“You’re going to be late,” Michael called from the kitchen, his voice already edged with a familiar exasperation. I heard the clink of ceramic as he set down his coffee mug, probably glaring at the clock on the microwave.
I was perched on the edge of the bed, one leg draped over the side, scrolling through my phone. My hair was still damp from the shower, a towel haphazardly wrapped around my head like a turban. “Am I?” I asked, not looking up. “Seems I have plenty of time.”
He appeared in the doorway, a freshly ironed shirt already on, sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms. He had that tight-lipped expression he got when he was trying to hold back a lecture. “Your meeting starts in twenty minutes. It’s a fifteen-minute drive. Do the math, Sarah.”
“The math tells me I have five minutes to spare,” I said, finally raising my eyes to meet his. I gave him my most innocent, wide-eyed look. “Plenty of time for a quick kiss, don’t you think?”
He sighed, a long, suffering sound that made me grin internally. He knew what I was doing. He always knew. But knowing didn't stop him from getting wound up, and that was half the fun.
“Sarah, come on. This is important for you. You don’t want to walk in looking like you just rolled out of bed.” He gestured vaguely at my towel-clad head and the pajama bottoms I was still wearing. “Or looking like that.”
I stood up, letting the towel slide from my head to pool around my feet. My hair was long and thick, and it tumbled down my back in a dark, wavy mess. I shook it out, letting a few strands fall over my face. “What’s wrong with ‘that’?” I asked, running a hand down my side. “I think I look rather charmingly dishevelled.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Charming dishevelment isn’t going to impress the board of directors, sweetheart.” He paused, then his eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you doing this on purpose?”
I feigned surprise. “Doing what, darling? Just enjoying a leisurely morning. It’s Saturday, after all. Or is it? Oh, no, it’s Tuesday. My mistake.” I batted my eyelashes. “You’re always so focused on work, you make me forget what day it is.”
He walked over to the bed and picked up the discarded towel, folding it neatly before placing it on the dresser. His movements were precise, efficient. A stark contrast to my own chaotic energy. He was the anchor, the organized one. I was the storm, constantly stirring things up.
“Get dressed,” he said, his voice lower now, a hint of steel beneath the surface. “Now.”
I loved it when he used that tone. It meant I was getting closer to the edge, closer to breaking his composure. I walked over to the closet, taking my sweet time. I ran my fingers over the hangers, ignoring the smart blazer and skirt I had laid out the night before. Instead, I pulled out a soft, oversized sweater and a pair of worn jeans.
“What about this?” I asked, holding them up. “Comfy. Casual. Shows I’m not trying too hard.”
He stared at the clothes in my hand, then at me. His jaw was tight. “You’re not wearing that to a board meeting, Sarah. You know that.”
“But it’s so soft,” I purred, rubbing the sweater against my cheek. “And I feel good in it. When I feel good, I do good work. It’s psychological, you see.”
He stepped closer, his shadow falling over me. I could feel the warmth radiating from him, the subtle scent of his aftershave. He took the jeans and sweater from my hands, tossing them back into the closet with a definitive thud. “You’re wearing the suit you picked out. And you’re going to be on time.”
I pouted, crossing my arms over my chest. “You’re no fun, Michael.”
He leaned down, his face close to mine. His eyes, usually warm and amused, were serious now. “I can be a lot of fun, Sarah. But not when you’re risking your career for some silly game.” His voice was a low growl, a promise of something more if I didn’t comply. “Get dressed. Five minutes.”
I held his gaze for a moment, testing him, pushing just a little further. Then, with a dramatic sigh, I picked up the blazer and skirt. “Fine,” I grumbled, but a thrill shot through me. He was close. So close.
I made it to the meeting with exactly two minutes to spare, thanks to Michael’s insistent nudges and the fact that he practically drove like a maniac. The meeting itself was a blur of spreadsheets and projections, and by the time I was free, my head was buzzing. I called Michael on the drive home.
“I’m free,” I announced, feeling a surge of relief. “And I aced it, by the way. Even in the boring suit.”
He chuckled. “Good. See? I told you. Now, what do you want to do for dinner?”
“Hmm,” I mused, pulling into our driveway. “How about we skip dinner and you make up for being such a taskmaster this morning?”
There was a pause on the other end. “And how do you propose I do that?” he asked, his voice now laced with an intriguing undertone.
“I’ll leave that to your imagination,” I said, a mischievous grin spreading across my face. “But I expect a full apology for your tyrannical behaviour.” I hung up before he could respond, already planning my next move.
I walked into the house to find him already there, leaning against the kitchen counter, a glass of water in his hand. He had changed into a soft t-shirt, and his hair was slightly mussed, as if he’d run a hand through it a few times. He looked relaxed, but his eyes were sharp, observing me.
