David had just drifted off to sleep, his tiny breaths soft and steady. I gently tucked the covers around him, switched off the light, and pulled the door closed behind me. The house was quiet, still. I walked past the master bedroom—his room—feeling that strange, heavy pull in my chest. It had once been his wife's too. The thought lingered.
Downstairs, four more bedrooms sat untouched. One was open, likely the guest room. But none of that mattered right now. I needed a moment to breathe.
After a quick shower, I slid beneath the sheets in my room, my skin still warm from the water. I tried to relax, tried to shut my eyes—but his face kept flashing behind my lids. That man. The way he looked at me, the way his voice sounded when he gave orders. So calm. So firm. So dangerously sexy.
I squeezed my thighs together. I felt it—a slow heat building. My body was aching, pulsing with need. I couldn't help it.
My hand slipped beneath the sheets, finding that sensitive spot that had already started to throb. I began to move gently, circling, imagining it was his fingers instead of mine. The more I thought of him—his mouth, his hands, the way he'd pin me down and make me beg—the wetter I got.
I let out a soft moan, trying to stay quiet. My fingers moved faster, slipping into the slick heat between my thighs. I bit down on my lip as I slid one finger inside, then two, working them deeper as my hips lifted to meet the rhythm. My other hand found my clit again, rubbing in tight little circles, faster now, desperate.
I imagined his voice—deep, rough—telling me what to do. I imagined his mouth on my skin. My back arched, my breath caught.
And then it hit me—hard. My whole body shook as the climax rolled through me. Warmth spilled out onto the sheets, my legs trembling, my chest rising and falling in sharp waves.
I laid there, breathless, my body buzzing with aftershocks.
All because of him.
*********
I didn't know how long I'd slept, but by the time I opened my eyes, the entire house was wrapped in darkness. I reached for my phone on the nightstand, and my heart sank.
12:03 AM.
"Shit," I whispered, sitting up quickly.
Three missed calls from Janet.
Oh my God.
I typed a message with shaky fingers, apologizing. "I'm so sorry, I fell asleep. Please forgive me—I completely forgot I was meant to check in."
Still naked from earlier, I kicked off the sheets and headed to the bathroom. The cold tiles met my bare feet as I stepped under the shower, trying to wash off the sleep—and the heat that still lingered between my legs. I didn't want to admit it, but even after all that, thoughts of him hadn't left my head.
Fresh and in an oversized shirt, I tiptoed down the hall to peek into David's room. Still fast asleep, the peaceful rise and fall of his chest calmed me.
But then something caught my eye.
The master bedroom door was cracked open, just enough for a sliver of warm light to spill out.
He's home?
I hesitated, then gave a soft knock.
"Come in," came that deep, unmistakable voice from inside.
I stepped in—and froze.
The room was luxury in its most masculine form. Dark marble floors, moody lighting, a massive bed with crisp white sheets. The walls were a deep charcoal grey, with rich wooden accents. A sleek black armchair sat near the window. The scent of expensive cologne lingered in the air—warm, smoky, and utterly male.
He was at the far end, lounging in a leather swivel chair, back slightly resting against a wide glass-top desk. He held a glass of amber whiskey, slow and steady in his hand.
"I'm so sorry, sir," I blurted out. "I didn't mean to fall asleep. I was just really tired and—"
He didn't say anything. Just stared. Calm, quiet… but his eyes were anything but.
They roamed over me, lingering where they shouldn't—on the stiff peaks of my nipples pressing against the thin fabric of my shirt.
Then he licked his lips.
I felt my knees weaken.
"You can stay back tonight," he finally said, voice low. "It's too late for a girl your size to be walking around the streets alone."
He stood slowly and took a few steps forward—stopping just inches from me.
Then, with no warning:
"I watched you," he said. "Earlier. When you touched yourself."
My breath caught in my throat. My cheeks burned as I lowered my gaze to the floor.
"I… I didn't know…"
He tilted his head slightly, voice velvet-smooth. "Can you do it again?"
I blinked, unsure I'd heard him right.
"In front of me," he added. "I want to watch you this time."
My eyes shot up to meet his. "You want me to—touch myself?"
He didn't flinch. Just nodded toward the bed. "Right there."
I took a step back, uncertain. "I don't think I can—"
"Grace," he interrupted, "I know a naughty girl when I see one. You've been thinking about it. I know you have." His voice was soft… dangerous. "You want this. Don't fight it."
And then he sat back down, legs spread, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Touch yourself. Now."
The command hit me like lightning.
Something in me gave in.
I walked slowly to his bed, pulling my shirt over my head. I climbed onto the mattress, legs parting naturally. My fingers slid between them, finding that same pulsing heat.
I heard him groan softly, a low sound from deep in his chest.
My fingers moved in slow circles, teasing my clit while his eyes drank me in. I watched his hand grip the whiskey glass tighter. Another groan.
"Don't stop," he muttered.
I didn't.
I rubbed harder, faster, my back arching as I moaned. He leaned forward slightly, lips parted, eyes glued to me. I saw the shape of him pressing hard beneath his pants, growing with every second.
Another groan.
God, it turned me on more.
I kept rubbing, my breath quickening, my body tightening. My legs shook as the orgasm hit me hard—warmth spilling over my thighs, soaking the sheets.
I gasped, breathless, completely undone beneath his stare.
And still, he hadn't moved.
But I could feel the hunger in him burning from across the room.