The house was quiet, the kind of silence where every creak of the floorboards and every breath was amplified. I was in the kitchen, barefoot, wearing a thin cotton dress that clung to my skin in the humid evening air. The counters gleamed under the soft glow of the overhead light, and I was rinsing a glass, the cool water running over my fingers, when I heard his footsteps behind me. My pulse quickened, but I didn't turn around.
Julien paused in the doorway, and I could feel his gaze on me, heavy and deliberate. The air shifted, charged with something unspoken. I set the glass down, my movements slow, and leaned slightly against the counter, letting the hem of my dress ride up just enough to expose the curve of my thigh. My body was already responding, a low heat pooling between my legs, my skin prickling with anticipation.
"You're up late," he said, his voice low, steady, but with an edge that made my stomach tighten. He stepped closer, and I finally turned to face him, my breath catching at the intensity in his eyes. They were dark, focused, stripping away the pretense of the moment. He was close enough now that I could smell the faint cedar of his cologne, feel the warmth radiating from his body. My pierced nipples hardened against the thin fabric of my dress, and I saw his gaze flicker to them, his jaw clenching. The restraint I'd obsessed over for weeks was still there, but it was fraying, and that made my desire flare hotter.
"Couldn't sleep," I murmured, my voice softer than I intended, betraying the tremor of lust that had been building for weeks. I shifted, letting my hip brush against the counter, my body angled toward him in silent invitation. My thighs pressed together, trying to ease the ache between them, but it only intensified, a pulsing need that had been fed by every fantasy of him. His hand moved, deliberate, resting on the counter beside me, caging me in without touching me. The proximity was electric, every nerve in my body screaming for contact.
"I know what you've been doing," he said, his voice dropping lower. His eyes flicked down to my dress, then back to my face, and I knew he was talking about the provocations, the lace, the underwear, the way I'd bent over just a little too long in his presence. My cheeks flushed, but I didn't look away. Instead, I leaned closer, my lips parting, daring him to act. My body was a live wire, every inch of me humming with the need to feel him, to finally break the tension that had consumed me.
"So are you finally going to man up and do something about it?" I said, my voice teasing, but my body was begging. The ache between my legs was unbearable now, my panties damp, clinging to my skin. I shifted again, letting my dress ride higher, and his gaze dropped to the exposed skin of my thigh. The air between us crackled, taut with a month's worth of unspoken desire, and I could see the moment his control began to slip.
Without warning, he moved, his hands gripping my hips and lifting me onto the kitchen island countertop in one fluid motion. I gasped, the cold granite against my bare thighs sending a shock through me, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his touch. His fingers dug into my skin, firm but controlled, and he stepped between my legs, spreading them slightly as he leaned in. Our faces were inches apart, his breath warm against my lips, and I could feel the hard length of him pressing against my inner thigh through his pants. My body arched toward him, desperate, my hands gripping the edge of the counter to steady myself.
"Please..." I whispered, my voice trembling with raw need. The fabric of my panties was useless against the flood of arousal. He didn't respond with words. Instead, his lips brushed the sensitive skin of my neck, slow, deliberate, igniting a fire that spread through every inch of me. My head tilted back, a soft moan escaping as his tongue flicked against my pulse point, tasting me. My hands twitched, wanting to pull him closer, but I held back, savoring the agonizing slowness of his movements, the way he was drawing this out.
His hands slid up my thighs, pushing my dress higher, exposing the damp lace of my panties. My breath came in shallow gasps, my body trembling under his touch. He paused, his fingers brushing the edge of the lace, and looked up at me, his eyes dark with hunger but still holding that infuriating control. "Tell me what you want," he said, his voice rough, commanding, and the sound of it sent a fresh wave of heat through me.
"I want my boss to make me his," I breathed, my voice barely audible, but the desperation in it was unmistakable. "Please, I need you." My hips shifted, pressing against his hand, seeking relief, and he let out a low groan, his restraint cracking at the edges. Every fantasy I'd had, his hands on me in the study, his body against mine in the pool, paled in comparison to this moment, the reality of his touch amplifying my desire to a fever pitch.
He didn't hesitate now. His fingers hooked into my panties, pulling them down in one swift motion, leaving me exposed on the counter. The cool air against my heated, slick skin made me shiver, but before I could process it, he was kneeling between my legs, his hands spreading my thighs wider. My heart pounded, my body throbbing with anticipation as his breath ghosted over my core. I was dripping, my arousal glistening, undeniable, and the sight of him there, so close, made my entire body clench with need. This was it, the culmination of every late-night touch, every stolen glance, every deliberate provocation. My lust for him, built over a month of obsession, was about to be unleashed.