“So, a full apology, huh?” he said, setting down his glass. “Sounds demanding.”
“I am demanding,” I confirmed, dropping my bag by the door. “You should know that by now.” I walked past him into the living room, heading straight for the couch. I kicked off my heels, letting out a satisfied groan as my feet touched the cool floor. “And I’m tired. Long day of being professional.”
He followed me, standing over me as I sank into the cushions. “Professional enough to make it on time, at least.”
I looked up at him, a glint in my eye. “Don’t push it. I still haven’t forgiven you for rushing me.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Rushing you? I saved you from a potential career setback. You should be thanking me.”
“Thanking you for what? For ruining my perfectly laid-back morning? For making me wear scratchy wool?” I dramatically rubbed my arm. “It was practically torture.”
He let out a soft laugh, a low sound that vibrated through me. “You’re insufferable sometimes, you know that?”
“Only for you,” I countered, reaching out and tugging on the hem of his shirt. “Come here. You can start your apology with a back rub.”
He hesitated for a moment, then, with a sigh that wasn’t entirely unhappy, he sat down beside me. I turned onto my stomach, presenting my back to him. He started to rub my shoulders, his strong fingers working out the knots in my muscles. It was exactly what I wanted, but I wasn’t about to let him off that easily.
“A bit higher,” I murmured, shifting slightly. “And more pressure. Are you even trying?”
He pressed down harder, his thumb digging into a particularly tight spot. I let out a small gasp, but it wasn’t from pain. It was from the unexpected intensity. “Better?” he asked, his voice low in my ear.
“Mmm, getting there,” I said, deliberately vague. I wanted to keep him guessing, to keep him working for it. “But it’s going to take a lot more than this to earn my full forgiveness.”
He stopped rubbing, and I felt him lean closer. His breath was warm on my neck. “Oh, really? What else do I need to do?”
I turned my head slightly, just enough to see his profile. “Well, for one, you could admit that you were being a big meanie this morning.”
He scoffed. “A ‘big meanie’? I was being responsible.”
“Responsible and mean aren’t mutually exclusive,” I shot back, a playful smile on my lips. “And you rushed me. I hate being rushed.”
He moved his hand to my waist, his fingers tracing the curve of my hip. “You also hate being on time, apparently.”
“Only when it’s for something boring,” I confessed, turning fully onto my back to face him. His eyes were dark, a mixture of annoyance and desire swirling within them. “But I’m here now. And I’m all yours.”
I reached up, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He resisted for a moment, just long enough to make me strain, then he relented, leaning down until his lips were inches from mine. “You’re a handful, Sarah,” he whispered, his voice rough.
“And you love it,” I challenged, my eyes sparkling. “Admit it. You wouldn’t have me any other way.”
He didn’t answer immediately, his eyes searching mine. I could see the internal debate, the struggle between his desire for order and his undeniable attraction to my chaos. Finally, with a sigh of surrender, he captured my lips in a deep, hungry kiss.
It was a kiss that promised to wipe away all the morning’s frustrations, a kiss that tasted of exasperation and longing. I responded with equal fervor, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him even closer until there was no space left between us.
He pulled away, just slightly, his forehead resting against mine. His breathing was heavier now, ragged. “You push me to my limits, Sarah,” he murmured, his voice a low growl.
“That’s because I know you like it,” I whispered back, pressing a soft kiss to his jawline. “You like having to take charge. You like when I make you work for it.”
He pulled back completely, his hands gripping my shoulders. He looked at me, his gaze intense. “Is that what this is? You trying to make me take charge?”
I shrugged, a small, innocent gesture. “Maybe. A little. It’s boring when everything’s too easy, don’t you think?”
He stared at me for a long moment, then a slow smile spread across his face, a dangerous, predatory smile that sent a jolt through me. “Oh, I think I understand perfectly.” He moved quickly, pushing me back against the cushions, pinning me with his body. “You want me to take charge, do you?”
“Mmm,” I hummed, arching my back into him. “Show me.”
He leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear. “No more games, Sarah. No more pushing. You’re going to do exactly what I say.” His voice was low, firm, leaving no room for argument. And that, more than anything, was what I craved.
I shivered, a sharp thrill running through me. “Yes, Michael,” I breathed, finally relinquishing control. “Whatever you say.”
He took my hands, interlacing his fingers with mine, then pinned them above my head against the back of the couch. The unexpected move made me gasp. He was moving faster now, with a newfound urgency that made my heart pound.
“That’s a good girl,” he murmured, his eyes blazing as he looked down at me. “Now, about that apology…” He leaned in, kissing me with a ferocity that stole my breath. It wasn’t a gentle kiss; it was demanding, possessive, a declaration of his intent. I met his hunger with my own, twisting beneath him, my body aching for more.
