Page 12 of Cursed
Conventional intimacy leaves me feeling cold and disconnected. Gentle touches and sweet words might be happening to someone else. But this—this dark threat of domination—breaks through the walls I’ve built.
You’ll wear my marks for days. I’ll carve my ownership into your skin with pain and pleasure until you can’t tell the difference. Until you can’t remember who you were before I claimed you.
My fingers hover over the keyboard. I should be running. Instead, I’m rooted to my chair, pulse racing, wondering if someone like him might be the key to finally feeling again.
Before I can think better of it, my fingers start typing:
And what if I don’t submit so easily?
The response is immediate.
Then I’ll enjoy breaking you. I’ll bend you over whatever surface is closest, rip those practical panties down your thighs, and spank that perfect ass until it’s red and hot to the touch. Then I’ll spread your pussy with my fingers and see just how wet your resistance makes you.
My breath hitches. I press my thighs together under my desk, feeling the unmistakable slickness between them. This is insane. I’m sitting in an office full of people, getting wet from filthy messages from a man who’s essentially stalking me.
I bet you’re soaking through your panties right now, aren’t you? Sitting there in your ergonomic chair, surrounded by colleagues who have no idea that your pussy is dripping at the thought of being taken. Used.
I bite my lip hard enough to hurt. My nipples have hardened against my bra, and I’m grateful for the cardigan hiding that fact from my coworkers.
When I find you in that maze, I’m going to make you suck my cock until you’re gasping for air. I’ll fuck your pretty mouth until tears run down your face, and you’ll thank me for every inch. Then I’ll bend you over and fuck you until you forget your own name—until the only word you remember is my name.
My hand trembles as I type back.
You seem confident you’ll be the one to catch me.
Oh, Sadie. I’ve already caught you. I know exactly how your body responds. How your breathing changes when you’re aroused. How your cunt gets so wet when you think about being dominated. How many times have you touched yourself thinking about my cock inside you?
I shouldn’t answer. This is beyond inappropriate; it’s dangerous.
Twice.
I admit, and hate myself a little for the honesty.
Good girl. Now touch yourself for me. Right now.
No way. I’m at work.
I type back quickly, my cheeks burning at the mere suggestion. The thought of touching myself here, surrounded by coworkers, makes my stomach twist with embarrassment.
A video file appears on my screen. My heart stops.
It’s me in my bedroom. My head thrown back, lips parted, hand working frantically between my legs. The date stamp is from three nights ago.
Delete that.
I type, panic rising in my throat.
I wonder what your colleagues would think if they saw their security expert like this? Moaning my name while you fuck yourself with your fingers?
My fingers freeze over the keyboard. This can’t be happening.
You wouldn’t.
Test me and find out. Now be a good girl and do as you’re told. Slip your hand under your skirt. Touch that pretty pussy for me.
I glance around frantically. Jeremy is coding two desks away. Melissa is on a call with her headphones on. My desk is partially obscured by a support column, but still—this is insane.
Please. Not here.
