Undulate: Chapter 14

I leave Zach to work through his issues for the rest of the morning. I just offered myself to him on a plate, and while accepting my proposition wouldn’t be a difficult decision for most guys, I appreciate he’s been out of the game for far too long. Despite his indiscretions on Thursday and Friday nights, he doesn’t take this stuff lightly.

Knowing that.

Knowing he’s not looking more widely but can’t seem to control himself around me.

Knowing I arouse desire and conflict and turmoil in him.

Knowing all this, and having had a couple of all-too-brief demonstrations of how he is when he gives into the temptation, when he’s unleashed, when he yields to his dick and not his stoic heart, is fucking amazing.

I want more.

I’ve had his kisses, and his tongue on me, and his dick grinding against me.

I’ve shattered the surface he tries so hard to keep pristine, and I’ve had the briefest glimpse beneath, and I want far, far more.

So help me God, I want to be the one who undoes him, and I want to make it more worth his while than he can begin to imagine.

The morning goes by uneventfully enough. Mid afternoon, I’m alone in the back section of the room. Rafe’s at his hedge fund today, and Gen, Zach and Cal have been holed up in the adjoined meeting area discussing management-y things. I’m sitting at my desk, writing social media copy when Zach comes back through the double doors. He leaves them slightly ajar and shoots me a smile that’s just the right side of neutral.

I smile back before returning to my copy. I’ve laid my cards on the table. Offered myself up on a platter, more accurately. That’s enough for now. If he can’t get out of his own way sufficiently to allow himself what he wants, that’s not my issue.

Maybe I’ll go to the club tonight. Remind myself that there are plenty of guys who do want me enough to make a move.

I’m typing away when I hear him say my name softly. I look up.

He jerks his head to the side. ‘Come here.’

Hmm.

I stand and sashay down the middle of the room, enjoying how hungrily his eyes eat me up. Well, eat my legs up, mainly.

‘What’s up?’ I say.

‘Come here,’ he repeats, gesturing for me to go around. I do, and he pats his desk beside where he’s sitting.

I raise my eyebrows and perch my bum on the edge of the desk. ‘Well?’

‘I’ve been wondering,’ he begins, his voice tentative.

I wait. I’m not giving him an inch. He sits back in his chair and looks up at me, and boy is he gorgeous. He’s so, so beautiful with that jet-black hair and those blue-blue eyes beneath his glasses. His shirt is pale blue today; the triangle of skin at the open neck is as tempting as ever.

He doesn’t say anything. It’s better than that. He reaches out and slides a warm hand around my knee before sliding it upwards, his palm caressing my inner thigh.

And I melt.

At the sensation of his touch, and at the implications.

My lips part, and he stares up at me.

‘I’ve been wondering how your thong is doing,’ he says, his voice steadier now.

‘Still wet,’ I manage. Truth.

‘Really.’

I nod.

His hand slides higher, and I plant my feet wider on the floor as if in a trance.

‘And I’ve been wondering if you can really hack it if I take you up on your offer to do unspeakable things to you whenever I feel the need.’

Oh my God. Yes.

‘Try me,’ I bat back.

He purses his lips, amused, and uses that meandering hand to slide right up and take my hem with it. Gen’s laughter carries from the front room at something Cal’s said, but our eyes remain locked.

Zach’s knuckle grazes the damp fabric of my thong, and we both inhale sharply. I’ve been low level aroused all day, thinking about our conversation, but that’s ratcheted right up.

‘Fucking hell,’ he hisses. ‘You weren’t lying.’

‘Nope,’ I manage.

He traces my seam through the cotton, from my clit to my entrance, and I moan softly, because his teasing touch has nothing on the heated way he’s looking at me.

‘You made me a very generous offer, Madeleine,’ he says. Up, up his knuckle drags again before pressing on my clit, and I widen my legs even more so he can get as much access to me as possible. ‘And a pretty reckless one, because I have spent the whole fucking morning thinking about all the ways I could take you up on it.’

He hooks a finger under my thong and, miracle of miracle, his knuckle is back and brushing directly over my sensitised, slippery flesh. Please God let him be planning on making me come and not just toying with me.

Maybe I should have made a few stipulations.

‘I told you,’ I whisper, ‘you can do what you like with me.’ As long as you make me come.

He tugs on my thong. ‘Take it off. I want you bare so I can finger-fuck you on my desk.’

My jaw drops open. I knew it. I knew Mr Spreadsheet could dirty up nicely if he was properly incentivised. Turns out all he needed was some indecent propositioning from me and a swipe through my pussy.

I am not about to disappoint him. Anything he can do, I can do better, especially when it comes to pure shamelessness.

I’ve cultivated shamelessness for years. I wore it as a badge of honour at my convent school and I’ve been turning it into an art form these past few weeks at Alchemy.

I’m about to make all his darkest desires come to life.

I’m going to show him nothing is off the table.

I hook my fingers through the sides of my thong and slide it down my legs. His eyes are rooted to the hem of my dress. I’m not sure whether he got a glimpse of what lies beneath.

I hope he did.