He didn't rush. His lips brushed the inside of my thigh first, soft, teasing, and I whimpered, my hands gripping the counter so hard my knuckles whitened. The anticipation was torture, every nerve in my body screaming for his mouth, but he took his time, kissing the sensitive skin, his stubble grazing me lightly, sending sparks of pleasure through me. My hips twitched, desperate, but he held me in place, his grip firm, controlling.
When his tongue finally touched me, it was a slow, deliberate stroke, tracing the length of my folds, and I cried out, my voice echoing in the quiet kitchen. The sensation was electric, overwhelming, every fantasy I'd had collapsing into this single, exquisite moment. He licked me again, slower, savoring, his tongue parting me, tasting the full extent of my arousal. My head fell back, my moans unrestrained as he explored me, his lips and tongue moving with a precision that drove me wild. He teased my entrance, dipping inside just enough to make me gasp, then pulled back, circling my clit with agonizing slowness.
"Julien... please," I begged, my voice raw, my body trembling with the weight of a month's worth of desire. My thighs quaked, my core clenching as he continued, his tongue now flicking against my clit, light and teasing, building the pressure but denying me release. My hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands, urging him closer, and he groaned against me, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through my core. He was relentless now, his tongue alternating between soft, languid strokes and quick, precise flicks, each one pushing me closer to the edge.
My body was a live wire, every touch amplified by the weeks of longing, the fantasies that had consumed me. I could feel the heat building, a tight coil of need ready to snap, but he kept me teetering, drawing it out. His hands gripped my thighs harder, spreading me wider, and he sucked gently on my clit, the sensation so intense I screamed, my hips bucking against his mouth. He didn't let up, his tongue now joined by his fingers, sliding inside me with ease, curling just right to hit that perfect spot. The combination was devastating, pleasure crashing through me in waves, my entire body trembling as I hurtled toward release.
Every moment of lust I'd felt for him converged in this moment. My orgasm built like a tidal wave, unstoppable, fueled by the weeks of tension, the deliberate provocations, the silent restraint that had driven me to this point. When it hit, it was cataclysmic. My vision blurred, my body arching off the counter as pleasure ripped through me, a white-hot explosion that consumed every inch of me. I screamed his name, my voice raw, desperate, my walls clenching around his fingers, my clit pulsing against his tongue. Wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over me, my thighs shaking uncontrollably, my hands pulling at his hair as I rode out the intensity of my orgasm. My body shuddered, aftershocks rippling through me as he continued, softer now, drawing out every last tremor until I was gasping, limp, utterly spent.
He rose, his lips glistening with my arousal, and kissed me deeply, letting me taste myself on his tongue. The kiss was hungry, possessive, and I moaned into it, my hands fumbling with his belt, desperate to feel him inside me. My body was still trembling, sensitive from the orgasm, but my desire for him was insatiable. I needed everything, his strength, his roughness, the complete surrender of his restraint. He helped me, his pants hitting the floor, and I felt the hard, hot length of him against my thigh, thick and ready. My pussy clenched at the thought of him inside me, my body greedy for more despite the intensity of what I'd just experienced.
He positioned himself at my entrance, teasing me with the tip, and I whimpered, my hips rocking forward, begging, before leaning into his ear.
"Are you finally going to fuck your housekeeper?" I whispered, my voice raw, and he looked at me, his eyes dark with a hunger that matched my own. The restraint was gone now, replaced by something primal, and I wanted it all. He thrust into me, slow at first, stretching me, filling me completely. The sensation was exquisite, every inch of him claiming me, and I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him deeper.
But slow wasn't enough. Not after weeks of torment, of imagining him taking me with the kind of force that would shatter me. "Harder," I gasped, my voice desperate, my nails digging into his shoulders. "Julien, give me everything." My words seemed to unleash something in him. His hands tightened on my hips, his fingers bruising, and he pulled back before slamming into me with a force that made me cry out. The counter shook beneath me, the cold granite a stark contrast to the heat of his body, and I arched into him, my body craving the roughness, the intensity.
He didn't hold back. Each thrust was deep, relentless, his hips driving into me with a rhythm that was both punishing and perfect. My body rocked with his, my breasts bouncing under the thin dress, my moans filling the kitchen as he fucked me with a ferocity that matched every fantasy I'd had. I'd pictured him like this and now it was real, every thrust a collision of desire, every grunt from his lips fueling my need. I reached down to frantically touch my clit, hoping to force another orgasm from my body, as my moans reverberated through the empty home.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he rasped, his voice rough, his eyes locked on mine, fierce and unguarded. He shifted, one hand sliding to my lower back, pulling me closer, angling himself deeper, hitting a spot that made stars burst behind my eyes. I screamed, my body trembling, already climbing toward another peak. My fantasies had been vivid, but they hadn't prepared me for this, the raw power of his body, the way he filled me completely, the way his roughness matched my deepest desires. I wanted him to consume me, to take every piece of me, and he was delivering.
