Love Of Lust

Chapter Thirteen

Becky's POV

I gaped at him. 

"You're enjoying this a little too much, aren't you?"

What on earth was that supposed to mean?

 "You're enjoying it too," I said. "...aren't you?"

 He obviously was, but I had no idea what he was driving at. 

"Being on top," he said. "Literally and figuratively."

I stopped moving.

 "All right," I said. "Did you...did you want to switch positions? Or what?"

 Suddenly, he grabbed onto my hips and flipped us both over. I shrieked a little. Once he was on top of me, he captured my wrists and held them above my head, much like he'd done when we kissed the night before. I melted into it. As much fun as it had been to feel like I was in charge of him, this was better. 

"There we are," he murmured, in between kisses. "That's the Becky I know." 

"I don't know what you mean,"

 I gasped, as he thrust deep inside of me and sent a jolt of sharp pleasure up my spine.

 "You don't?" He smiled. "The first time I saw you, I had you pegged for the kind of girl just aching for man to come into her life and order her around."

 I must have made a face, because he leaned in and chastened me with a quick kiss.

 "In the bedroom, I mean." 

"I...suppose?" I managed. I certainly wasn't going to argue with him, as long as he was making me feel like this.

 "Of course you are," he said. "I saw how you reacted just now. I felt it. You can't hide the way your body responds to me, Becky." 

I moaned, wrapping my legs around him tightly. I didn't even care what kind of ridiculousness he was spouting. He was filling me up so perfectly, as if our bodies had been expertly molded together. 

"Say my name," he murmured, his eyes fixed on mine. They were so dark. 

"Riad," I said. He shook his head. 

For all his posturing, though, he was starting to get a little breathless. 

"Not that one," he said. "What you used to call me before. When I was your boss."

 "Mr. Thorne," I whimpered. "Oh...Mr. Thorne..." It felt surprisingly good to call him that, after all this time, all this forced intimacy. That was how I thought of him still, sometimes - when I looked at him and remembered - he was my boss. 

He was my boss, for Christ's sake, a man who'd been essentially a stranger to me until I agreed to marry him. A man who was a stranger still, in many ways, even while he was buried inside me on our honeymoon. "Mr. Thorne," I whispered. 

He was smiling. A ripple of pleasure went through my chest.

 "Are you close?" he intoned, inches from my ear. I realized that I was. I nodded. 

"Don't," he said. "Not until I say you can." I stared at him. 

"I can't...I can't stop it."

 "Of course you can." He paused in his movements. "It's simple. If you get too close, just tell me to stop, and I'll stop."

"But I don't want you to stop," I whined, feeling helpless. Why was he playing games with me?

 "I don't want to stop either," he replied. "But more than that, I want you to gain control of your body. It won't be hard, if you remember what I taught you. Breathe. Be present."