I bend to tug my thong off over my boots and hand it to him triumphantly. He looks at it in disbelief before shoving it in the pocket of his trousers. I’m tempted to start talking dirty to him, prompting him and goading him. But I don’t want to.

I want him to take charge, and it ruins it if I’m stage-managing the entire thing. I want to be a puddle of desire, totally in his hands and entirely fucking useless.

He needs to call the shots here.

I wait.

He slides his hand back up my leg, slipping it inside my dress and dragging his fingers through my folds.

‘Oh my God,’ I moan. My eyelids flutter shut.

‘Madeleine.’

They fly open.

‘This stops very quickly unless you can be quiet. You don’t get to make a sound. Got it?’

When he uses that stern Captain von Trapp voice on me, I’m instant jelly. Holy shit. I nod to show I agree. It’s hot that I can’t make a sound. Hot that the others have no idea how dirty their precious Zach is being with the new girl on the team, and hotter still that I have no outlet to vocalise the sensations already building in my pussy.

‘Wider,’ he says, and I oblige willingly.

‘Your nipples are rock hard. Touch them for me.’

I sit facing the window and put my hands to my nipples. The wool of my dress is an annoying barrier, but if I fondle them hard enough my lace bra adds welcome extra friction. I exhale heavily.

‘That feel good?’ he asks. His pupils are fucking enormous, making his blue eyes darker, and from this vantage point I can see his massive erection. That must be painful.

‘Yes,’ I breathe. His fingers are exploring, sliding through my folds, circling my clit and teasing my entrance.

‘Good. Keep doing it. How about this?’ He rotates his wrist so I see the buckle of his watch and drives two fingers inside me before crooking them, hard. I flinch at the delicious invasion, and the memory stirs of him doing something similar the other night while kneeling behind me. Then, miracle of miracles, his thumb pad locates my swollen clit and starts to rub it in lazy circles.

Oh my God.

He doesn’t need me to tell him how good it feels. It’s evident in the way I’m sliding my bum towards him on the desk. Pushing into his fingers. Ramping up the pressure on my nipples. And I’m sure it’s evident in the way I haven’t taken my eyes off him except to glance down at the hot AF sight of his hand disappearing under my skirt.

‘You’re doing very well,’ he tells me. ‘Look at how quiet you’re being.’

I’m the kind of woman who intellectually finds having a praise kink pathetic and in reality fucking loves this stuff.

‘Zach?’ Cal calls from next door. I stiffen, but Zach, to his credit, doesn’t stop touching me.

‘What?’ he replies, voice raised.

‘What’s the events budget for Q4, again?’

‘Twenty percent more than whatever you did for Q4 last year,’ Zach shouts. ‘But I want to see a vague breakdown.’

‘Got it,’ Cal says.

While Zach speaks, he ramps up the intensity of his thumb on my clit, of his fingers jabbing and crooking inside me. And fuck is it hot. I feel like his plaything, sitting on his desk and keeping quiet like a good girl while he finger-fucks me and chats to his associates. It’s almost as if I’m an afterthought. A stress toy.

Except we both know that’s not true. We both know that the fire burning in Zach’s eyes, and the way his nostrils are flaring as he works me, and the exceptional bulge in his trousers, mean his mind is fully on what’s happening between us.

‘I’ve started a mental list of the unspeakable things I could do to you,’ he murmurs. His thumb massages my clit hard, and it’s so unbelievably perfect I practically sob.

Instead I whisper, ‘What are they?’

My legs are shaking. The havoc his sinful fingers are wreaking has me tensing my abs and chafing frustratedly at my nipples and attempting to hold it together as my orgasm builds and builds deep inside my core.

‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ he asks. He’s leaning forward now, his face contorted with desire, and he’s so fucking hot I just want to lean forward and kiss him. But I force myself to sit upright, to stay far enough away from him that if one of the others walked in it would look like I was innocently perching on his desk.

Except it probably wouldn’t, because my whole body is shaking now with the need to come and with the rhythmical invasion of his fingers. I’m so wet and slick I’m amazed he hasn’t lost his grip on me. I’m sweating hard under my dress. And still he works me so fucking well.

Our gazes are locked. My mouth is open in a silent scream until I can’t take it anymore and I squeeze my eyes shut, my head jerking forward and my pussy clenching around and under Zach’s fingers as incredible, incandescent heat rampages through me in wave after wave, and I convulse in ecstasy.

He strokes me as I come down, and still my head hangs forward. I’m spent and used and wiped out, and I wish to God I could unzip his fly and lower myself straight onto that enormous cock of his.

But I can’t.

And then he’s removing his hand and wiping it down my thigh in a move that’s demeaning and arousing in equal measure and muttering so fucking wet as he gets to his feet.

I look up, and every ounce of praise and admiration and need I could want to see on a man’s face is reflected there in his eyes.

‘I want to suck your dick,’ I blurt out before he can move, and he makes a face like he’s in pain before shaking his head.

‘Next time,’ he tells me. He pushes his chair back and makes for the side door to the loos. He looks back at me. ‘But I’m going to fucking bid for you on Slave Night, and that’s where the really unspeakable stuff starts.’