On the table

Chapter Eight

Andrea’s POV

“What if the maids walk in on… us?”

The words tumble out of me in a stammer before I can stop them. I am sitting on the edge of the dining table now, robe already loosened, heart hammering so loud it echoes in my ears. My legs feel shaky even though I am not standing anymore.

Tristan does not even blink. He stands between my knees, tall and sure in that sharp dark suit, and says, “They won’t.”

His voice is calm, like he has done this a hundred times and nothing can surprise him. I swallow hard and glance around the huge room. Sunlight pours through the tall windows. The table feels cold under my thighs. “We can just go to the bedroom,” I whisper. “It would be more comfortable…”

He looks at his watch, the expensive one that catches the light, and cuts me off. “Are you going to do it or not?”

The question hangs there. Fear spikes through me again. One wrong move and I am back in that tiny apartment with the overdue bills and Ethan’s coughs. I nod fast, too scared to argue. “I will.”

I scoot back a little on the smooth wood and lie down like he told me. The robe falls open completely. Cool air hits my bare skin and my nipples tighten right away. Tristan does not waste time. His hands are quick but careful as he spreads my legs wider, positioning me exactly how he wants. One palm slides up my inner thigh, steadying me.

He is going to be rough again. I know it. I bite the inside of my cheek hard. Andrea, you cannot afford to shout this time. Just take it.

But he does not start rough.

Tristan leans over me, still fully dressed, and kisses the side of my neck first. Soft. Slow. His breath is warm against my ear. “You good?” he asks quietly.

I nod, surprised. “Yes.”

His fingers trace down my stomach, light and teasing, until they reach between my legs. He strokes me gently, circling my clit with his thumb until I feel myself getting wetter than I thought possible. A small sound slips out of me. He keeps going, two fingers sliding inside me now, stretching me carefully.

“Still good?” he murmurs, voice low and rough but not mean.

“Yes,” I breathe. I did not expect him to check. I thought I would just be a toy for a dark, entitled billionaire who only took what he wanted. This version of him confuses me in the best way.

He keeps working me with his fingers, curling them just right until my hips start to move on their own. My robe is completely open now, breasts exposed, nipples hard and aching. He leans down and takes one into his mouth, sucking gently at first, then a little harder. I arch off the table.

“Tristan…” I whisper.

He pulls back just enough to look at me. “Master when I am alone with you. Understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

He straightens up, still between my legs, and unbuckles his belt. The metal clinks. He unzips his trousers just enough to free himself. His cock is thick and hard, the head already glistening. He strokes it once, eyes locked on my face.

“You ready?” he asks.

I nod, even though my stomach flips with nerves. “Yes, Master.”

He lines up and pushes in slowly this time. Inch by inch. It burns a little, but not like last night. No tearing pain. Just a full, stretching feeling that makes me gasp. He pauses halfway, breathing hard.

“Tell me when to stop, okay?” he asks again, voice tight.

“Yes,” I manage. “I am good.”

He slides the rest of the way in until he is buried deep. A low groan escapes him. “Fuck, you feel tight.”

The table is hard under my back, uncomfortable, but I do not care. He starts moving, steady thrusts that make my breasts bounce with every push. His hands grip my hips, holding me in place so I cannot slide away. Every time he bottoms out I feel a spark of pleasure that surprises me.

“Talk to me,” he says, voice rough. “Tell me how it feels.”

“It feels… full,” I whisper. “Good full.”

He picks up the pace a little, still controlled. “That’s it. Take every inch for me.”

I moan louder now. I cannot help it. My hands grip the edge of the table above my head. He reaches down and rubs my clit with his thumb while he fucks me, steady and deep. The pleasure builds fast, hotter than anything I felt last night.

“Are you getting close?” he asks, eyes dark on my face.

“I think so,” I pant.

“Then come for me. Let me feel it.”

His words push me over. My body tightens around him and I cry out, thighs shaking. He keeps thrusting through it, drawing it out until I am trembling. Only then does he let go. He buries himself deep one last time and comes with a low groan, hips jerking against me.

For a moment we just stay like that, him still inside me, breathing hard. Then he pulls me up without sliding out. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively. He holds me like I weigh nothing, one arm under my ass, the other around my back.

“What are you doing?” I ask between soft kisses he presses to my lips. My voice comes out coy, almost playful, even though my heart is still racing.

“We’re taking it upstairs,” he says simply.

He starts walking, still buried inside me, carrying me like it is the easiest thing in the world. Every step makes him shift deeper and I bite my lip to keep from moaning again. We move up the wide staircase, my robe hanging open, his trousers barely zipped.

“But you are going to be late for work,” I whisper against his neck, half teasing, half worried.

He reaches my bedroom door, pushes it open with his shoulder, and carries me straight to the bed. He lays me down gently, finally sliding out of me. A small sound leaves me at the loss.

“I’m the boss,” he says, voice low and sure as he looks down at me.