Page 19 of Dominance

“Do you want me to … ?”

“Hold on, I can just—” She squirms, trying her hardest to get out of the mess she’s in. But it’s no use, and she winds up thrusting back into me instead, brushing against the front of my pants.

And instantly I can tell I have a problem.

I could just take her. Right here. Tear that shirt off…

Then she wouldn’t be stuck anymore. Then I could flip around, set her ass on one of these tables and…

She glares back at me, her head tilting.

“Turnabout, huh? Is that what this is?” she grumbles, still pressing into me.

“How long do you think it would take for someone else to find you?” I ask, a smirk tugging at my lips.

“Don’t you dare leave me here all weekend!” she grits out, her hands slipping. The motion pitches her forward, tugging up her skirt in the process. Right before she slams right back into my crotch.

Good God.

The curves of the bottom of her ass cheeks peek up at me, shooting straight through my chest, down my spine, and boiling my blood.

At the exact same moment, something inside me slaps me across the face mentally. As much as I want revenge…

So, I do the chivalrous thing and reach down, pulling her skirt down to cover her ass. Surprising her and pitching her forward, taking me with her.

Throwing out one hand, I catch myself on the cabinet above her.

Leaving me bent over her back, pressed completely against that perfect ass.

“Oh!” Gloria exclaims softly, bracing herself.

“Shit, sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She swallows hard as I try like a floundering idiot to get back over her.

Her tongue tip touches the bottom of her front teeth.

She’s watching me tentatively. Almost like she’s waiting to see if I’ll pull away. I don’t. And then she shifts, wiggling under me slightly.

And I still can’t move.

Like some fucking game of chicken. Who’s going to break first?

And suddenly it’s unbelievably fucking hot in this closet.

“Uh, how did you get into this—” I fumble, nerves getting the better of me.

“My blouse is hooked on…Um, just see if you can—” she gasps, our lips just inches apart.

Pushing up with one hand above her I reach down, feeling the fabric, trying to find…

“Uh.” My hand is full of lace and silk.

Our faces are less than an inch apart as she turns her head to look at me again. Her cheeks are flushed, her breath hitches.

“Adri…” she whispers, and I’m gone.

Our lips brush once, then again. That hand cupped around the magnificent swell of her breast squeezes lightly, drifting back out of her blouse and down her front.

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