard and felt him laugh.

"I'll let you get away with that technicality, for now."

I felt a blush rise to my cheeks, unbidden, and sighed. It wasn't worth trying to escape him, he still had his arm wrapped around me—in fact now he was pulling my skirt even higher, with the fingers of that hand—while the other kept my face tilted in his direction.

"Both hands," he commanded, and I sank my other one down.

It was like there was a ten-car pileup happening inside of me. I knew what normal looked like—while I wasn't normal, I had the 20/20 perception of someone on the outside of it, who studied it like it owed me money, so I was sure this wasn't it. And I knew if I did this with him like he wanted, that it would prey on me to a degree he had no idea about. I hadn't gone to all those therapists for nothing. I knew how to protect myself, and this was the opposite of that. If I came in his lap for him, it would open so many doors inside of me, ones I knew I might never get closed again, and I didn't want to become a wild sobbing mess. I was certain Rhaim wanted his little girl to have some sense of decorum—the current situation between us completely aside.

But I was also irrepressibly horny because I had fucking trained myself to be for more nights than I cared to remember, and if he was here, with me—even if he wasn't inside of me—all of my body said it was good enough.

I pushed my middle fingers from one hand into myself, where I was already sluiced with juices, evidence of my body's betrayal—and ran the other over my clit in soft circles, as I felt things start to build.

And even though I could smell him, the scent of manliness that followed him everywhere, like well-oiled leather and whiskey, and even though I could feel his arm around me and the heat radiating out from our contact, I might've been able to pretend he wasn't there and that this was just another normal night for me—except for the fact that I could feel the blood pumping into his erection as it stiffened beside my hip, and fuck, that turned me on.

Maybe someday he'd finally fucking use it on me. God, I could not wait. I knew it was huge, it might tear me in two, and the sick part of me that was grinding against my hand on his lap was entirely okay with that happening—as long as this time it was him doing it.

My breathing sped up, and I gave a soft moan, arching forward, making him cinch his arm around me tighter like he wanted to come too—and while at home I could risk using his name, I knew I couldn't here.

"Sir," I whispered quietly. And then a blizzard of fears assaulted me—that he would stop me to be cruel, or that he disliked what he was seeing, or that this was the only time this would ever happen—until I heard him speak.

"Come for me, little girl," he said, in a low, low voice, just like I'd always imagined, and so I did, hard, crying out, rocking against my hand in his lap, while he made appreciative noises, and everything in me hoped he'd just let me turn towards him afterward, unzip his slacks, and sheath himself inside.

I kept my eyes closed till I'd caught my breath, rocking my head back against his upper arm, staring first up at his ceiling, before I lifted it and my gaze met his. I felt raw and exposed, like I'd just tightroped over razor-wire.

But he was as self-contained as ever—and then the corners of his lips lifted up, as did one of his eyebrows. "That one didn't count."

I blinked in post-orgasm confusion. "What do you mean it didn't count?"

"Your eyes were closed," he said simply.

"But you—you didn't tell me?—"

"Because it didn't matter, because I knew you were going to give me a second one."

I sagged in frustration. "Rhaim," I protested, as his smile turned sharp.

"I want to watch my little girl staring up adoringly at me as she comes. I don't think that's too much to ask, do you?"

He was looking at me now with his frightening intensity and I realized back when I'd worshipped him from far away, I'd never considered how terrifying it could be to meet your god up close.

"It's not that. Well, it is a little, but—" I pulled up one hand, to show him the fluid dripping from my fingers. "If I come again, and without underwear, as requested, I'll leave a massive wet spot on my skirt. I won't get to leave for hours."

"Ahh," he allowed. "The temptation is to say you can stay in here, then, say, under my desk, but I do have evening plans."

The words "with who" and "doing what" rose up my throat just as fast as a lightning ball of panic dropped back down, plunking into my stomach and making it churn.

But I knew, as of yet, that was none of my business, and a thin veneer of sanity was still paramount—until I saw him reach into his suit and bring out a small square of fabric he kept inside.

He noticed me watching him. "Lest you think this is an affectation—there's plenty of times I want to touch things without leaving fingerprints, but gloves in the summer are a bit much," and then he brought it to where my thighs met, where they were tightly closed. "Open up."

I did as I was told because I thought he was just going to clean me—not start shoving it inside. "Fuck!" I said and jumped.

"Language—little girls don't get to cuss."

It didn't matter; I couldn't speak. He was pushing his fingers and the fabric into my pussy like we were going to do a magic trick later, and after waiting for anything similar from him for a decade, I could've come right there.

"Rhaim," I protested, squirming, and his hand rose up, grabbing hold of my cheek again.

"Do what you're told," he said, watching me intently—and his fingers smelled like me. Everything that was in me wanted to grab his wrist and haul it down so he could be the one inside of me again.

But I knew that wasn't on the table right now—if it was, he'd already be doing it.

He was in control of me.

I was letting him be.

And on my side of his lap, the membrane between those two facts was as thin as a soap bubble.

I made a small sound of giving up and then put one of my hands where it had been, to start stroking my sensitive clit, and then the other—well, if he touched me, then I could touch him. I rose it to hold his chin like he was holding mine, feeling the scruff of his beard against my palm. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly at that, but he didn't tell me to move it, though I did feel him clench his jaw.

