Chapter 2: Chair Rules

SAESHA POV

His mouth hits mine and the world tips around us. Heat and teeths clash together and that taste is all him. I clutch his shirt because my body forgets how to stand and he drags me closer like he has been waiting for this since forever. It is not sweet and it is not even polite. It is a claim that tells me exactly where this night is going. God, I want it there.

He presses me into the desk. My back arches against him as his hand cups my jaw, angling my mouth so he can take more, take the kiss deeper. I kiss him back like I am starving and finally allowed to eat. The room hums and the city outside is a smear of lights, but in here it is just breath and hands and the edge of control.

I break the kiss first, not because I want to stop, but because I want to choose.

“Sit,” I tell him.

His brow lifts. “Saesha.”

“In the chair,” I say, and I push his chest. Not hard but firm. He lets me move him because he wants to see what I will do next.

He drops into the leather chair, legs wide, forearms resting on the arms like a king indulging a dangerous idea. The look in his eyes is hungry and patient at the same time. I feel it slide over my skin and settle low in my stomach.

“Bossy,” he says.

“Only when it counts.”

I step back just enough so he can see all of me. I know the dress is short. I know the neckline dips. I know my gloss is still on his mouth. I pull the zipper at my side, slow enough to make his breath catch. The sound is small, but the effect is not.

The dress loosens and I let one strap fall. Then the other. The fabric slips down my body and pools at my feet like black water.

His eyes drag over me. No shame. No apology. That look alone could make a girl weak. I keep my spine straight and my chin up because I refuse to be a girl. I am the storm I brought into his house.

“Trying to impress me?” he asks.

“Trying to keep up.”

I unclasp my bra and let it drop. Cool air kisses my nipples, instantly making them hard enough to cut glass. His gaze goes darker, heavier, but he still does not move. He said last chance to leave and I said I am not leaving. Now he is seeing what that means.

“Panties,” he says, voice low.

“Maybe later.”

I turn and open the side drawer of his desk. I saw it last time I was here. A silk tie, dark and smooth, coiled like a secret. I take it out and feel the weight of his attention snap tighter.

I look back at him. “Hands.”

His jaw ticks. The faintest smile curves his mouth. He offers his wrists like a man who knows he could break any rope but is curious how it feels to wear one.

I step in close and bind him to the chair arms. Not sloppy but also not harsh, just tight enough to remind him. Loose enough to let him end it if he chooses. My fingers linger on his skin. His pulse thumps against my knuckles and the thud runs straight down my spine.

“You think you can control me, little Roy?” he asks.

“I think you want me to try.”

He shifts once, testing. The leather creaks. He settles again, eyes never leaving mine. “Careful.”

“I’m very careful,” I say, and then I climb into his lap like I own the right.

Heat and hard muscles. The press of his bulge against my thin lacy panties. A shock runs through me so sharp I have to bite my lip. I roll my hips once just to feel that friction. His breath leaves him in a quiet sound that shoots pride through my chest.

“Careful,” he says again, lower.

“Make me.”

I kissed him this time, slow on purpose. I taste my gloss and his mouth and the threat under it. His tied hands flex on instinct and the sight of his control turns me on more than anything else. He is strong enough to break the chair but he is not breaking it, instead he is letting me play.

I break the kiss and trail my mouth along his jaw, down his neck. I drag my teeth over his pulse and he swears under his breath. I smile against his skin and I like the sound of him losing a little of that polished calm.

I move down unbuttoning his buttons. I start opening them, one by one, not neat, not patient because I want his chest, I want skin under my tongue. When the last button gives, I spread the shirt and lay my mouth over hard heat and clean salt. He tastes like win, he tastes like late nights and bad decisions.

His head tips back. “Saesha.”

“Yes?”

“Tell me what you’re doing.”

“Whatever I want.”

I kiss lower. My fingers trace the cut of his stomach. I slide off his lap to my feet and stand between his knees. The space is a cage and I am the only thing in it with him. I hook my thumbs in his belt and pull it away, he lifts his hips so I can free him. It is obscene, intimate and necessary.

My hand closes around his thick cock and my brain blanks for a second. Big is a word. This is a fact. I look up at him, a little breathless.

His mouth curves. “Something to say?”

“Yes,” I admit, and my voice is not shy. “You’re a lot.”

His eyes gleam. “Scared?”

I shake my head. “Wet.”