He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down my neck, sending goosebumps across my skin. “You want me to apologize for making you be on time?” he rasped, his teeth nipping gently at my collarbone. “For trying to help you succeed?”
“No,” I whispered, my voice thick with desire. “Apologize for… for making me wait.”
He lifted his head, his eyes locking with mine. A slow, knowing grin spread across his face. “Oh, I think I can do that.” He reached down, his fingers finding the hem of my shirt and slowly, deliberately, pulling it up over my head. I lifted my arms, helping him, my gaze never leaving his.
When the shirt was gone, he tossed it onto the floor. His eyes raked over my body, lingering on the lace of my bra. “Beautiful,” he breathed, his voice thick with admiration. “Absolutely beautiful.”
He unclasped my bra, his fingers deft and quick. The cool air hit my skin, and I shivered again, not from cold, but from the anticipation. He leaned down, his lips brushing against the soft skin just below my breast. “No more distractions,” he whispered, his breath warm against my skin. “Only me. Only this.”
I arched into him, my hands reaching for his hair, pulling him closer. “Yes,” I whimpered, my voice almost too quiet to hear. “Please, Michael. No more distractions.”
He took my nipple into his mouth, suckling gently, then more firmly. A jolt of pure pleasure shot through me, making my toes curl. My hips bucked involuntarily, pressing against his. He groaned, a deep, satisfied sound that made me feel powerful, desired.
He moved his mouth from one breast to the other, his tongue teasing, his teeth nipping playfully. I tangled my legs with his, desperate to feel more of him. My hands roamed over his back, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt. I wanted him out of his clothes, wanted to feel his skin against mine.
“Take off your shirt,” I gasped, my voice hoarse. “Please.”
He pulled back, a smirk playing on his lips. “Asking nicely now, are we?”
I glared at him, a mock-annoyance on my face. “Don’t push it. I’m trying to be good.”
He chuckled, then with a quick movement, he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his sculpted chest and arms. He was even more magnificent than I remembered, his skin tan and smooth, his muscles clearly defined. I reached out, my fingers tracing the line of his abs, feeling the warmth of his skin.
He covered my hand with his, holding it against his stomach. “Now,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Where were we?” He leaned down again, kissing my neck, then my jaw, slowly making his way to my mouth. This time, the kiss was deeper, more urgent, a raw expression of his desire.
My hands found their way to his waist, fumbling with the buckle of his belt. He pulled back, catching my hands. “Not so fast, little one,” he said, a glint in his eye. “I’m in charge now, remember? And I say we take our time.”
He moved his hand down, tracing the line of my pajama bottoms. “These are going to have to go,” he said, his voice husky. “Unless you want to make this even more difficult for yourself.”
I bit my lip, a sharp tension building inside me. “Whatever you say, Michael.”
He pulled down the drawstring of my pajama bottoms, slowly, teasingly, until they were pooled around my ankles. I kicked them off, my legs tangling with his. I was wearing a tiny thong, and his eyes lingered on it for a moment before meeting mine.
“Good girl,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over the soft fabric. “Always knew you had it in you to be obedient.”
“Only for you,” I repeated, my voice breathless. “Only when you make me.”
He leaned down, his lips brushing against my inner thigh, sending a jolt of pleasure straight through me. I gasped, arching into his touch. “And I’m going to make you a lot,” he promised, his voice a low growl. “Starting now.”
His hand slid under my thong, his fingers finding the warm, wet core of me. He stroked gently, teasingly, until I was writhing beneath him, desperate for more. I whimpered, my body aching for the release he was so expertly withholding.
“Please, Michael,” I begged, my voice cracking. “Please.”
He chuckled, a dark, triumphant sound. “Begging? Already? You’re losing your touch, little brat.” But his words were laced with affection, and his fingers moved with a renewed intensity, finally giving me what I craved.
I cried out, my body tensing as pleasure washed over me in waves. He continued to tease and torment, his movements precise and deliberate, until I was a quivering mess in his arms. When my orgasm finally hit, it was explosive, leaving me breathless and weak.
He held me close, letting me ride out the wave of pleasure. When I finally came back to earth, he kissed my forehead, his lips lingering. “Still think I’m a meanie?” he asked, a soft smile on his face.
I nestled into his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “The best kind of meanie,” I murmured, my voice still hoarse. “The kind that knows exactly what I need.”
He chuckled, tightening his arms around me. “And you, my stubborn little thing, know exactly how to make me give it to you.” He kissed the top of my head. “Now, about dinner…”
“Later,” I mumbled, already drifting off. “Much, much later.” I knew he wouldn’t argue. Not tonight. Not after this. We had found our balance, our chaotic, beautiful rhythm, and for now, that was all that mattered.