In abstract, I had thought that him watching me come would be humiliating, and that maybe that was his actual point, but now, there was a strange current passing between us like electricity.

"How does it feel to touch yourself for me?"

I faked a pout, even as I felt my nipples perk. "Not as good as if you were touching me, probably, sir," I said, in all honesty.

"Mmm," he began, then brushed a piece of hair away from my face carefully before cupping my cheek again. "I don't know about that. If you commit yourself fully to anything I ask of you, little girl—if you trust me and know that you're doing it for me, then it should be almost as good as if I were doing it myself. The certainty of obedience should be its own reward." His voice was low and soothing. "I wasn't joking at lunch yesterday, Lia—in fact, since then, having you here in my lap has only made me more greedy."

I'd started touching myself in time with his words, and I noticed he'd matched his breathing to mine, tilting his face closer, so I had no choice but to look him in the eyes.

"How so?" I whispered.

A wicked smile made his lips twitch. "I don't think it's enough for me to be just your sun and your moon anymore. I think I want to be your stars, too—and all the cold dark spaces in between."

And at the thought of that—of learning about some version of the dark that could envelop me and protect me, instead of just hiding everything I was scared of—my lips fell open. "Do you really mean that?"

The second the words were out of my mouth I wanted to drag them back, to protect myself again, to not let him in, and that feeling intensified as he looked stern for a moment.

Then his expression softened. "The sooner you learn I never say things I don't mean, the easier this will be on you," he said. I swallowed, and the protective bubble around what little sanity I possessed burst. I grabbed hold of the pieces of it, trying to frantically reassemble it, while knowing it was too late, as he went on in his same low, calm voice. "Come for me again, little girl. Very hard. Like I know you want to."

He shifted his hold on my cheek, placing his palm against the column of my neck and his thumb atop my thundering pulse.

And if I thought coming in his lap earlier was like tightroping on razor wire, coming now, after hearing that, while watching him—it was going to be like getting flayed.

"Poor little moth," he murmured. "I can feel you fluttering."

"Can I please close my eyes, sir?" I begged, wondering if he would take pity on me.

"No."

I swallowed in fear. There was no getting away from this moment unless I gave up on him entirely—something I would never do.

Which meant I would do as he asked, and if he was joking or pretending or playing with me, I was incontrovertibly fucked.

"You can do it, little girl, I know you can," he said, bringing his hand up and running the back of his knuckles across my cheek, while looking at me kindly.

"How do you know?" I asked, my voice tiny, hoping he would hear all the fear I had inside.

"Because I've got you," he said simply and that was all I needed. It didn't matter if it wasn't real; I needed to come for him while my heart still echoed with his voice.

"Rha—" I started off with his name, then managed to correct my course. "Sir—sir—" I warned, and then moved my hand from his cheek to hold onto his lapel, tensing, and then collapsing into him, giving everything over, like a storm-tossed ship at night, wrecking myself against his shore. "Sir," I hissed, unable to help myself.

I had jumped alone overboard.

I was just about to drown.

But Rhaim only held me closer. "Oh, yes—what a good, sweet little girl you are," he said, in time with my cries, rocking me through my spasms. He ran his forehead against my temple, nuzzling me like a cat and whispered in my ear, "So precious. So pure. So exactly what I need."

"Sir," I whispered again, shuddering in his arms, trying not to cry.

He held me there for a long moment, just breathing me in, while I was putting out fires in my psyche. I'd wanted this so badly for so long if it wasn't real I didn't know if I'd survive it.

I didn't know that I wanted to.

I felt the yawning gateway to everything bad I could do closing in.

And then he slowly sat up, adjusting me against him. "Are you okay?" he asked, and I wondered if that meant our scene was through—if that's all that this had been.

"Yes," I lied.

He made another one of his contemplative sounds at that, but then shifted slightly, for me to get off. "As much as I'd like to keep you here, I do still have some work to do before I go out tonight."

"Of course," I said, somehow coming to a stand and shimmying my skirt back down, attempting to narrate myself into safekeeping.

I would walk across the room into my office. I would close the door. I would finish the rest of my day.

I wouldn't think about where else he was going or who else he'd be with until I got home.

And I would get home before doing anything rash.

I turned, to walk back towards my office, then heard his fingers snap behind me. I looked back and saw his outstretched hand, waiting for me to give him something, and it took me a moment to realize what it was—the fabric he'd shoved up my pussy.

I flushed brilliantly red at once, because Jesus Christ, there was no way to get it out that wasn't going to be embarrassing. I did my best, reaching indelicately up to tug on it and feel it pull out of me, absolutely soaked, then minced back with an arm stretched out, to hand it over from as far away as possible.

The asshole was trying not to smirk at me, and I would've said something, only I was too upset about everything else.

"Thank you, Lia," he said, taking the damp square back and folding it up, tucking it back inside his suit pocket.

"You're welcome."

I was Business Lia now, and Business Lia didn't cry. I turned on my heel and strode for the door, then heard him call after me.

"Be outside your apartment building tonight at eight. Don't dress up—wear sneakers."

I paused as his words sank in.

His plans were with me.

It felt like I could breathe again.