He exhales like that answer cost him. I stroke him once, slow. The sound he makes is a low, rough thing that lives in my ears now. I squeeze again and watch the tendons stand in his neck.

“First time, Saesha?” he asks. Not teasing. Just truth hunting.

I could lie. I do not. “Yes.”

His gaze flicks to my face and holds. He reads every tremor, every prideful lift of my chin, every stubborn line that says do not you dare go soft on me now.

“I know,” he says. “The way you breathe. The way you shake and still make demands. The way you looked when I kissed you.”

Heat climbs my throat. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

“Do you want to untie yourself?”

A heartbeat. “No.”

“Good.”

I sink to my knees. The leather sighs under his shifting weight. I fit between his thighs and lay my hands on them, thumbs stroking absent circles. I look up. He is watching me like a man tracking a bullet. Focused, deadly and Mine.

“Open your mouth,” he says.

“Ask nicely.”

“Don’t push me,” he warns, but his voice is wrecked, and I smile because I did that.

I lean in and breathe against his cock. My lips brush the wet tip, soft and testing. His whole body tightens. I look up through my lashes and hold his eyes while I take him into my mouth, slow, deeper, until the stretch makes my eyes water a little and my thighs press together like they have a mind of their own.

“Fuck,” he says, broken glass and velvet.

I pull back, learning his shape, learning his sounds, finding the rhythm that makes his hands fight the tie. My tongue traces the underside of his cock. My fingers wrap and follow. He groans and it punches straight into my throbbing core. I am not innocent. I have not practiced this either. I am exactly what I am: his pretty problem on her knees, doing everything she wants to do. He looks ruined and royal at once and the site make me drunk.

“Hands,” he says, breath rough. “Up.”

I pause. “Why?”

“Because if you keep them on my thighs I am going to snap these restraints.”

I grin and lift my hands, sliding them behind my back, spine arching so my tits lift higher and my mouth sinks again lower. His eyes flare, the way he looks at me could kill a lesser girl. I decided to be more.

I take him deeper. My gag hits, tears prick my eyes, and I pull off with a wet sound that has his jaw locking. He swears and the leather groans.

“Enough,” he grits. “Up.”

“No,” I say, sweet as sugar. “I like you like this.”

“Saesha.”

“Yes?”

“Stand up.”

I rise, slow, licking my lower lip because I want him to see it shine. He watches my mouth like it owes him money. His gaze drops to the lace that still covers me. It is soaked. I know it, he knows it and we both know what's coming next.

He tilts his head. “Take them off.”

I hook my thumbs and pull the lace down, step out, kick it aside. I stand naked between his knees with lip gloss still stolen on his mouth and nothing left to hide. The look on his face turns hot enough to char.

“Turn around,” he says.

I do not move. “No.”

“No?”

“I want to watch your face when I take you,” I say. The honesty shocks even me. It makes me feel wild but It also makes me feel like the night itself chose me to be rude.

Something savage flashes through his eyes. He leans forward as far as the tie allows. “Then take me, Principessa.”

The word melts in my spine. I climb into his lap again, my knees braced on the leather, one hand on his shoulder, the other curling around him to guide against my wet entrance. His wet tip slides through my slick core and my breath breaks. My body protests at the stretch, a sweet sharp ache that is half fear, half need.

“Look at me,” he says.

“I am.”

“Breathe.”

“I am.”

“Say it.”

“I am breathing,” I whisper, and the sound trembles.

His hands flex uselessly against the silk. He would hold my hips if I let him. He would help. He would control. He is not allowed, not yet. This is mine and only mine.

“It will hurt,” he says, voice rough. “Then it will feel like nothing else.”

“I can take it.”

“I know.”

I lower slowly, inch by inch, testing, learning where the pain bites and where the pleasure starts to flood, and my nails dig into his shoulder as my body opens for him. My eyes stay on his. His eyes on mine. We both hold eye contact.

“Good girl,” he says, voice torn.

“Don’t call me a girl,” I breathe.

“Then be my woman,” he answers.

I take another inch. Heat blooms inside my core and my lashes flutter. A sound slips out of me that I am not going to be ashamed of tomorrow. He watches like he could live inside that sound.

“Say stop if you need it,” he says.

“I won’t.”

“You will if I make you.”

“Try me.”

I lift one tiny bit, line him again, and start to sink.

Everything tightens inside me, everything burns and everything begs inside me to take more of him. I brace myself and draw a breath that shakes my whole body.

End of Chapter 2